Everyone who knows me even somewhat closely has, in the last few years, had to listen to me gush about how much I love participating in a farm share program. In winter, I pay a sizeable (but reasonable for what I get) quantity of money to a local farm to help fund their seeds and such. Then, starting in spring, every week I drive 20 minutes to that farm and am handed a big box of whatever the heck they happen to be harvesting at the time.
Fresh, local produce rules. It’s encouraged me to expand my cooking repertoire and try new foods, and I generally think everything I get tastes noticeably better than out-of-season nonsense from the big grocery store. I’ve had some of the best apples of my life this way, learned and loved the humble pawpaw fruit, and developed a begrudging respect for most greens (I still can’t get onboard with kale).
Also, tomatoes. Tomatoes! Did you know homegrown (or, well, grown at a small farm 20 minutes from home) tomatoes are…delicious?
Now, I’ve disliked tomatoes for most of my life. Watery and bland on their own, or sometimes sour or mushy and unpleasant. I avoided them if at all possible. I’ve made my views on ketchup clear elsewhere. Pasta sauce is tolerable if made well, but fresh tomatoes? Get those right out of here.
Well, what I’ve discovered from this farm share is that when you eat tomatoes fresh and in-season within spitting distance of where they’ve been grown, they’re incredible. Sure, it’s only for a few months each year, but wow! Juicy, tangy, even a little umami going on? I slice ’em and fry ’em on a cast iron and sprinkle ’em with a little Maldon seasoning salt. I toss ’em on a grilled cheese sandwich for a bit of an acidic punch. When I get lots, I cook them down into incredible pasta sauce or oven roast them with a little olive oil and mash them into salsa with some of the peppers that usually show up in the share alongside them. There are big, fat tomatoes for slicing and putting on burgers, and little grape-sized ones I can just pop in my mouth with no prep needed.
Oh, God, and if you manage to get one fresh? Right off the vine? Sun-warmed? Holy tomato, guys, what a dream!
Homegrown tomatoes! Homegrown tomatoes!
Why are we talking about tomatoes today? Well, this morning, I heard this song on the radio:
Well, you can go out to eat and that’s for sure
But it’s nothin’ a homegrown tomato won’t cure
Put ’em in a salad, put ’em in a stew
You can make your very own tomato juice
You can eat ’em with eggs, you can eat ’em with gravy
Eat ’em with beans, pinto or navy
Put ’em on the side, put ’em in the middle
Put a homegrown tomato on a hotcake griddle
This guy gets it! I can’t believe I’ve never heard this song before! “Homegrown Tomatoes” is by country singer Guy Clark, apparently one of his better-known songs, which makes it all the more embarrassing for me that I hadn’t known about it. I spend most of my time listening to sad-girl indie songs about yearning and when-will-my-husband-return-from-the-war, so the idea that you can spend a whole song rightfully extolling the virtues of the homegrown tomato has me just elated. Did you all know that you can just do that? Are there more excellent, wholesome songs about the general deliciousness of food items out there that I can listen to?
We’re unfortunately approaching the very tail end of tomato season, and I’m seeing fewer and fewer of them in my farm share each week. There were none in the most recent pick-up. It might be over. The tomato in the photo up top is the last one I have from two shares ago. I’m not even out and I miss them already.
What shall I do with this last homegrown tomato? There is, according to the very wise Guy Clark, no wrong answer:
Homegrown tomatoes, homegrown tomatoes
What’d life be without homegrown tomatoes?
Only two things that money can’t buy
And that’s true love and homegrown tomatoes
Have a lovely weekend, everyone! I hope you get to try a homegrown tomato yourself before it gets too cold for them. It’ll be a long, long winter without homegrown tomatoes, but they’ll come back again next year. They always do.
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