Desperately Seeking Sunshine

I caved. 

I couldn't take it any longer.

Yesterday, I did something really bad.

I bought out-of-season tomatoes.  Blah. 

I craved bruschetta, Italy's most wonderful import.  Salty, fruity, garlicky tomatoes, with beautiful olive oil and basil.  BASIL.  My favorite smell in the whole entire world. 

I tried. I failed. 

They were tasteless, no depth, no flavor.  A disappointment. 

Tomatoes are meant to be savored in the summertime.  Hot-house winter tomatoes are a mortal sin.  What kind of Italian am I?

To make up for this, I will plant heirloom tomatoes next week, and drink of their bright, fruity, juicy selves.  I will continue to wait for summer produce.  I will dream of bruschetta and caprese salad, and heirloom reds and yellows with salt and pepper. 

Screw spring.  I want summer!