The BLT is American democracy on bread. It asks nothing of you except that you respect its three principals: bacon rendered properly crisp, tomatoes at their absolute peak, and lettuce that still has the cold crunch of the refrigerator in it. Get those right and you've got a sandwich that rivals anything coming out of a white-tablecloth kitchen.

I've eaten BLTs in every state of the union, from roadside diners to country club verandas, and the difference between forgettable and transcendent always comes down to the tomato. This is not a February sandwich. This is an August sandwich, built around heirlooms so ripe they threaten to fall apart when you slice them. Those juice-heavy, imperfect specimens with cracks in their shoulders and colors ranging from deep burgundy to sunset yellow. They exist for perhaps six weeks each year. Honor them.

The basil aioli is my concession to gilding the lily. Some purists will insist on mayonnaise straight from the jar, and I respect that position. But fresh basil pounded into a homemade aioli transforms this sandwich into something you'd serve at a dinner party without apology. It bridges summer's tomatoes with summer's herbs in a way that feels inevitable once you've tasted it.

Make this sandwich when the farmers market overwhelms you with tomatoes. Make it for a Saturday lunch on the porch with cold beer. Make it for friends gathered around your kitchen island. Just make it while the season lasts.