Sometimes the best meals aren’t planned.
In fact, this one started because I forgot to roast garlic.
I had levain sitting on the counter for a loaf of bread I wanted to make—a roasted garlic, ajvar, and Vegeta sourdough with a little rye flour and sesame seeds on top. My dough was happily autolyzing, which meant I had about an hour before I needed to add my starter and salt.
Perfect.
I could roast the garlic.
The plan was simple. Roast one head of garlic, mash it into a paste with some Vegeta, black pepper, and olive oil, and work it into the dough. I’ve learned that making a paste distributes the flavor throughout the loaf much better than tossing chunks of garlic into the dough and hoping for the best.
Then I looked around the kitchen.
There were two heads of garlic.
Well, if I’m roasting one, I might as well roast both.
Then I spotted a lonely onion.
And seven vine-ripened tomatoes sitting on top of the refrigerator.
The tomatoes were reaching that point where they needed to be used now or risk becoming a science experiment.
So into the roasting pan they went.
Seven tomatoes.
One small onion.
Two heads of garlic.
A generous drizzle of olive oil.
Salt.
Vegeta.
Black pepper.
That’s it.
No grand recipe. No complicated plan. Just a collection of ingredients that needed a purpose.
As everything roasted, the tomatoes began to collapse, the onions softened, and the garlic turned into sweet, buttery little pockets of magic.
One head of garlic was destined for the bread.
The other would stay with the tomatoes.
Maybe.
Or maybe some of it would find its way onto a warm slice of bread with butter, because that sounds equally delicious.
The funny thing is that I wasn’t trying to make sauce.
I was trying to make bread.
The sauce simply appeared as a side quest.
Now I have roasted tomatoes that can become pasta sauce with a spoonful of pesto stirred in for basil and cheese. They could become pizza sauce if I decide to make sourdough pizza dough later this week. They could be spooned over bread, tucked into sandwiches, or frozen for another day.
Who knows?
That’s tomorrow’s problem.
Today’s victory was simply rescuing ingredients before they were wasted.
Travel has taught me that some of the best meals happen this way.
You work with what’s available.
You adapt.
You improvise.
You look at what you have instead of focusing on what you don’t.
A strange kitchen.
A handful of ingredients.
A loaf of bread in progress.
And somehow dinner figures itself out.
Not a bad way to cook.
Not a bad way to live, either.
Note: I thought the pesto would be optional. Then I stirred a tiny forkful into the last few bites and immediately changed my mind. The roasted tomato sauce was wonderful on its own, but the basil and parmesan added a brightness that made everything sing.
