Sunday afternoon I pulled the tomato plants out of the cedar beds, and by the time I'd shaken the dirt off the last one there was a five-gallon bucket on the patio two-thirds full of hard green tomatoes, with a few pink-blushed ones riding on top.
It's early to call it. First frost around here usually comes in late October. But the nights have dropped into the 50s, the plants have mostly quit ripening anything, and I wanted the beds for fall collards and garlic. Before a frost, everything still hanging comes in by the bucket, and in this house a bucket of green tomatoes means one thing.
Granny June's card for fried green tomatoes is splattered so badly you have to hold it up to the window to read it: "Slice thick as a pencil. Salt. Buttermilk, then meal. Hot grease in the black skillet. Don't crowd." There's no flour anywhere on it, and that's not an oversight.
Cornmeal, not flour
Here's the why. A green tomato slice is wet no matter how well you pat it. Flour turns to a soft paste against that moisture, and the coating goes limp and slides off in one sheet the minute you cut into it. Cornmeal is made of coarse, gritty grains that don't turn to paste. They fry up into a crust that stays crunchy and stays put. A dip in buttermilk first gives the cornmeal something to hold on to.
The other half of it is a hot skillet with room in it, and I learned that one in front of company. A few summers ago I crowded eight slices into Granny's 10-inch skillet to get them out faster, the oil temperature dropped, and the coating soaked up grease and peeled away from the tomatoes like a wet sock. Four or five slices at a time. That's what "don't crowd" means.
The remoulade is newer. Since our spring break in New Orleans, Ryan has wanted remoulade with anything fried, and over the first plate of these he said, "This is what it's for." He's right, though I'm only saying so once.
Ingredients
- 4 medium green tomatoes (about 2 pounds), firm and fully green
- 1 1/2 teaspoons kosher salt, divided
- 1 cup buttermilk
- 1 large egg
- 1 1/2 cups fine yellow cornmeal, not a mix
- 1/2 teaspoon each black pepper, garlic powder and paprika
- About 1 1/2 cups vegetable or peanut oil
- For the remoulade: 1 cup Duke's mayonnaise, 2 tablespoons Creole or whole-grain mustard, 1 tablespoon lemon juice, 1 tablespoon chopped capers or dill pickle, 1 small grated garlic clove, 1 teaspoon paprika, 2 sliced green onions and hot sauce to taste
How I make it
- Stir the remoulade together and chill it at least 30 minutes. I leave the hot sauce out and pass the bottle, for Nora's sake.
- Cut the tomatoes into 1/3-inch slices and discard the ends. Lay them on a rack, sprinkle with 1/2 teaspoon of the salt, wait 15 minutes and pat dry.
- Whisk the buttermilk and egg in a shallow dish. In another, mix the cornmeal with the remaining teaspoon of salt, the pepper, garlic powder and paprika.
- Dip each slice in the buttermilk, let the extra drip off, then press it firmly into the cornmeal on both sides. Set the slices on a rack for 10 minutes so the coating sets.
- Heat about 1/3 inch of oil in a 10-inch cast iron skillet over medium to 350°F. A pinch of cornmeal should sizzle the second it hits.
- Fry four or five slices at a time, 3 to 4 minutes per side, until deep golden and a knife tip slides into the center with just a little resistance.
- Drain on a wire rack over a sheet pan and salt them while they're hot. Paper towels trap steam underneath and soften the bottoms.
Green tomatoes keep a week or two on the counter, and the ones with a pink blush will ripen in a paper bag. The remoulade keeps about five days in the fridge. Fried slices don't hold well, but if you have to, reheat them on a rack at 400°F for about 8 minutes. No buttermilk? Stir a tablespoon of lemon juice into a cup of milk and let it sit 10 minutes.
With the tomatoes free, a skillet of these and a bowl of remoulade cost about $6. Jack, who is nine now and a stricter judge than ever, gave them an eight. My card, filed behind Granny's, says "Sept. 2026: 1/3 inch, rest 10 min on the rack, 350°F, remoulade on the side." There are still about thirty green tomatoes in that bucket. We'll be eating these until frost.
