I grew up in the South and nothing heralded the arrival of summer more than a tomato sandwich. Most of the time, we ate ours simply: a thick slice of warm-from- the-vine tomato, plain white bread, mayonnaise (sometimes Hellman’s, sometimes Duke’s), salt and pepper. Our neighbor, whom we reverentially addressed as “Miss Odetta,” replaced the mayo in her celebrated sandwiches with a thick schmear of pimento cheese and a few dashes of hot sauce. We neighborhood kids thought Miss Odetta’s sandwiches very elegant and extremely tasty—and we’d often hang around her garden on hot summer days in the hopes of snagging an invitation to lunch.
This version of a tomato sandwich hearkens back to Miss Odetta’s, but I’ve replaced the pimento cheese and Tabasco with a piquant feta spread and salsa macha, a Mexican condiment made by frying chiles in a generous amount of oil with garlic, peanuts and sesame seeds. The result is a Mediterranean- meets-Mexico-meets-Mayberry mash-up.
Any leftover feta spread makes a great topping for crackers or filling for an omelet. While pre-crumbled feta may be used, a block of it, like Narragansett Creamery’s Salty Sea Feta, crumbles easily and results in a much richer, creamier texture. If you have feta that comes in its own brine, use two teaspoons of the brine in place of lemon juice to emulsify the spread.
Bread with a close crumb, like pain de mie or a quality multigrain loaf, will keep more of those precious tomato juices in the sandwich than an open-crumbed loaf, like a sourdough, but if your heart yearns for this sandwich on some crusty sourdough, go for it!
Find salsa macha at Latin grocers or try the excellent house-made version sold by the jar at Dolores, the Meza family’s Oaxacan restaurant on Providence’s East Side. This recipe begs for improvisation: Try chevre or ricotta in place of the feta. Your schmear can be as generous or as delicate as you like. Other chili condiments, like Sichuan chili crisp, pickled Calabrian chilis, chopped banana peppers or even hot honey can fill in for the salsa macha. The only two non-negotiables are ripe (read August!), local tomatoes and a napkin (or sleeve) to wipe the juice from your chin.
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