The Ecstasy of Homegrown Tomatoes

If you eat a tomato out of season — well —you’re eating an imposter.

Let’s just get this out of the way.

I am a tomato snob. Some people are snobs about wine, or the postal code they live in or where they buy their shoes.

My area of snobbism is simple and earthy. I only eat local tomatoes in season, which here in Canada, means August to early October. It’s a small but worthy window. And when I say local, it means they are from my little raised gardens, although I love farmer’s markets too.

If you see me eating homegrown tomatoes later in the season when frost is threatening, it means they have been stored in my garage or lined up on a window sill, or they are nested in a box under a bed. In other words, my home has been joyfully overrun with tomato fever.

Folk singer, Guy Clark, sings it best,

“There’s only two things that money can't buy — and that’s true love and homegrown tomatoes.”

I had a lucky childhood filled with the freedom to ride my bike wherever I wanted; my sister and I came home for supper when the light changed in the sky, and my mother had a huge garden filled with tonnes of gorgeous vegetables.

I was a quirky kid who looked forward to the arrival of each vegetable but the one that made me the happiest? Homegrown tomatoes. Because eating a homegrown tomato is like eating sunshine.

I think they are best eaten slurped out of your hand while standing in the middle of the garden. My dad has them sliced on toast for breakfast. He’ll actually wait until the tomato has achieved the perfect shade of red. I’m a member of that club too.

You’re a true lover of homegrown tomatoes if you see that a slug has eaten part of your tomato and you shrug and cut the slimy section off — and then you eat the rest on a piece of white bread with mayo, salt, and pepper.

Homegrown tomatoes are also delicious when sliced and served simply, with four or five baby bocconcini (buffalo mozzarella) sliced into dense white moons, a drizzle of good balsamic vinegar and a few glugs of olive oil, a sprinkle of flaky sea salt and don’t forget a handful of roughly chopped basil sprinkled generously on top. (You get more points if you grew the basil or stole it from your mother’s garden.)

Just in case you’re getting persnickety, remember, I’m not the only one who thinks like this. Homegrown tomatoes have been adored by peasants and royalty alike.

Tomatoes originated in South America and have been loved and enjoyed there for thousands of years. In Europe — the Italians are well known for their love of tomatoes. My Czech cabbage rolls wouldn’t be the same without the deep rich flavor that tomatoes bring to the party.

But I can never travel to Spain during their La Tomatina celebration which is the world’s largest tomato fight. I couldn’t stand seeing thousands of wasted tomatoes. It would make my heart hurt.

I judge people who buy tomatoes out of season. They need tomato therapy.

In the middle of winter, I often see people buying sad tomatoes at the grocery store. These tomatoes come from Chile, Mexico or California and they have been shipped thousands of miles to your dinner plate. They were picked green, gassed with ethylene so they ripen and won’t rot. And then horror of horrors — they are refrigerated. I call it the Attack of the Killer Tomatoes.

All these factors destroy the taste and texture of what a tomato should taste like.

What you buy in a store for most of the year is an idea of a tomato. Unless you live in an area where the tomatoes are in season — you are buying an over-priced imposter.

Tomatoes that are picked green. Gassed. Kept in cold storage. Shipped long distances. WTF.

If you find yourself tempted by the false promise of tangy delight in the middle of winter — read the sticker so you can where the imposter tomato came from. There’s a reason it is a tiny sticker with itty bitty print.

Do they sound like the fresh, delicious, nutritious and local tomatoes that you hope to feed your family?

Remember these three rules:

When do you pick your local green tomato? Only when you know it is going to freeze outside tomorrow.

When do you ripen a tomato with gas? Never. You let it take its sweet time.

When do you put a tomato in the fridge? Hell has to freeze over first.

I gave up on store-bought tomatoes years ago when it finally clicked why in winter and spring I never wanted a tomato on my burger, or on the side with my breakfast at a restaurant and definitely not in a salad.

Some people thought I hated tomatoes. Boy, were they wrong. What I hate is an imposter served out of season. They are always mushy or hard; mealy, tough-skinned and flavorless. If I want color in my salad I’ll grate some damn carrots into it instead.

So what do I do for the other 9 months of the year when I can’t grow and harvest my own tomatoes?

First, I will do everything I can to extend their season. I keep the tomatoes on their stems and baby them in a few cardboard boxes in my garage, with a blanket or two to keep them snug and still ripening until the first week of November. Which in Canada, is a freaking miracle.

During the winter, I eat the ones I canned in jars with a little salt and sugar and a basil leaf. I also freeze them whole after pouring boiling water on them to remove their skins and I use them in chili, soups, and sauce. I eat both the red and green ones in my grandmother’s famous pickle/relish.

I make roasted tomato soup from the ones I roasted with olive oil and salt and then froze just for that purpose. Because eating roasted tomato soup accompanied by a grilled cheese sandwich on a cold, blustery day in February is a sweet experience. And it keeps you hopeful for your next harvest.

For the record, I have no shame in buying good canned tomatoes from my grocery store as I know they were processed at the height of their flavor. But they still don’t hold a candle to a homegrown tomato, one that you planted and nurtured and watched grow from a little yellow flower into its full tomatoey self.

“It’s difficult to think anything but pleasant thoughts while eating a homegrown tomato.” — Lewis Grizzard

So take that. I’m not alone.

And you can’t argue with Mr. Grizzard’s logic of pleasant tomato thoughts. Just think how much kinder the world would be if everyone could eat a local homegrown tomato. Wars would end. People wouldn’t litter.

It might be a good idea for all of us to become homegrown tomato snobs.