Is anyone indifferent to the tomato? Ask someone how they feel about cucumbers or celery, venerable as they are, and you elicit shrugs or mumblings of "they're okay." But tomatoes? Everyone has a loud opinion. My own love affair with the fruit (that's right, people, FRUIT--but more on that later) had rocky beginnings. My maternal grandparents hailed from central Virginia where they grew beautiful tomatoes, that, alas, I came to love later in life than I care to admit. I have strong childhood memories of being forced to eat tomatoes in my grandparents' home against my violent and heartfelt protestations. Someone discovered that I could tolerate them sliced with a little sugar sprinkled on top, and a healthy dose of spin doctoring, as a sort of dessert before dessert. As I grew older and my family moved to Florida where my father grew the biggest, juiciest Beefsteaks I have tasted to date, a personal epiphany occurred and tomatoes took their rightful place in the pantheon of food deities in my world: right next to Silver Queen corn, snaps (Virginia-based terminology for green beans because of the sound made when snapping off the ends) and eggplant, which my mother sliced and fried to total perfection. It turns out that my own twisting and turning journey towards true love of all things tomato reflects that of this most controversial of fruits to embracement by world culture at large. The tomato has had a long, rich history of simultaneous adulation--the French once called it pomme d'amour--and vilification: the latest incarnation being, of course, its central role in the salmonella scare that has swept the country this spring. Through no fault of its own, the tomato has become the central target in a public relations nightmare. It is my intention here to do my part to help restore the reputation of the tomato and urge us all to cherish this maligned beauty in time for the new summer crop.

First, a word or two about tomatogate: the infected tomatoes of late seem to hail from Mexico or Florida where the earliest tomatoes of the season are harvested and brought to market. Dubious agricultural practices and not the inherent, nutritional and otherwise, value of the tomato itself are to blame for the issue at hand (to mangle Shakespeare: the fault, dear Brutus, is not in our tomatoes, but in ourselves). Rest assured that the tomatoes served in our restaurant adhere to the FDA guidelines for safety and should be enjoyed with the gusto that tomato season properly invokes. (For further information on infected tomatoes, refer to the FDA website at www.fda.gov). The bottom line? Humans' fooling around with Nature is a tricky business which must be approached with great intelligence and carefulness.

The very origin of the Latin name for tomato, lycopersicon esculentum, which roughly translates to "edible wolf-peach," reflects its perceived contradictory nature. "Peach" invokes logical images of luscious summery opulence and "wolf" refers perhaps to an erroneous third-century association with poisonous fruits used to eradicate pesky wolves in Greece. There are also historical links to Germanic witchery in which relatives of the tomato (in the nightshade family) were used to attract werewolves. The fact that, over time, the very same fruit was thought to have qualities that both attract and repel lupine creatures real or imaginary supports the contention that the tomato is no ordinary shopping list item. An entire mythos has developed around the tomato over the centuries that continues today (including an extremely biased website devoted to the premise that Tomatoes are Evil--presumably presented as a tongue-in-cheek exercise but regarding tomatoes one can never be certain. You can judge for yourself at tomatoesareevil.com.)

The most continuously contested aspect of the tomato throughout history is the veracity of its very identity as a fruit. It supplies all of the criteria required thereof yet still "passes" as a vegetable. In the 1890's the Supreme Court actually admitted that the tomato is indeed a fruit but eventually ruled that because it was thought of by the commoner as a vegetable it was taxable as such. (Imagine the Supreme Court discarding truth in order to satisfy personal beliefs over facts...wait a minute, this is starting to sound vaguely familiar...) At any rate, in these times when genetic identity is such a hot button issue, the fact that there hasn't been an uprising by a group called "Tomatoes are Fruits, too" is astonishing. What does it say about ourselves, and not the tomato in question, that we cannot admit to its fruit status? Is it because it doesn't "act" like a fruit? It doesn't fit the stereotype we've created for it? Wake up, everybody! Are we so small-minded? Ask the next botanist you meet. TOMATOES ARE FRUITS. Let's move on.

The origin of tomatoes has most often been traced to western South America but they were first cultivated for consumption much further north in Central America by the Aztecs and the Incas--obviously forward thinking people. Cortez took them back to Europe where uptight northern Europeans associated them with deadly nightshade, more poetically referred to as belladonna, and avoided them as food. They were lovely to look at, but only the more adventurous Italians caught on to their real worth: as delectable and versatile consumables to be revered rather than reviled. Italians eventually brought them to the United States and because of their presence, pizza came to New York. If the causation of the advent of New York pizza doesn't permanently speak to the inherent worthiness of the tomato, nothing ever will. Argument over.

Tomatoes weren't first enjoyed in this country until after we won our independence. Thomas Jefferson, visionary extraordinaire, was an early grower and promoter. New Orleans was the first big city to embrace them in its cuisine (influenced by the French in this instance) after 1812. They slowly moved north and by the twentieth century became indispensable in regard to the national menu. What is it about tomatoes that make them slow to fall in love with but once you do, you're a lifer? Do plants have personalities?

Wiser folks than myself have told me that when growing tomatoes, as I dutifully do each year in Brooklyn, to make them struggle. They like that. They don't crave to be coddled; rather, they thrive with a little deprivation. If they are overwatered, they become soft and rotten. When made to beg for a drink, however, they become robust and flavorful. They want to earn their way in the world. It makes sense that the riches that tomatoes provide aren't easily won. Nature gives us a life-lesson here: hard work is rewarded. Tomatoes are irascible, though. They're not cheerful, mindless drones when it comes to work; they are curmudgeonly and need to be given space and trust. If they perceive in any way that they are not trusted, they'll turn on you. I should know, because, although I have said that I grow tomatoes every year, I never said I grow them well. Tomato growing for me has been a stumbling effort more than a walk in the park. On any given weekend afternoon in summer, I may be spied watering and muttering and shaking my head and finally impugning the heavens to please, this time, please give me a bumper crop. Nevertheless, usually what is offered are a few perfect, though smaller than my father's, unbelievably sweet and savory delicacies each year. Worth it? Apparently. Either that or I'm a depraved masochist--probably a perfect personality trait to have in order to develop an obsession for such a complex, difficult and eventually rewarding thing as a tomato.

If you love tomatoes, keep loving them. Don't let recent agricultural blunders sway you from expressing your appreciation. If you don't love tomatoes, why not? Surely, Thomas Jefferson, the ancient Aztecs and Dom DeMarco of Avenue J (the Leonardo Da Vinci of New York pizza) can't all be wrong. Speaking of Leonardo, it is baffling to contemplate that one of the world's most famous vegetarians almost certainly never ate a tomato. How sad is that? So the next time you're gobbling up summer's most precious bounty, with the juice running down your grateful chin, remember Leonardo. He would have loved the chance.

Tomato-Bread Soup
Serves 6-8

For the soup
2 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil
2 medium onions, small dice
5 garlic cloves, thinly sliced
2 15.5-ounce cans whole, peeled tomatoes, squeezed and drained
2 quarts Chicken stock
1/2 pound Parmesan rind
2 tablespoons parsley, chopped
2 tablespoons basil, chopped

In a soup pot, heat olive oil over medium heat. Add the onion and garlic and cook until softened but not browned, approximately 20 minutes. Add the tomato, chicken stock, and Parmesan rind. Simmer on low heat approximately 60-75 minutes.

For the croutons
1/2 pound day-old bread, cut into 1-inch cubes
1/2 cup Extra-Virgin olive oil
3 garlic cloves, sliced
Salt and pepper to taste

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. In a large mixing bowl, toss the bread cubes, olive oil, garlic, salt and pepper and mix well. Arrange on a cookie sheet and bake for approximately 12 minutes or until golden brown.

To serve
Place a handful of croutons in a pre-heated soup bowl and cover with soup. Garnish with Parmesan and fresh herbs.


Fried green zebra tomatoes and portuguese sardines
Serves 4

Ingredients
1-tablespoon canola oil.
1/2 cup cornmeal
pinch of salt
pinch of pepper
1/4 teaspoon cayenne pepper
1/2 cup all-purpose flour
2 eggs
2 green zebra tomatoes, sliced 1/4" thick
1/2 small red onion, diced
1 jalapeno, minced
1-tablespoon cilantro, chopped
juice of one cucumber
juice of one lime
8 sardines, filleted
micro greens, optional

Preparation
Place the flour in a bowl. Place the eggs in another bowl and mix well. Mix the cornmeal, salt, pepper and cayenne in a small bowl. Dredge the tomato slices by dipping in the flour, then the egg, and finally the seasoned cornmeal.

In sauté pan, heat the canola oil and cook tomatoes until golden on both sides, about two minutes per side. Reserve warm.

Combine the onion, jalapeno, cilantro, cucumber juice and lime juice in a bowl and mix well. Set aside.

Heat a small tabletop grill or a non-stick pan. Lightly coat with olive oil. Season the sardine filets with salt and pepper and grill until golden, only a minute or two?

Divide the tomatoes among four small serving bowls, top with the salsa and lay two filets on top. Garnish with micro greens and serve immediately.


Gazpacho

3 ripe yellow beefsteak tomatoes
2 ripe red beefsteak tomatoes
2 shallots
2 cucumbers
2 garlic cloves
1 tomatillo
1 yellow pepper
2 green peppers
1/2 bunch cilantro
1/2 bunch parsley
1/4 cup sherry vinegar
1 pint fresh tomato juice
Salt
Pepper
Tobasco

Rough chop all ingredients and mix together
Season w/ salt, pepper, and tobasco
Add all liquids and marinate for at least 2-3 hours, preferably 8 hours
Puree in a blender or processor to desired consistency
If necessary, thin with water

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