Thanks to Hurricane Sandy, my veggie garden now gets many more hours of sunlight and my tomato production has easily increased three-fold. Fully a third of the plot is given to the growing of different varieties of heirloom tomatoes. This year I tried Amish Paste (a plum tomato), Brandywine and Purple Cherokee. Plus a few others, whose names I now forget.

Purple Cherokee et.al.

Faced with an overabundance of these delectables, tomato salads and open faced tomato sandwiches (though satisfying to the palate) have became ordinary fare. Requiring a challenge, tomato pie seemed the necessary option. Therefore, apart from the madness of firing up the oven in midsummer (with only a ceiling fan), I began my quest to create my own variation of tomato pie. Having plenty of peppers and herbs in the garden and being a great lover of cheese, it necessarily leans towards Italy.

Amish Paste Heirlooms

After a little experimenting, I decided that a single crust pie with three kinds of Italian cheese, two kinds of tomatoes (2 Purple Cherokee and 3 Amish Paste), a single incendiary pepper (you can opt for a milder pepper if you wish), plus some lovely fresh herbs would meet my expectations.

Here’s the recipe:

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees.

Using your favorite pie crust recipe, line a 9” pie plate (I prefer glass). Flute the top edge and pierce the bottom and side surfaces lightly, but many times, with a fork. Then chill it in the fridge for about 20 minutes (this keeps it from slumping in the pie plate while baking). Sprinkle about 2 tablespoons of grated Pecorino Romano cheese on the bottom and pop it in the oven until it turns a light golden brown (about 10 mins., less if your oven runs hot). Remove and cool while you make the filling.

Ingredients

4–5 fresh tomatoes sliced in ¼” rounds. Use meaty home-grown or farm stand tomatoes—if store bought, use plum tomatoes (and you’ll need 6 or 7, as they are smaller). Don’t use the supermarket vine tomatoes, they’re too watery. I leave the skin on—more fiber, less work.

1 small –medium sized hot or mild pepper (your choice), sliced into thin rounds, seeds removed.

4 tablespoons grated Pecorino Romano cheese.

½ pound sliced provolone cheese. You won’t use it all, but you will probably eat the leftovers while assembling the pie.

1/3  pound of good mozzarella cheese (not the rubbery stuff in the supermarket dairy aisle—go to a good Italian deli and buy a half-pound cheese). Slice in ¼” rounds. If you can’t get good mozzarella, then use the whole ½ pound of provolone instead.

¼ cup chopped fresh Basil

6 twigs of fresh oregano. Strip the leaves off the twigs before use. Of course you may use dried oregano, but the dried herb is stronger, so use about a teaspoon and a half (unless you really like oregano). You can also use sweet marjoram.

1 tablespoon fresh squeezed lemon juice.

Sea salt and freshly ground black pepper.

Paper towels

Method

Layer the sliced tomatoes in a colander set on a large plate and sprinkle each layer with salt. This will cause the tomatoes to sweat, drawing out the excess water. Let sit for about 15 minutes—or more, to allow this process.

Line the bottom of the cooled, precooked pie crust with a layer of provolone cheese. Next, dab the tomato slices (both sides) dry with paper towels to remove the water and most of the salt. Place one layer over the sliced cheese already in the pie crust. Sprinkle with some of the herbs, a little ground black pepper and a new thin layer of provolone. Repeat this combination until you’ve used all the sliced tomatoes, herbs and provolone.

Top with a layer of the sliced hot or sweet peppers and sprinkle with the lemon juice. Use the mozzarella for the final layer and then sprinkle on the remaining 2 tablespoons of grated Pecorino Romano cheese. Turn the oven up to 375 and bake for about 30–35 minutes.

When the top of the pie is bubbly and beginning to brown, remove. If you fear burning the fluted crust you can cover it with strips of aluminum foil. Let it sit awhile (about an hour) to cool and congeal before cutting. Really, it shouldn’t be served piping hot but  lukewarm. The first slice will likely be a mess (but still delicious). Be the good host and save that piece for yourself and give your guests the “pretty” slices. I serve with a fresh cucumber salad and then some cold melon. It tastes very good the next day as well but again, be sure to serve it at room temperature.

Enjoy!

As useful as this might sound, it was obvious that the Buddha couldn’t stay in the back seat of my Mazda forever. Sooner or later I’d have to put him someplace in the garden, which was still littered with the debris of two huge oak trees that came down during Hurricane Sandy.

A landscape designer’s job is primarily to recreate outdoor spaces. As anyone in the profession will tell you, this covers a wide range of objectives, but primarily it means making a space more beautiful than when you initially encountered it. Prior to Christmas I was presented with an especially interesting project: a Catholic Church in the Bronx wanted a meditation garden for its parishioners. The clergy, headed by the monsignor and a board of directors, had a variety of ideas and I was asked to implement them all, leaving the committee to make the final choices. The list included: a Rosary Walk, a fountain, a statue of the Virgin Mary, an arbor, a collection of plants mentioned in the Bible, The Stations of the Cross, and a rock garden, all related to the theme of “A Meditation Garden”. Though together the elements seemed to point to a kind of religious theme park, the project really was exciting, not to mention a bit of a challenge. After weeks of chasing my pencil around a huge sheet of white paper, I’d composed a landscape that united all these components in an aesthetically pleasing way. The church’s multifaceted committee was impressed and, like all committees, is now occupied with the endless task of decision making.

Of course this project inspired me to create my own “Meditation Garden” for the serenely smiling seated Buddha. It would not do to simply prop him between the driveway and the front door of the house; he would need a more discrete setting. Some place quiet and private. Without much thought it became apparent that the obvious place for him was the shady northeast corner of the garden where we’d put all our kitties to rest. The thought of meditating in such an already hallowed space filled with memories seemed apropos and I’d read that, in Tibetan Buddhism, charnel grounds were considered sacred spots of transformational rituals. So, why not?

Rhododendron macrophyllum

A border of rhododendrons, andromeda, a huge American holly, and delicate vinca vine keeps my chosen area evergreen all year round. In the spring a variety of woodland plants emerges, predominantly hayscented and cinnamon fern, trillium and jack in the pulpit. The question became, how should I turn this shady spot with unmarked pet graves into a meditation garden?

andromeda (Pieris japonica)

The seated Buddha should be the focal point. But it would not do to place him front and center. Discretion was called for. First I asked my husband to build him a little hut from some branches of the downed trees. We  nestled it towards the back of the space at the foot of the large holly. Then I placed a meandering stepping stone path leading from the more accessible part of the garden, past the andromeda and skirting the rhododendron at even intervals through the fern and vinca vine.

Trillium

Other elements were called for, some additional plants and some useful accoutrements. Since the space is mainly shade, it called for woodland plants, but since this garden was meant to be special place that would be visited periodically throughout the seasons, they needed to be chosen with care: I selected hellebore with speckled burgundy flowers for late winter and epimedium with starry lavender flowers for spring alongside nodding yellow bellflowers called uvularia. Fragrant viburnum would fill the air for a few weeks in May. For early summertime, I chose astilbe with pink plumes to be followed by orange turks cap Lily in August and then, finally, speckled toadlily for autumn. The changing canopy of maples and oaks would add to the autumnal color and finally, red berries from the skimmia would have to satisfy quick visits on cold winter day— if the birds and chipmunks didn’t eat them all.

Skimmia japonica,

The accoutrements were needed to be both useful and beautiful. Five small cast iron lamps fitted with candles set alongside the stepping stones (each on its own bed of pebbles), a pretty old bowl filled with sand to place smoldering incense before the seated Buddha, and a small Japanese bell with its paper tag to catch the wind and suspended by a cord from the peak of the hut all contributed to a sense of peace. Finally, a low wooden bench set in front of the shrine would provide the necessary communal atmosphere to sit and perform mindful breathing exercises and visualize a world as peaceful as the meditation garden.

Of course, even before the garden was complete, I found myself continually drawn to the spot, at first tending to the new plants and watching their progress. Then I noticed that a spider had built her web in the Buddha’s hut. Soon I realized that it did not take much of a breeze to make the small bell ring. With windows open I could even hear its “ting-ting” from inside the house. Hence, even when I was busy with other things, I was drawn to the idea of the place throughout the day.

Once drawn to the shrine by the sound of the bell, I saw that the same breeze had blown the chartreuse flowers from the maple tree on to the grey stepping stones. It seemed that every day the garden changed a bit. It now had its own life, which it shared with me. From this I learned something new and unexpected: that this too was the meditation.