Summer's First Tomato Sandwich

I have a lot of seasonal food rituals.  I love autumn's first batch of spaghetti made with tomatoes canned from our garden.  I can hardly wait for that big tray of hot lasagna to come out of the oven in early winter.  Meatballs with lingonberries and warm lefse are a signal that Christmas is upon us.  New Year's Mornings taste of gravlax, blinis, caviar, and mimosas.  As soon as spring thaws allow access to our grill, a gorgeous dry-aged steak comes to dinner.

Yet, possibly the most sacred of all food rituals is the first tomato sandwich of summer.  Preferably enjoyed on a hot summer day, the tomato must be freshly picked and still warm from the sun.  Juicy slices planked over a thick spread of mayonnaise (occasionally homemade, usually straight from the Hellmann's jar) rest atop dark-toasted bread.  Just a smidgen of salt and pepper complete the sacrament. When willpower and self-discipline are present, the sandwich may actually meet a plate that is brought to a table where a refined, civilized ceremony can occur. 

More often, communion takes place over the kitchen sink.