Every summer has its own particular mood — a stretch of hot weeks that live in the body as much as the calendar. In mine, there’s always a tomato. Always a moment when the heat is heavy but not unwelcome, when the air feels syrupy and gold, and dinner is less a thing to be cooked than a thing to be assembled. Bread, tomatoes, something cold to drink, and the idea that if you time it just right, you can catch a breeze coming off the porch.
This salad came out of that feeling.
