New Wonder ingredient: U<i> n</i> -Dried Tomatoes

Of all the fads that have flashed through this fickle old food world in the last dozen or so years, it’s probably safe to say that none is more mystifying to me than the sun-dried tomato. I just don’t get the appeal.

I know I am in the minority on that point. Sun-dried tomatoes are almost everywhere. You can get them on delivery pizzas and you find them pureed into “pesto” at chain restaurants.

But you won’t find them in my kitchen. I tried sun-dried tomatoes many years ago, and I didn’t like them. Neither they nor I have changed in the interim. They are bitter little things that usually taste more like second-rate olive oil than anything else. What’s worse, they’re tough and dry, absolutely antithetical to everything a tomato should be.

In reality, sun-dried tomatoes were never supposed to be popular. In Italy, they are a poverty food, put up in the summer against the trials of winter.

I remember talking to Valentino’s Piero Selvaggio several years ago when the craze started. It took him by surprise, too. He remembered his mother putting up sun-dried tomatoes in Sicily, but they weren’t considered true ingredients. Maybe he’d put them on a sandwich or something, he said, but it didn’t sound as though he considered that very likely.

I can think of a couple of reasons for their success. First, of course, is our collective passion for anything Italian, the more rustic the better. I expect any day now to find some Westside trattoria selling bowlfuls of chestnut gruel to slick-suited studio executives and charging a pretty penny for it too.

The other secret of their success is pure marketing--the romance of the name. Sun-dried tomato. Think of it. Has anything ever sounded so rich, so blessed, so ... sunny ? Never mind that what we’re talking about here is essentially a tomato prune. (Could I interest you in a sun-dried plum?)

Roasted tomatoes are a different thing entirely. Depend upon it, to paraphrase Samuel Johnson, a slow oven concentrates a tomato’s taste wonderfully. You get a tomato that actually tastes like what sun-dried tomatoes only sound like. Cooked to just the point of jelling, these tomatoes have deep, rich flavors. They are still juicy and succulent; the flesh hasn’t dried and toughened. Even better, you know nobody’s soaked them in rancid industrial oil.

I was reminded of how good these tomatoes are recently at a dinner at a friend’s house. When I got home, I played around a little to get it just the way I wanted it. The main thing I learned in my experimentation is that even with a recipe like this, the kind of tomato you use makes a big difference.

Naturally, you should use a sauce tomato ... call them Romas, plums, pears or whatever. These tomatoes are usually a good buy even at places that don’t have very good produce. The reason is that they’re sturdy, boxy little things that are designed by nature to take a good bit of abuse. Therefore they can be picked riper and shipped without turning into paste en route.

But, I found, there are sauce tomatoes and then there are sauce tomatoes. I made this a couple of times with regular old plum tomatoes, some from the supermarket and some from the growers market. The recipe worked well and the flavors were good.

Then I picked up a sack of San Marzano variety tomatoes at a growers market. These tomatoes are longer and narrower than regular plum tomatoes, with a slightly squared stem end. They’re hard to find but well worth the search. Their flesh has a higher concentration of pectins than normal tomatoes, so they melt into a creamier texture.

If you find them, try them--either with this or your favorite sauce recipe. If you can’t find them, make a point of ordering seeds and growing them yourself next year.

This recipe couldn’t be easier. Simply cut the tomatoes in half lengthwise, then toss them with garlic, salt and pepper and a little olive oil. Spread them in one layer on a jelly roll pan (if you use a pan without a rim, be prepared to scrub scorched tomato jelly off the oven floor). Drape them with whole sprigs of basil--stem and all; you’ll remove them later--and then bake for an hour or more. Timing isn’t critical in this recipe, though if you overcook them too much, they will toughen up.

And you know how I feel about tough tomatoes.

ROASTED TOMATOES WITH GOAT CHEESE

The creamy, tangy goat cheese and the rough toasted bread are perfect foils for the roasted tomatoes.

1 3/4 pounds plum tomatoes (about 10)

1 1/2 teaspoons salt

4 cloves garlic, minced

2 tablespoons olive oil

Freshly ground black pepper

1/2 bunch basil

20 slices sourdough bread, toasted

2/3 cup fresh goat cheese

Slice tomatoes in half lengthwise, keeping as much seed and pulp as possible. In large mixing bowl, combine tomatoes, salt, garlic, olive oil and pepper and toss to mix well.

Arrange tomatoes in single layer on jelly roll pan. Slice thin 2 tablespoons basil leaves and distribute remainder, including stems, over tomatoes.

Bake at 275 degrees until tomatoes are beginning to brown on top and are soft but still moist, about 1 hour.

Using fork, spread 1 tomato half on each slice toasted bread and top with 1 to 2 teaspoons goat cheese. Broil just until cheese begins to melt. Sprinkle with reserved sliced basil and serve.

Makes about 20 croutons.

Each crouton contains about:

95 calories; 313 mg sodium; 5 mg cholesterol; 4 grams fat; 12 grams carbohydrates; 4 grams protein; 0.33 gram fiber.