You want bread still striped from the grill, tomatoes in their own juice pooling in the crumb, oil shining, basil torn not cut. While the toast is hot you rub a halved garlic clove over it — the heat wakes the garlic and the bread drinks it in. That pooling is the whole point.
The tomato version belongs to Lazio, Tuscany and Umbria when the fruit is actually ripe. Bruschetta is simply the old central Italian word for toasting over coals. The rest of the year it is bread, oil and a clove, which is no lesser thing.
Eat it standing, at once. The bread has a short life once the juices arrive. Salt at the table if the tomatoes need it; they often do.
Method
- 01
Dice those tomatoes and toss them with the minced garlic, torn basil, a generous pour of oil, and a pinch of salt. Give them a good mix with your hands so every piece is shining. Then let the bowl sit for ten minutes — the salt will draw out the juices, and those juices are half the pleasure of the thing. You want a little puddle at the bottom.
- 02
Get a grill pan or the broiler roaring hot and lay the bread on it. You want both sides striped and the edges just beginning to crisp — listen for a little crackle when you tap the crust. Don't walk away; bread goes from perfect to charcoal in a blink. When it's done, the crumb should still have a bit of give.
- 03
While the toast is still hot enough to take it, take your halved garlic clove and rub the cut face over the surface. You'll feel it grate into the crumb like a little nutmeg grater — that's exactly what you want. The heat wakes the garlic and the bread drinks it in. Don't be shy; a faint scent is not enough.
- 04
Spoon the tomatoes over the toast, juices and all — that pooling in the crumb is the whole point of bruschetta. Don't pile so high the bread drowns; a generous layer is plenty. Get it to the table at once, while the toast still crackles under the fruit. Salt at the table if the tomatoes need it, and they often do.
