Ode to Tomatoes

xx
The street
filled with tomatoes
midday,
summer,
light is
halved
like
a
tomato,
its juice
runs
through the streets.
In December,
unabated,
the tomato
invades
the kitchen,
it enters at lunchtime,
takes
its ease
on countertops,
among glasses,
butter dishes,
blue saltcellars.
It sheds
its own light,
benign majesty.
Unfortunately, we must
murder it:
the knife
sinks
into living flesh,
red
viscera,
a cool
sun,
profound,
inexhausible,
populates the salads
of Chile,
happily, it is wed
to the clear onion,
and to celebrate the union
we
pour
oil,
essential
child of the olive,
onto its halved hemispheres,
pepper
adds
its fragrance,
salt, its magnetism;
it is the wedding
of the day,
parsley
hoists
its flag,
potatoes
bubble vigorously,
the aroma
of the roast
knocks
at the door,
it's time!
come on!
and, on
the table, at the midpoint
of summer,
the tomato,
star of earth,
recurrent
and fertile
star,
displays
its convolutions,
its canals,
its remarkable amplitude
and abundance,
no pit,
no husk,
no leaves or thorns,
the tomato offers
its gift
of fiery color
and cool completeness.

-- Pablo Neruda, Ode to Tomatoes



The other day I ate my first home grown tomato of this Summer. I excitedly watched it achieve deeper and deeper shades of red for several weeks, until it was clear that its juicy bounty would hold no longer. It had a rustic look, all stretched at the top; humbly declaring its homegrown status. It was beautiful. I ate half of it sliced up on a piece of ricotta slathered sourdough bread, topped with purple and green basil (from my kitchen bench plants) and scattered with Maldon sea salt. It was so surprisingly, almost obnoxiously delicious that I ate the remaining half exactly as it was. No salt, no nuthin'.



To be honest, I didn't really expect it to taste that good. For me it was encouraging enough just to actually grow the whole thing. Australian wisdom has it that a tomato ripened before Christmas is a major achievement, signaling good fortune in the year to come (or so I like to imagine). It also meant that I beat my mother and brother in the official tomato race of 2009-10, which made me feel plenty smug already. But when I ate this glorious fruit, all the sentiments of Neruda's gushy poem came to life. It was a truly celebratory moment, and I can't wait for the next one to ripen (which should be very soon!). There are 15 tomato plants of various varieties all thriving in my garden, so hopefully it will be a summer of tomatoey abundance! If you've never grown tomatoes before, you should give it a try. With sufficient sunlight (which an Australian summer should amply provide), they're incredibly easy to nurture, and the fruit they produce is infinitely more delicious and deeply flavoured than even the best store bought equivalents.


NB. If you've been keenly following my gardening pursuits (and who hasn't?), you'll want to know that this wasn't from the plant I grew from seed and posted about back in October. These are still rather small, but, much to my motherly pride, thriving:


The subject of this post came from a rather mature plant I found hidden at the back of a shelf in a garden shop for $2. I'm not sure what variety it is, but judging by its meaty goodness, I'd say possibly a beef or oxheart. Definitely a winner.