Seattle 78, or Tomatillos

Ilana brings in the haul of tomatillos from the garden - two mixing bowls, filled over the top with tiny green balls in papery skins. She leaves them on the table with an invisible note. I imagine the note says something like this, "I grew these things from six seeds sprouting on the windowsill at our old house, and now they've taken over the garden and y'all had better do something with them."

I knock on her door. "Has someone claimed the tomatillos yet?"
She answers, "Sergey was planning to make salsa tonight."

I head out to the store, buy bunches of cilantro, a bag of limes. Garlic, we have. Sergey has a jar of habanero peppers. That's pretty much all you need.

Sergey and I start by ourselves in the kitchen, peeling, washing, chopping. We listen to music from all over the world, talk about life, kibbutz politics. Faced with far more tomatillos than I can imagine, I throw a panful in the oven to roast. I make the first batch - a rich, verdant green, thick with cilantro, and spicy.

Ilana comes in. She and Sergey light each other up - they get silly, comical, talking in thick Slavic accents and making jokes. I love hanging around them. The next batch goes in, similar to the first, but spicier. Ilana takes the roasted batch out of the oven, spears one juicy, pale green fruit with a fork and chews thoughtfully. They taste almost like apples, very sour, soft apples.

Deb comes home to find us all in the kitchen, and is delighted. She breaks out a bottle of cider, and we toast twice, three times, our togetherness, our jars of salsa lining up on the counter. She's got chips, too, so we pour some salsa in a bowl and dig in. For the next hour, we sing along with the blender, pure nonsense, laugh nonstop, and eat. At the end of the night, we have six jars - about seven pints, all around - lined up on the counter, in different shades of green. Some cooked, some raw, some with cilantro, some without. We've laughed enough to fill barrels.

(This isn't the best piece I've ever written here, but I just wanted to get this night down - when things are going to change dramatically in just two months, and then again, in another six - I want to have this in my back pocket.)