and you can only put one, maybe two, in a sandwich. My original deconstructed tomato sandwich, a plate of several sliced tomatoes drizzled with olive oil, dusted with good salt, a big dollop of mayonnaise on the side, and a few slices of grilled or toasted bread, usually a crusty, rustic loaf. Eat with a knife and fork, combing a little of everything in each bite. The flavor and textural elements of the tomato sandwich, but with more tomatoes and no juices running down my arm.

Lately I’ve tweaked my approach. A wide, wooden bowl holds more tomatoes. I’ve changed the bread, too. I still love rustic, whole grain loaves, but the classic tomato sandwich uses soft white industrial bread. I still can’t bring myself to buy a squishy loaf of Wonder bread, but the buttery, soft Sally Lunn from Portland’s Little T Bakery is better anyway. Whatever bread I use, it gets skillet-grilled in olive oil.

I choose the best, ripest tomatoes from my garden, the farmers market, or, in a pinch, dry farmed at some grocery stores. They get cut into bite-sized pieces, put in the bowl with olive oil, salt, and a dollop of Duke’s on top. Grab your grilled bread, a fork, and eat.