Now I know this is going to come as a major shocker because I seem super chill and well adjusted, but I am an extreeeeeemly anxious person. This often manifests itself by absolutely ravaging my sleep. 

In the dark, tiny microscopic worries or fears I experience throughout the day bloat into seismic monsters who hijack my pleasant dreams and swiftly repainted them into horrors. Over the years, I have put in a lot of work to mitigate these demons, often forced to revisit and reflect on my youth’s most prevalent nightmares along the journey.

In one of my most frequent, I stood on a stage, blinded by the lights, unable to see the faces of those in the audience. Cliche, I know. Each night, I would hold frozen at center and monologue into a microphone. I spoke of someone dear to me—a friend, a family member, a crush—the subject changed with each performance. Sometimes I’d focus on my mother, telling tales of the days we spent roasting in the sun at the town pool, gorging ourselves on PB&Js and Cool Ranch Doritos, before returning home for the night and slathering each other in aloe, fresh from the plant. Other nights, I’d speak of my secret boyfriend, giddily whispering my recount of our first kiss in the Math Wing Bathroom of our high school. Regardless of who I spoke of in the dream, the stories brimmed with love.

As I droned on and on, the lights slowly came up on the audience revealing hundreds—thousands?—of clones of my mother or my secret boyfriend or whoever I was celebrating that night. They’d beam at me, before their faces slowly started melting into unrecognizable scowls. They’d begin jeering, shouting my deepest insecurities at me before they started tossing tomatoes. Cliche, again. The fruit would burst against my body like crimson fireworks, covering me in pulp, before I jolted awake. Sweating and cold. I’d have trouble falling back asleep, fixated on imagined pressure points in my relationships. 

Night after night this was the case. I’d be smacked across the face by tomato after tomato, and wake up doctoring reasons why the ones I love would slip away. I was trapped in the cycle with no means of escape, until one night I decided to remain after the first fruit exploded against my cheek. Again and again, I was hit, a grassy scent filling the room as the stage flooded with juice. It ran into my mouth, sweet and a bit tangy. Soon, I was down on my hands and knees, lapping it off the stage, thrilled to be rolling around in a pool of flavor. For the first time, I woke up unaffected by the taunting and mocking of my audience, able to fall back asleep with ease. Tomatoes, my own sort of apotropaic magic, something to ward off the evils.

I’m sure that unhinged recounting of my nightmares really worked up your appetite, so let me clunkily transition into the recipe for one of my favorite tomato treats… Something to indulge in, alongside a nice glass of wine, to ensure you sleep through the night after a tough day…MY SAVORY SUN-DRIED TOMATO SHORTBREAD!!! (A little pathetic that they don’t feature fresh tomatoes, given that we are in peaaaaak beefsteak season, but please forgive.)

To pack the cookies with flavor, I start by infusing the butter with garlic, crushed red pepper, oregano, and some bruised basil. I let it sit for as long as possible before straining it and letting it resolidify to perfect whipping consistency. Once there, it’s just a matter of tossing in your flour, a bit of seasoning, and a heeeeeefty grating of parm, before the sun-dried stars of the show enter the party. After a quick trip to the fridge to firm up, the cookies are ready to slice and bake. They’ll make your whole house smell like your fav neighborhood Italian joint, and come out of the oven a bright sunny orange. 

I recommend enjoying them alongside some jam (Strawberry Black Pepper, perhaps?), and additional cheese. They’re perfect for a night alone, or to toss onto a charcuterie board for a night of gossip with your babes. 

Hope they manage to fend off any nightmares!

xx,
Ian