For want of a decent windowsill I grow my tomatoes outdoors. Some in pots the width and depth of a bucket, the rest in the vegetable patch, held up with string on thick hazel poles. Tomatoes you grow for yourself are gorgeous things, rich, sweet-sharp and in every colour from sunset orange (Sungold, Auriga) to midnight black (Black Krim, Black Prince). They come in yellow and gold, pear shaped and cherry sized, as long as your finger or as fat as a grapefruit. Some dangle like bunches of grapes (Cherrybell), others intrigue us by staying emerald green even when they are drippingly ripe (Green Zebra). It's the really knobbly ones I like, those with huge folds and creases, furrows and cracks. A tomato of character.
But then there are those that just don't ripen. Those tomatoes whose prospects were good, but failed due to the sudden turn of our exceptionally long summer into a generous but nippy autumn. Look properly at them and you will see fruit that is perfect in every way except that its sweetness has yet to develop. Basically, they are edible but need a helping hand from the cook. Some heat, a little sugar, a modicum of spices maybe. Whatever they need, we can save those last fruits from a fate worst than compost.
Green tomato chutney can swing both ways, and I have eaten everything from the divine to the disgusting. Better, I think, is to make a chutney – wonderful with everything from cold ham to being stirred into a bowl of steamed rice – with a mixture of green and ripe tomatoes. The unripe fruits need longer cooking to develop their sugars, but they seem to do better with a little sweet fruit in their midst. You get a playful tangle of textures and colours and every now and again a hit of crispness. It is probably worth giving the old recipes a shake and thinking of them as a starting point rather than the be all and eat all.
If I can't ripen the last few stragglers by ripping up the entire plant and bringing it, crumbling leaves and all, into a warm and cosy place to ripen, then I will tug the unblessed ones from their vines and cook them in a thin crust of beaten egg and polenta (flour, beaten egg, fine crumbs, hot oil). The dry, yellow grain forms a crisp coating while the tomato softens. It won't colour or turn a delicious rose pink, even, but will have a sprightly note and a slight crispness to it. A pleasant change from a quiveringly ripe fruit. With a dollop of rasping garlic mayo, there are few better ways to say goodbye to another year's plants.
Chutney also makes a splendid addition to a winter stew, adding a curious warmth and subtle fruitiness than no one can ever put their finger on. But you can use the unripe tomatoes in a stew, too. Even before you have made them into chutney. At this point in the year I tuck them around pieces of chicken, zinged up with a few olives and a squeeze of lemon, and let them bake till their juices run sharp and sweet.
MIXED TOMATO CHUTNEY
I tend not to make gallons of chutney or jam or marmalade, but prefer to make smaller quantities, a couple of jars at a time. It is essential to make sure your jars are spotlessly clean. I pour boiling water into mine and let them sit for a few minutes before carefully pouring them out and allowing them to dry. Others put theirs into a warm oven for 10 minutes. This will make a couple of jam jars' worth.
900g tomatoes, mixed green and red
350g onions
90g raisins
250g light muscovado sugar
1 medium sized, hot red chilli
1 tsp salt
2 tsp yellow mustard seeds
300ml white wine vinegar
Halve the tomatoes. Put the green fruit together with the peeled and roughly chopped onions, into a large stainless- steel or enamelled pan with the raisins, sugar, chilli, salt, mustard seeds and vinegar. Bring to the boil, turn down the heat and leave to simmer for an hour, giving the occasional stir to reduce the risk of the chutney sticking. After about 25 minutes cooking, add the ripe tomatoes and continue to simmer. Then spoon into sterilized jars and seal.
BAKED CHICKEN WITH TOMATOES AND OLIVES
Using up the last of the tomatoes, both the ripe and green ones, is immensely satisfying, but the green ones do need quite a bit of cooking if they are to be worth eating. Slowly baked with the juices from the chicken, they take on the sweetness of their riper cousins. For this → ← recipe I use about one-third green tomatoes to two-thirds ripe ones.
8 large chicken thighs
the juice of a lemon
2 tbsp olive oil
12 black olives
350g tomatoes
6 plump cloves of garlic
3 large sprigs of thyme
Set the oven at 180C/gas mark 4. Rub the chicken pieces all over with salt and black pepper. Put them snugly in a roasting tin.
Pour the lemon juice and olive oil into a mixing bowl then add the olives, stoned and halved. Cut the tomatoes into quarters, unless they are very small when you can simply halve them. Peel the garlic, squash each clove with the flat side of a knife, but keep them whole. Add them to the tomatoes. Pull the leaves off the thyme sprigs and add to the tomatoes with a generous seasoning of black pepper and a little salt.
Colour the chicken lightly on both sides in a little oil over a moderate heat. The skin should be pale gold. Tip the tomato mixture over the top and bake for 45 minutes or until the tomatoes are soft and have produced plenty of juice and the chicken juices run clear when you pierce the flesh with a skewer.
Serve with rice, couscous or crusty bread to soak up the tomatoey-chickeny juices.
RASPBERRY, OATMEAL AND CREAM
Just room to squeeze in a pudding. The late raspberries are luscious this year, and never better than when served with toasted oatmeal and cream. I sometimes make this with blackberries, too, crushing the fruit very slightly with a fork so its juices run into the cream. Serves 4.
125g coarse oatmeal
80g light muscovado sugar
300ml double cream
150g raspberries
Put the oatmeal on a baking sheet and toast under a hot grill till golden. It burns easily, so watch it carefully – it shouldn't take more than a couple of minutes.
While the oats are still hot, add the sugar and stir well. In another, cool bowl, whisk the cream till it starts to thicken on the whisk. It should loosely holds its shape but not be thick enough to stand in peaks.
Crush the raspberries lightly with a fork. Gently fold the cream, oats and sugar into the raspberries. Don't overmix.
Pile into a serving bowl, or 4 individual glasses or dishes if you prefer, and chill for a good hour before serving.★
nigel.slater@observer.co.uk
