I need a good recipe for tomato basil soup, though, because one of these days the tomato supply will engulf us if I don't do a really tomato-intensive recipe. Our Romas are huge. They're nearly the size of my hand (and still that funny elongated shape). I thought they were some exotic variety timprov's mom had passed along, but they're not, they're just Romas out of control. (We have black plum tomatoes to take the place of what I thought Romas would be, though, so we're still not short on any particular size of tomatoes.) Every day I go out and pick more tomatoes, and every day we eat some but not as many as I brought in. Giving them away has worked so far, and I'd rather make soup (which can be frozen, so it doesn't matter if there's too much of it) than throw away tomatoes or give them to the gophers.
I discuss Minnesota-speak with various people, and the conversation has circled back around to "not okay" again. This seems to be a point of contention or at least curiosity with the rest of you. Look: some things are just not okay. No matter what you do to them, they will not become okay. Because they're just not. Not even sort of okay. Certainly not as good as "could be worse." We're Minnesotans; we don't find it necessary to declare which circle of hell the item, behavior, or person will be consigned to. Once something is not okay, it's, well, not. Okay, I mean.
I don't really see what more condemnation is needed. If I did something and timprov said, "Oh, no, that is not okay," I would be abashed, and while he might need to discuss in more detail what was not okay, or why it was not okay, further descriptions of its degree of not-okayness are irrelevant, as the subject has been covered: not okay. Okay?
On the other hand, "pretty okay," well, that's really something. If I make you dinner and you declare it "pretty okay," you will probably get that meal again sometime. "Pretty okay" is much better than "okay." Okay? Okay.