Before they're gone, we should pay homage to the homegrown tomato a few more times.
"Speaking of tomato sandwiches, there is such a thing as too much of a good thing," says David Palmisano, of Marrero.
"Growing up on a family truck farm in Marrero, what most kids knew as summer vacation was our tomato and okra season.
"As my brother Robert and I were dragging ourselves out of bed in the predawn hours, my dad would make sandwiches for later.
"I guess since tomatoes were so abundant, and cheap, he would always go a little crazy when putting them on the sandwiches. When it came time to take a break and grab a bite, the sandwich bread would resemble a couple of unappetizing wet sponges soaked in tomato juice.
"I would usually toss the bread, eat the meat, then reach over to a nearby bush and pluck a couple of almost ripe tomatoes, as I liked them, for breakfast.
"A quick wash and an application of salt and pepper, which I always carried in my pocket, and breakfast was on. The tomatoes could not have been any fresher."
Other than Creole
Lee Blotner, of Metairie, says, "I was born and raised in New Orleans, but lived in east Tennessee for 50 years. (I've been back home now for 10 years.)
"There, the prime tomato was a 'Grainger County' tomato. Except for an oyster poor boy, you don't get any better eating than that."
Rose Mary Williams, of Baton Rouge, says, "I agree about the virtues of homegrown Creole tomatoes. But in their offseason I find Compari tomatoes quite acceptable, especially when you can get the ones still on the vine.
"Almost every grocery carries them all year."
What accent?
Walter Merrill, Baton Rougean turned Texan, says, "I am amused when people in Texas say they noticed my Baton Rouge accent AFTER I tell them I lived in BR 33 years!
"Since so much of the BR population moved there from other states, I donโt know how to identify a Baton Rouge accent! Maybe your readers can help."
Interesting observation, Walter. While you can usually place folks from Acadiana and New Orleans by their accents, I've never heard someone speak and said, "Why, you must be from Baton Rouge!"
Silent treatment
"My late mother used to say one of her faults was laughing at the crazy things we kids did," says Dale Marks, of Baton Rouge.ย
"One time I remember when she didnโt laugh was when my oldest brother announced his intention of going to an all-night bowling session with his friends.
"My mom said no. A few hours later she went to his room and found sheets covering pillows to give the impression that he was in bed.
"She told me to get in the car with her. She didnโt say a word for the 10-minute drive to the bowling alley.
"It was a pretty big place, but it only took a couple of minutes to find him. No words were exchanged; he simply followed me back to the car.
"My mom didnโt have to say a word; she knew how to express disappointment with a simple glance.
"It took several years before Mom could laugh at that story."
Special People Dept.
Joseph and Ramona Waguespack Veillon celebrate 65 years of marriage Wednesday, June 22. They were married at St. Philip Catholic Church in Vacherie.
Hands off!
Frank F. expands on the June 15 story about a sign on a computer room when computers were new and people were curious about how they worked:
"Your article with the fractured German warning about the 'komputenmachine' triggered this memory:
"'ACHTUNG! Alles lookingsgepeepers: Diesen komputenmachine ist nicht fur fingergepoken unt mittengegrabben. Es is nicht fur gevurken by der dumkopf. Dem rubbernekern sightseerin mus dem hands in dem pockets keepen, relaxen, unt dem verblinkin lights watchen.'"