not my father’s stewed tomatoes
You all are the best. Seriously.
My family has had some challenging situations arise, and no matter what, I feel completely loved and supported by this community. To each of you who reached out to me after my last post, thank you. You lifted me up, as you always do, just when I need it most.
While we were in Louisville, my mother and I had dinner with my father’s brother, Uncle Boyce. My father is one of three boys; Dad is the oldest, and Boyce is the youngest. My dad and his brothers, though their heights, hair color, politics, and religious beliefs differ – prompting some terribly fun arguments when they all get together — are really more similar than different on the inside, where it counts. So being with Boyce was like being with a shorter version of my dad. It felt good to be with him.
Boyce took us to a local restaurant favorite of his, Cunningham’s Creekside. My mother was familiar with the restaurant and had been to the downtown location way back when, long before it burned down in 2001. Mom and I ordered drinks – wine for me, bourbon for her – a necessity after the long day of travel and worry and hospital rooms, and we breathed deep for the first time in 24 hours. At the tables around us, couples and foursomes drank beer out of bottles, laughed and talked, and occasionally glanced at the sports news on ESPN on the televisions bolted to the walls around the dining room.
Our conversations drifted as we waited for our meals to be brought to the table. My mother and Boyce reminisced about the old bar that used to be down the road, the one with the older woman who belted out tunes on the piano, the songs growing raunchier as the night grew late and more drinks were thrown back. I heard the story of how my mother and father met, in a bar in Louisville. He was at another table, and she thought he looked like Omar Sharif in Doctor Zhivago, so she bought him a drink and had it sent over from her table across the room.
We spoke of the devastating accident her twin sister and brother-in-law had been in, and the potential outcomes. We left a lot unsaid, growing quiet and shaking our heads in disbelief and discomfort at the possibilities. The chatter in the restaurant grew louder as the minutes clicked by.
When our meal came, the conversation came to a halt. I think each of us was happy to focus on something other than the reason we were there, in Louisville. I cut into the crispy fried fish fillet I had ordered and savored that first bite. A forkful of creamy macaroni and cheese followed. And finally, I tried the dish I’d been looking forward to since I cracked opened the plastic menu and saw it listed under Side Dishes: stewed tomatoes.
I lifted a spoonful of the stewed tomatoes and, carefully, taking care not to drip the juices onto my shirt, I put the spoon in my mouth. If my mother or my uncle was speaking to me at the moment, I didn’t hear. All of my senses were focused on those sweetened tomatoes at that moment. And if someone told me that my eyes had closed while I tasted them, I would not be surprised.
When my father served stewed tomatoes at dinners when I was growing up, I viewed the dish as a punishment for something, probably for being his child. His preparation of them was simple. He opened a can of stewed tomatoes, dumped the contents into a saucepan with a plop, and turned the electric burner on medium high. When they were warmed through, he scooped up two or three whole, plum-sized tomatoes, and ladled them onto each plate. They looked like bloody organs, something that belonged in a hospital’s pathology lab, not on our dinner table.
I don’t recall what Dad’s stewed tomatoes tasted like, only that they were awful. Each meal that those tomatoes accompanied inevitably resulted in me and my brother sitting at the dinner table, after the sun had set and well after my parents were long gone into the living room to watch television, as we struggled to clean our plates. “Because I said so, that’s why.”
I learned to swallow stewed tomatoes whole. It was easier than the alternative, which was to taste them.
These are not my father’s stewed tomatoes. When I returned from Louisville, I recreated the dish I tasted at Cunningham’s Creekside. I cringed when I added the sugar, but the recipe would not be as delicious without it. The sugar provides balance to the acidity, a necessity for taming the flavors, for evening them out.
And even though these are not my father’s stewed tomatoes, I’m pretty certain he’d prefer my recipe to his own.
Yield: Serves 8-10
Southern-Style Stewed Tomatoes
When I tasted the stewed tomatoes at Cunningham's Creekside in Louisville, Kentucky, I immediately asked the waitress if I could have the recipe. She checked with the chef and came back with the ingredients list: canned stewed tomatoes, sugar, and bread. I gussied the recipe up a bit more, but not by much.
These stewed tomatoes are excellent all by themselves, but if you really want a great lunch or light dinner, serve them over creamy, perfectly-salted grits.
Ingredients:
2 cans (28-ounces each) whole peeled tomatoes
3 slices stale white sandwich bread, crusts removed
2 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted
3 tablespoons light brown sugar
1/2 teaspoon coarse salt
1/8 teaspoon ground pepper
Directions:
Preheat oven to 350 degrees.
Using a strainer, strain one can of tomatoes, reserving the liquid for another use. Place the strained tomatoes into an oven-safe 2-quart casserole dish. Add the second can of tomatoes, including the juice. Using clean hands, crush the tomatoes between your fingers, leaving the tomatoes in large chunks. Tear the bread slices rough pieces and add to tomatoes. Stir in the melted butter, light brown sugar, salt, and pepper.
Cover the casserole dish and bake for 45 minutes, until the tomatoes are tender. Season to taste with additional salt and pepper, if needed, and serve.
Inspired by a dish at Cunningham's Creekside in Louisville, Kentucky.
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I feel like I just ate that whole meal with you, it sounded so delicious & you described it so well. I would love to try this recipe out, and I think my father in law, a stewed tomato out of the can lover, would appreciate & love it as well.
I’ll be honest and say I’ve never even heard of stewed tomatoes before but you describe them so wonderfully that I can’t wait to get into the kitchen and make a batch.
Kathryn,
I believe stewed tomatoes are a southern USA phenomenon. If you try them, you’ll have to let me know what you think!
Merry Jennifer, you never knew how much I loved stewed tomatoes. When we moved from south Florida to northern Florida I learned my new friends called them, “tomato gravy” and served them over rice. Whatever you call them, whatever whatever you put them on, they are wonderful and I can’t wait try your recipe. (I think the sugar is the secret to making them out of this world.)
Merry Jennifer I certainly enjoyed your comments although I wish our time together had been under different circumstances. I have never really enjoyed stewed tomatoes as my mother made them in the summer time with fresh tomatoes from our huge garden. My parents and brothers all liked them, but I was the odd man out.
I’m looking forward to seeing you again, Boyce, under much better circumstances. Thank you so much for being there for me and Mom. It was a highlight for us.
I was force-fed stewed tomatoes as a child as well. Now I love everything to do with tomatoes. This recipe is a keeper for sure. Lovely post MJ.
I’m exactly the same, Lynda. Tomatoes are now my favorite food! Well, besides cake.
My mother was from Macon, Georgia. She made stewed tomatoes the same way your Dad did. I always loved them but never think to make them. I can’t wait to try your recipe !
I am so glad you are finding strength through the blogging community because often time I find my comfort in the blogging world too – everyone is so supportive 🙂 your posts are always so sincere and thoughtful..
I felt like I was being punished as well. Yuck! Couldn’t stand stewed tomatoes. I love your blog!
Thank you, Mom. 🙂
Stewed tomatoes (known during my childhood as “tomatoes n’ rice, since the tomatoes were always accompanied by sticky, buttered white rice!) remind me so much of my dear Mama. She always served tomatoes and rice with her fried pork chops and often with her fried cube steak. I had the luxury of growing up on fresh-frozen tomatoes, as my Mama and Daddy would put up a “mess” of fresh, slightly-stewed tomatoes every year in quart baggies to last us through the fall and winter. Oh, they were so delicious (my mouth is watering!) My recipe varies slightly from yours, MJ, in that I start with a tiny bit of bacon grease for flavor, use fresh-frozen tomatoes when I have the luxury (canned plum, if not), white sugar, instead of brown, salt, pepper, and a bit of cornstarch (first dissolved in cold water) as my thickener. Mmmmm, guess what I’m serving for dinner tonight?? Thanks for the inspiration. 🙂
Your version sounds amazing, Jenn. I’m going to have to raid your Mama’s recipe box one of these days. I bet there are some real gems in there.
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Isn’t it amazing how food can have a calming effect on us. Whether it’s cooking it or eating it, there’s something about how it can soothe ones nerves. These tomatoes sound so perfect for a meal when you need your insides to be hugged.
I love stewed tomatoes, this sounds great 🙂
This was a lovely post. You are such a wonderfully eloquent writer and your strength of character is truly inspirational.
Food is so comforting and I’m glad you all are finding some comfort in this all. Hugs.
I loved my mother’s stewed tomatoes. She took them from the garden. As a depression wife, she did not have fancy ingredients, so I thought it was just tomatoes and bread. Obviously note. I used fresh garden tomato and cooked them in a pot with your ingredients, drained off excess liquid [great soup], added the bread and put in baking dish. Baked as you said. Terrific! I think mother would have added a bit of cinnamon, so I will do so next time. Thanks for the recipe.
The first time I’ve had stewed tomatoes as a gravy was in January. My granaunt I. DC made them for breakfast w/grits and they were SOOOOO good. She’s from South Carolina, so they were real southern good! I don’t remember bread being in the tomatoes, but we’ll see. I’m going to try your recipe soon, I can’t wait.
Just FYI….
I was told by a cook from Cunninghams back when they were still located at Fifth and York ( so many years before they had the Creekside location) that they use hamburger buns instead of sandwich bread. Hamburger buns are sweeter and really do make a difference. Your representation of their fish is, however, most delicious! Thank you.
Thanks for reminding me of a dish I love but seldom think to prepare. I’m another displaced Kentuckian, living in Georgia for many years. I’ve never worked from a printed recipe on this, but just make it from memory of the way my grandmother did. She used white sugar rather than brown, and for bread used pieces of stale biscuits (her own homemade). She also allowed the bread pieces on top to brown near the end of cooking, so that it almost looked like a cobbler. Don’t overcook, as leftovers will not be as juicy as the first time.
Good afternoon Merry-Jennifer, I too have a childhood stewed tomato memory. Now that Mom is gone I find myself trying to recreate many of the wonderful dishes she prepared for us in our East Louisville home. Her recipe was exactly as yours except for the bread and liquid. Mom would always use all the liquid and bring the tomatoes to a low boil on the stove top. Then she would open canned biscuits and pinch off small pieces of dough into the pot until the surface was covered. As the dough would cook and “plump” the small dumplings would soak up the brown sugar sweetened tomato syrup. I’m making a double batch now for a church dinner tonight. We have a few Yankees in the group and I always try to bring a uniquely Mom inspired Southern dish. Look forward to seeing more of your recipes, Thank You.
I have just whipped up a batch of these and I find that I will cut the recipe in half next time because it makes a lot. I also did not use any butter. I will let you know how they come out, I’m serving with rice and Dill breaded pork chops.
I tried your recipe and have made it again and again. When I find one that I will make more than once, I write it on an index card and put it into the wooden card file that belonged to my husband’s grandmother. Maybe my kids will end up trying it someday. Or their kids. As a child, I often saw my grandfather eat stewed tomatoes – usually home canned by my grandmother, but sometimes store bought. He would stir in some white sugar, roll a piece of “light bread” up and dunk it in. We kids never tried it and now I know we missed out on something good.
Hello there Merry-Jennifer. I was searching for a stewed tomato recipe and came across yours, your post was so interesting that I stayed reading other posts for half an hour! My deepest sympathies on the loss of your father. Ironically, I was searching because my mother is in end stage lung cancer and craving tomatoes like crazy. She told me about a stewed tomato dish my grandmother used to prepare when she was a child. It is very similar to yours except grandma put bread crumbs and slices of butter on top and popped the dish in the oven before serving. Thank you for a nice half hour of good reading, I look forward to future posts!
I hope your mom likes this dish. I’m so sorry that she’s going through lung cancer. Such a devastating disease. Thanks so much for taking the time to comment.
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