There Only One Right Way to Eat a Tomato
The tomato is a finicky thing. Mammoth Food Conglomerates presently can’t seem to hereditarily change the organic product (indeed, natural product) with the goal that customers can appreciate the enormous, splendid kinds of delicious pinnacle season summer tomatoes lasting through the year.
What’s more, really, that is the thing that I adore about tomatoes: that they’re extremely just delightful during pre-fall. The expectation of the period, also the failure of market tomatoes some other season, assembles excitement.
At that point, when pinnacle tomato season strikes, so too extravagant cooking magazines with all their ridiculous approaches to “best” appreciate new tomatoes.
I have, previously, surrendered to a portion of these elective tomato-arrangement techniques, which have included however have not been restricted to blending tomatoes with toasted cumin seeds, slathering mayo on cut tomatoes, making a tomato “tartare,” pureeing tomatoes into gazpacho, searing tomatoes, preparing tomatoes, slow-cooking tomatoes, flame broiling tomatoes, marinated tomatoes, dish roasting cherry tomatoes, and (once, stupidly) spending a super-hot day in a minor, inadequately ventilated kitchen working for a considerable length of time over tomato sauce.
A portion of these approaches to eating tomatoes were great; some were extraordinary. Yet, none contrasted the one right route with eating a tomato, which can be abridged in three basic advances.
Step #1: Pick the tomato.
Not from the market. Not from the ranchers’ market. From the vine—a vine that developed forward from a tomato starter you planted in the dirt of your patio or entryway patio or emergency exit, for all you city people.
Since no tomato is luring as the one you’ve tended to and observed gradually age. No tomato is as new. No tomato resembles your tomato.
Step #2: Eat with your eyes shut.
This isn’t a sustenance minute to be imparted to a TV or a cell phone or other individuals who might doubtlessly take more than a lot of your tomato greatness.
This is nourishment minute that you’ve calmly anticipated and has the right to be delighted in the entirety of its exotic nature.
I pledge to you, however, I realize you are distrustful, that a well-salted crisp pinnacle season tomato is more tasty with your eyes shut than it is with your eyes open.
Eyes shut, you are progressively mindful of how the salt opens the common sugars in the tomato, and how that blend about detonates on your tongue. Eyes shut, you can all the more likely hear the salt precious stones smash against your teeth. Eyes shut, and in case you’re giving close enough consideration, you can even smell the verdant leftovers of the vine floating from the skin of the organic product.
You’ve sat tight for this. You’ve earned it. Presently hold onto this minute for everything it has.