Tomato Town

Last night I had written a masterpiece.  It was one of those moments when the planets were aligned and the words came effortlessly, flowing through my nimbly typing fingers as if I were possessed. All was right with the universe.

And then, as I neared the end, some jerk in one of the science stations of the cosmos decided to do something akin to kicking out Pluto from the planetary reindeer game, causing the universe to crash.  Or, more precisely, Safari crashed. Since I type these posts into a text box on a web page, a crashing internet browser means sayonara to whatever I haven’t saved.

I thought about saving a draft literally two seconds before the screen went blank.

It was a sad moment, and I cried for many an hour over the lost work of literary brilliance.  But a lost post is not what I want to talk to you all about, gentle readers.  Today I want to talk to you about tomatoes.

My grandparents have a vegetable garden in their backyard.  It is unlike the garden I normally maintain in that:

  1. the plants grow from the ground, rather than carefully doled out handfuls of soil placed in sad looking plastic pots, and
  2. the plants actually produce edible vegetables.

there's many more where these came from

One of the prize crops that grows in this garden is the beefsteak tomato.  The tomatoes in my grandparents’ garden grow like weeds.  They have taken over like an unstoppable invading alien species, or a plague of tomato-shaped locusts.  Tomatoes can be seen in every corner, in every spare container, and there is no end in sight. They are like that ginormous salad you get at a popular restaurant.  You know the one; the more you eat of it, the bigger it seems to get.  To be honest, I’m a little frightened that I will wake up one morning to find that our tomatoes have mutated and taken over the world.

The point is, there is an over-abundance of tomatoes here.  My grandparents have given bags of tomatoes to me, my parents, their neighbors and even that weird guy who works down at the corner gas station.  Each time I leave the house, I hear a refrain of “Would any of your friends like any tomatoes?”

We are a little bit tomatoed out.

There are only so many times I can eat a salad of mostly tomato before I start getting tired of it. (Read: about thrice.)  So, I am taking it upon myself to help my grandparents get rid of their tomatoes in the most humane way possible: by delving into my arsenal of recipes and making every dish known to man that requires the use of tomatoes.  I have a feeling that I will most likely be exhausting that arsenal rather quickly, as the tomato plants are replenishing their reserves as fast as we can pluck them from the vine.

And so, gentle readers, you can look forward to an onslaught of recipes in the coming days and weeks featuring our favorite fruit that is beginning to wear out its welcome.

In the meanwhile, would any of you like any tomatoes?


3 Comments (+add yours?)

  1. Gary
    Sep 08, 2009 @ 10:56:05

    I hate it when that happens. It hasn’t happened to me in a while so I guess I am due for a catastrophy. As far as the tomatoes go, I would LOVE some. I didn’t plant a garden because I’m never home in the summer to take care of it. I’m looking forward to some of those recipes. Salsa perhaps?


  2. nutmegnanny
    Sep 09, 2009 @ 10:59:54

    I’m sorry to hear about the browser crash. It happens to all of us….sucks big ones:(


  3. Joy
    Sep 09, 2009 @ 12:39:39

    My son planted so many beefsteak tomato’s that they are coming out of our ears. I’ve already been canning them and should be doing more as we speak.


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