Guess where I'm eating?
Lori Midson

Guess where I'm eating?

There are few things that piss me off more than restaurants that serve frigid tomatoes. I'm only going to say this once: Your walk-in, refrigerator -- whatever -- is a tomato's mortal enemy, its murderer of flavor, its slayer of scent. Ever wonder why the flesh of a tomato is mealy? Blame the idiot who stores it somewhere with arctic air. 

Not all restaurants are guilty of tomato slaughter, including the one where I snapped the above pic. Those tomatoes, their flesh juicy, ripe and just slightly cool, had been beautifully handled. And since this is a restaurant that realizes that every terrific tomato goes even better with burrata, there's a generous blot of that, too.

True, it's only Wednesday, but so far, this is the best dish I've had all week. Can you guess the kitchen that made me moan?


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