Tomato Salad

My beautiful mum came to visit me.

 

She really hurt her knees. But she is strength incarnate, never buckles never breaks more than her simple bones. She said if she could, she’d run to the four corners of the earth. I believe her! I think they call that a hot girl MARATHON these days. It’s our version of the iron man.  In another world she’d caption her pics: “cool girls go on silly little Olympic cross-country sprints for their silly little mental health” – or something like that.

 

Have you got a mum who gets up as early as mine? There’s nothing like waking up to the sound of one’s mother spilling the coffee grounds over the mocha as she grabs her 4th cup of what I have deemed “jus-de-chaussette” (stinky sock juice, or americanos…) and it’s only 5:16 am.

 

Oh and she’s shuffling across the kitchen leaning on counters to make her way across the room with her bad knee. So then, just as I’m dissolving out of dream-state, as I realise what’s happening, I am hurtling out of bed to help her around – I MEAN WHY WONT SOME PEOPLE JUST ASK FOR HELP. I’m a bIIIIG helper asker. HUGE. Hate doing things on my own! I’m a little teeny tiny baby sister with two extra older sister / mums / people who are ready to help me at the drop of a hat. I make friends with organised people with maternal dispositions.  

 

My mum is an older sister herself, a terrible plight that’s only just reached accepted clinical diagnosis in the last couple years. Taylor Swift is an older sister. Sparklejumpropequeen too. Explains a lot.

 

Anyways with all her hobbling about – don’t worry I panic-called Kosi and we’re pretty sure she’ll be fine – I’ve made her a good few hearty get-well-soon meals. First, a big treat, a sole meuniere à la Martha Stewart, who she hadn’t heard of which led us down a fun conversational path. Some Shakshuka, (it’s important to feed the soul), and gosh so much bread.

 

Look, my mum’s very easy to please in some ways. She’s never been fussy, she’s clear about what she likes and doesn’t. She’s a born mother. Just this week, we were playing a particularly frustrating game of Tunisian Chkobba on my bed. I’ve been playing since I could count to 10. My mum probably taught me to hold my cards one handed before I even learnt to walk. On my mum’s side, it’s one hand for cards, one hand for snacking on Glibettes (See history below – taken straight from wikipedia).

 

WHAT IS IT 

Glibette ( Arabic  : قلوب ‎), meaning heart, seed or core, is a popular Tunisian preparation of dried sunflower or pumpkin seeds , roasted with very little oil and salted .

 

ORIGIN

The sunflower seed is the fruit of a plant native to Mexico and Peru and cultivated by Native Americans for more than 5,000 years. Its appearance in Tunisia coincides with the arrival of Andalusian Jews expelled from Spain by the reconquest ( Reconquista ). Indeed, it is from Seville that the glibettes are brought back from the Americas and could have transited to Tunis .

 

RULES FOR CONSUMPTION

  1. Place the seed vertically between the incisors 
  2. Press to break the bark in two (this phase is the most delicate because you should not press too hard so as not to crush the slipper, but hard enough to open it)
  3. Suck everything into your mouth
  4. Make movements of the tongue and teeth to separate the bark from the seed
  5. Spit out the bark by blowing or remove it from your mouth with your fingers before throwing it away
  6. Chew the seed remaining in your mouth then eat it.

 

Another method for those who can’t do it and who like the salty bark of black glibettes: directly eat a handful of ten to fifteen glibettes at once without going through steps 1, 2, 4 and 5.

Anyways back to the game. I was losing quite badly. I am too impulsive. I begged her to start the point count again. She didn’t even hesitate with her yes. “You know, if I win then of course I’m very pleased. And if you win then I’m thrilled for you, and your card skills. That’s being a mother”. What a lovely feeling to be marvelled at. Especially for something so simple like turning the kettle on, dancing at the airline hold music, or making my eight thousandth Niçoise.

 

My mother says the best food in the world is good tomatoes, with a basic vinaigrette, some salt. That’s it.  A tomato salad. Tomatoes are a maternal food to me. I loathe fresh tomatoes. But maybe I will grow to love them like my mother does. In its dedicated portion of Taste, Tucci tells a funny story, of his mother and grandmother battling over purchased tomatoes.

 

It’s been a few days. My mum’s knee has made a full recovery.

Scroll to Top