You know, like "tuh-mater..."

I've been slow in sharing some news here on In a Pickle. There's no delicate way to break it:

Two weeks ago, I moved to Portland, Oregon.

There. I feel much better.

Most the people I love back in Wichita know the story. In early June, I applied to be a radio operations coordinator for Oregon Public Broadcasting. After a month and no call, I forgot about the whole deal. My husband lined up gigs with his band. I planted a pear tree named Ferdinand in our front yard and put roses in the flower bed.

Then, in the hostile and oppressive heat of July, a woman from OPB named Holly left me a voice mail, saying that she'd like to schedule an interview, and soon. Over the next week, I had two phone interviews, a dozen e-mails, and a technologically crippled Skype conversation with the people who now share an office with me. It's like heaven. It is heaven. Heaven with health coverage and occasional free cookies.

My husband and I had to plan so much, and so quickly, to get here. We took pictures and gave away our posessions. We sold most of our furniture, our bed, and my car. We gave away a microwave, a green plaid couch, two window air conditioners, and arm-loads of books, then we packed what was left into a Mazda truck and a U-Haul trailer. We drove across Colorado, Wyoming, Idaho, and Oregon with two kitties and a giant pile of CDs. It took us three days to arrive.

Our new home is beautiful. We have wood floors and kind neighbors. The kitchen has two ovens. We found it on Craigslist, of all places.

Counter space and a dose of light.

I'm still working out what the move means to In a Pickle, since at first, I intended to chronicle the life and times of a crazy Kansas foodie. What will I write now that I no longer live in the wheat-producing, beer-brewing, sandplum jam-filled Sunflower State? You are what you eat, and now that I am no longer a compilation of the Donut Whole/Whole Foods/Old Town Farmer's Market, I'm wondering what I, and my blog, will become. If that expression, "you are what you eat," is true, I'm probably becoming a blackberry. They're everywhere here. It's like candy...growing on bushes.

Still, I miss my kitchen garden in Wichita. I miss my spearmint, which refuses to die even in the icy grip of January. I miss my basil: the lemon, the cinnamon, and the Italian varieties. I wonder if my pear tree will bear fruit this year, and I really miss my tomatoes. They were just getting good. Hopefully, the next person who rents our old house likes to garden.

Until I have a yard of my own again, I'll have to enjoy tomatoes from the Barbur World Foods market up the street. Tomatoes for 99 cents a pound can't be beat. With a stick even.

Lebinz, chocolate, and tomatoes. I'm set.

I'm already in love with Barbur World Foods. Under the same roof, you can purchase local squash, fresh baklava, Snoqualmie Falls wine, rose hip juice, aged Gruyere, Yorkie bars, Yoo Hoo, and demerara sugar. That's my kind of store.

Though I may be the millionth person this summer to share a recipe for slow-roasted tomatoes, you may find that slow-roasted tomatoes are worth a million mentions. They're chewy and sweet, like a savory taffy. And their easy-to-palm size makes them easy to sneak into a work lunch or a picnic. Now is the time to preserve the last hurrahs of summer, is it not?

I will miss my friends and family for a long time. Until that gets easier, there will always be something to cook. And cooking is what In a Pickle is about.

Slow-roasted tomatoes with cardamom and caraway
makes 22 tomato halves

• 11 medium tomatoes (Roma, hot house, or on the vine)
• 1 generous Tb. of extra virgin olive oil (I used Bertolli)
  
• 1 1/2 tsp. ground cardamom
• 1 tsp. caraway seeds
• 1 1/2 tsp. coarsely ground sea salt

Preheat your oven to 250 degrees and line a large cookie sheet with parchment paper. (Trust me, it's less gooey this way.) Wash the tomatoes, then pat them dry with a tea towel. Slice each tomato in half lengthwise. Scoop the tomato halves into a large mixing bowl, then drizzle olive oil over them.

Use your hands to coat the tomatoes in olive oil, then place each tomato half --cut side up--on the cookie sheet. Sprinkle the sea salt, cardamom, and caraway seeds on the tops of the tomatoes. Bake the tomatoes for 6-8 hours, or until the edges of the tomato halves become ruffled and crispy and the tomatoes shrink to about half of their original size.

Eat them immediately from the sheet, while they're warm and gooey, or wait until they cool to room temperature. I like them plain, but they're also great smeared on a baguette with some cream cheese and basil. Mmmm. They're little red packets of sunshine.