A forgiving everyday loaf that changes with the season and the honey in your cupboard.

By late September, the tomato plants are leggy and tired, and the fruit that's left on the vine is often smaller and a little less perfect than the July harvest. But those late tomatoes have a deep, sweet flavor that's worth capturing. I don't bother with canning for this batch. Instead, I halve them, toss them with olive oil, garlic, and herbs, and roast them low and slow until they collapse into something jammy and intense. Packed into small containers and frozen, they become the backbone of winter soups, pasta sauces, and braises. It's one of the easiest ways I know to hold onto the taste of the garden.

The Oven Does the Work

I start by washing and halving the tomatoes, cutting out any tough cores or blemishes. Cherry tomatoes can stay whole. I spread them cut-side up on a rimmed baking sheet, drizzle generously with olive oil, and scatter sliced garlic, salt, pepper, and a few sprigs of thyme or oregano over the top. Sometimes I add a pinch of red pepper flakes for a little heat. The oven goes to 300 degrees, and the tray goes in. Then I wait. The tomatoes will release their juices first, then slowly dry and concentrate. Depending on their size and water content, they might take two hours or four. I check them every hour or so, turning the pan if my oven has hot spots. They're done when they're shriveled at the edges but still plump in the center, surrounded by a pool of fragrant oil.

Freezing and Using Your Roasted Tomatoes

Once the tray has cooled, I pack the tomatoes into small freezer containers, spooning some of the oil and juices over each one. A cup or two per container is a good size for a pot of soup or a pan of pasta. They'll keep for six months or more. When I'm ready to use them, I thaw a container in the fridge overnight or drop it straight into a hot pan. The roasted tomatoes are wonderful stirred into a simple garlic and olive oil sauce, folded into scrambled eggs, or spooned over a piece of fish before it goes into the oven. They also make a fine bruschetta topping, mashed lightly on toasted bread with a little ricotta. Every time I open a container in February, I'm reminded of that last warm afternoon in the garden, when the vines were done but the fruit still tasted like sunshine.