My love is like a red, red tomato

It was yesterday, as evening fell.  No it wasn’t a beefsteak yet, but it was my very own, home-grown – a cherry – plump and succulent, red and juicy…I tasted the first of my garden tomatoes.

I was so late {again} getting them in, but soon and very soon I shall be rewarded with daily intoxicating, heady, wildly delicious ripe-red tomatoes, nurtured to full-blown tastiness by the sweat of my brow and the love in my heart.

But yesterday – yes, the cherry tomato was ready.  And I, having popped the first one into my mouth, had to stop in my tracks and close my eyes and let the love linger on my tongue, so sweet, yet so tangy, sufficient in flavor to remove the memory of a thousand horrid, cheap store-bought imitation tomatoes.  This, I knew in that moment, this is what I was born to taste, my savory birthright, the marriage of all my desires and passions in one breathtaking bite.  Mmmmmmmmm……

sweet 100s

Would that I actually had the words to describe it.  I…just cannot

But I have tried.  Oh, yes – if you read me at all, you know that I have tried, I have really tried to explain the glory of the flavor of the home-grown tomato.

How do I love thee?  Let me count the ways – or at least share a handful of tomato quotes from the 8367 that I have written in this very blog:

Anytime I go missing, look here!

I’ve been standing at my kitchen counter dipping fresh, hot, crunchy-crusted, steamy-centered foccacia into flavor-infused extra virgin olive oil, and filling my mouth alternately with that and thick slices of garden beefsteak tomatoes and letting the juice drip down my face.

I consider my lunch here:

Nice thick slices of total juiciness, paired with extra-virgin-olive-oil and garlic marinated fresh mozzarella and sprinkled with sea salt.  The senses piqued, the tongue satisfied.  The heart knows: I will do this again.

Lunch time somewhere, I mentioned here

Should I even mention how amazingly sweet, yet tingly-to-the-tongue they were? No? Ok, then. The memory of the little yellow-pear tomatoes popping like taste-fire-crackers in my mouth…Ooooh, yum! Must be lunchtime somewhere, yes?

My grandchild loves them too, here

Gavin says, “I’d like a tomato, please, and the salt.”  The kid is genius, truly.  I slice a red, red beefsteak up for him and he enjoys it thoroughly.  And this is undeniable proof that he came from me.

There was the BLT for breakfast.  Except that there was no B or L – just the T!

And all I really wanted to tell you was that you should try growing your own tomatoes. You should, really. Try. And pick them just before you think they look red-red and bring them inside to become better acquainted for a day, maybe two. And don’t refrigerate – let them get sweeter and juicier and riper. You can’t hurry love.

You may quote me on this!

The tomato, ripened as God intended on the vine, is more complex and flavorful than almost any other.   With the slightest sprinking of salt on a freshly thick-cut slice, the exploding, tingling zest of life is captured on your tongue, the tangy bite melting into a powerful, full taste of the summer season.    The suggestion of  blazing  days of sun and long, warm nights are all contained in the deep red, seeded fruit.    Tart and sweet at the same time, the tomato is the iconic garden fruit, which when ripened, is  the vegetable to which all others must defer.

It is foodie passion here

I may have been shaking a little bit in anticipation of sprinkling some salt on these slices and eating them.  Because, omygoodness, they are sweet and tangy, and the juice, which tries unsuccessfully to escape my tongue and run down my face, is madly divine, the fountain of life, more potent than wine.

Ohmygosh – I love a good homegrown tomato.  It is probably my life’s most valuable work: to grow them.  And then tell you how delicious they were.  :)

You’re welcome.

1 thought on “My love is like a red, red tomato

  1. You need to try a sandwich of homemade, hand-kneaded bread, Miracle Whip, thick sliced beefsteak tomato and a little salt. It is heaven.
    Gavin is just like his daddy. When Tristan could barely walk, we had to keep an eye on the ripening tomatoes in the garden, If we didn’t, he had them picked and eaten!

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