夏季最美味蔬菜：番茄還是玉米？

At first you think, no contest. Surely not even tomato’s botanical status as a fruit could disqualify it from the title of Greatest Summer Vegetable. A tomato is summer: gorged with sun, ridiculously voluptuous, drunk on stillness and time.

起初你會(huì)想，這沒(méi)什么可比的。就連番茄在植物學(xué)上的水果屬性，都動(dòng)搖不了它“夏季最佳蔬菜”的稱號(hào)。番茄就是夏天：貪婪地吸收陽(yáng)光，飽滿得出奇，沉醉在寧?kù)o和時(shí)間之中。

Its heft in the hand is a promise. It has grown fat from a life of leisure; maybe you could, too. Its skin catches the light like a balloon’s. Cut it open, and there’s a sigh. Inside are shadowy crevices, hoards of juice. You half eat, half drink it.

掂在手里的重量就是保證。在悠閑的一生中它變得豐滿厚實(shí)，或許你也可以這樣。它的表皮像氣球一樣發(fā)亮。切開，你會(huì)感嘆。迂回的裂縫內(nèi)聚藏著汁水，你得一半吃，一半喝。

But — it feels like sacrilege to confess — I like tomatoes best in winter, whole San Marzanos from Italy in a can, their stores of sunshine breaking down into warm ragù. They bring a memory of brightness to the long dark.

這感覺(jué)像是個(gè)不敬的坦白——但我最喜歡冬天的番茄，一整罐意大利圣瑪扎諾(San Marzanos)番茄。它們貯藏的陽(yáng)光會(huì)滲入溫暖的肉醬之中，為漫長(zhǎng)的黑夜帶來(lái)明亮的記憶。

Corn I eat only in summer. I have to wait for it, which makes me want it more. It is a communal waiting, family and friends scanning the farmers’ market and reporting back, “Not yet.” Then the first ears appear, plucked golden from the pot, followed by contemplative crunching and a slight shaking of heads. Not yet.

我只在夏天吃玉米。我必須等待，而等待讓我更加渴望。這是一個(gè)集體性等待。家人和朋友會(huì)巡視一圈農(nóng)貿(mào)市場(chǎng)，再報(bào)告一句“時(shí)機(jī)未到”。然后第一抽玉米穗冒了出來(lái)，待到金黃從盆中拔出，沉思著大嚼特嚼之后，輕輕搖頭。時(shí)機(jī)未到。

Patience is required, a surrender to the season. As the days pass, each haul is a little less stiff, a little juicier. And finally there is the corn I dream of all year, tasting of earth and sun as if the two could never be parted. Eating it is an animal business, all hands and teeth, mowing down the kernels row by row.

耐心是需要的，要向季節(jié)投降。時(shí)間一天天過(guò)去，每一次采購(gòu)回來(lái)的都少了一些生硬，多了一些汁水。最終，我等來(lái)了盼了一年的玉米，口中泥土和陽(yáng)光的味道似乎兩者永不會(huì)分離。吃玉米是一件非常野蠻的事情，雙手并用，還要嘴啃，一排一排地收割顆粒。

But there’s more to it than the devouring. One night as I debated with my husband (a tomato partisan), my 9-year-old daughter held up her hand. “Corn,” she said firmly. “Because it’s something you do together.”

但吃玉米不止在于享用。一天晚上，當(dāng)我在與丈夫(番茄黨)爭(zhēng)辯時(shí)，九歲的女兒舉起了手。“玉米，”她堅(jiān)定地說(shuō)。“因?yàn)檫@是要一起去做的事。”

I had forgotten the ceremony of shucking, husks falling to the floor like shrugged-off coats, strands of silk everywhere. Ice chimes in glasses, and smoke storms off the grill. No one is in a hurry for dinner, and when it comes, some of the most sophisticated people I know lunge across the table to roll their corn right through the stick of butter.

我都忘了剝玉米皮的儀式。掉在地上的外皮像是扭身脫掉的外套，穗絲滿地。冰塊在玻璃杯里作響，煙霧在烤架上繚繞。沒(méi)人著急吃晚餐。而到了吃晚餐的時(shí)候，我認(rèn)識(shí)的那些最有修養(yǎng)的人都沖到了餐桌的另一邊，直接用玉米在黃油棒上滾過(guò)一圈。

It’s summer, and there are no more rules. School’s out. Forever.

現(xiàn)在是夏天，不再有什么規(guī)矩。學(xué)校放假了。徹底放假了。