Two Years & Gazpacho

John and I recently went to New Jersey to visit friends and found ourselves in Long Branch at the beach. I love going to the beach off season -- cool sea breezes with that amazing ocean air and not a lot of people around.

We walked the boardwalk with our friends and their baby. I told John if this community weren't a zillion miles away from NYC, I'd beg him to move there.

As we were walking, I spotted a green awning that served as the roof for... a farmers market. Hooray!

We made our way over. It was small, but full of brightly colored fruits and vegetables. Add in the smell of the earth from the veggies and the salt from the sea, I was in sheer heaven.

I wanted to buy everything, but what stood out were the most incredible heirloom tomatoes. Huge, crazy-shaped, edible objects that looked more like art than food.

John yelled out, "Gazpacho!"

"Yes!" I shouted back as everyone stared at me.

The first time I ever had gazpacho was at John's parents' house. His mom made this amazing cold soup concotion that had chunks of tomatoes, peppers and cucumbers, fresh from his brother's garden. It was almost like a salad.

I tried to make it once. Mine was turned out more like salsa. I watched John eat it.

"How do you like it?"

"It's good," he replied.

"Does it taste like your mom's?"

"Uh... It's different."

I learned early on never try to re-create a recipe that his mom makes perfectly...you won't win.

This year I had found another gazpacho recipe from Mariel Hemingway's cookbook. I'd wanted to try it but was afraid to. This was the perfect opportunity. If it turned out well, then I could claim it as my own. And with these gorgeous tomatoes, I knew this was going to be special.

I pulled out our reusable bag and carefully chose my favorite ones, trying not to go overboard since heirlooms are not only known for their big shapes but their big pricetags.

Heirlooms at the farmers market in our neighborhood are $9 a pound!

I asked the owner the price and braced myself for impact.

"$2 a pound."

Was this possible? Without asking again, John and I immediately began putting more in the bag.

We gathered a few more items like cucumbers and peppers. Cucumbers...three for $1! My itch for wanting to move there got stronger.

We got home and I carefully removed each tomato from the bag and began making the gazpacho.

I took the first tomato and make the cut. The colors inside were even more spectacular than the color outside! Yellow, orange, red!

I couldn't wait to try it. My concoction!

This recipe was chunkier than the last time, yet soupier than John's mother's. The coloring was different, too. Less red and more... brownish red. Or reddish brown. No...it didn't look gross!

Once again, I watched John taste it. My nerves were on edge. He swallowed the first spoonful and I looked for a wrinkled nose or slight smile.

Silence.

"Wow!"

Phew!

"You like it?"

"Oh my God! This is incredible!"

Hooray! Success!!

"It's completely different from my mom's."

Uh oh. Was that a bad thing?

"Is that a bad thing?"

"No. I love it!"

Then I tried it. I loved it too! This was definitely a keeper.

Local. Organic. Delicious. What could be better?

* * * * *

For two years I have been writing about my experiences in going green and it's been a lot like the gazpacho.

I've learned that you don't abandon an effort just because one recipe didn't work out or the ingredients didn't blend the way you thought they would. Greening your life -- like gazpacho -- can take some time to get just right. But even gazpacho that isn't quite there is still gazpacho.

Going green is not about perfection. It's about a willingness to try, to make mistakes, and to run the risk that someone might wrinkle their nose or laugh.

Even one small step can make a huge impact.

Thank you so much to all of you who have been with me from the beginning and those of who are just joining me on my journey.

To use one more gazpacho analogy, we're all in this bowl together.