Herb Benham: Early Girls were a little late, but better late than never
| Monday, Sep 07 2009 12:00 PM
Last Updated Monday, Sep 07 2009 12:00 PM
These are a few of my favorite things:
Tomatoes. Smooth, red, and round. Imagine going cheek to cheek with a baby. First one cheek, then the other.
It had been years since I had grown tomatoes. I don't know why I stopped. Sometimes you do dumb things and you don't even know why.
You stop something you like. You start something you don't.
The summer garden, of which we are now in the fourth quarter, was an excuse to return to the tomato business. Anybody can grow zucchini -- you might as well be growing gourds. My corn fell down, and the wax peppers were smothered by the zucchini, which are like giant lunkers lurking in the shadows. However, there is a cachet about tomatoes that few other vegetables have.
Facebook is one thing. You can friend or be befriended. But if you really want to pad your rolodex, plant tomatoes.
It's like inheriting money. People come out of the woodwork. Suddenly the stands are packed and everyone is applauding.
Growing tomatoes can be a competitive sport. I found myself in a pitched battle with my neighbors down the street. They established an early lead in June and July. Every time I saw them they had baskets of sweet cherry tomatoes.
"We're having tomatoes every night for dinner," they said. "How about you?"
They were crushing me. I'm surprised they didn't have to hire a field crew. Strike a deal with Heinz.
I couldn't buy a tomato. I mean I could, if I wanted to pay for it (and if I wanted to eat one), I had to go to the Albertsons tomato patch. Theirs come wrapped in clear, angry, plastic.
I had tomatoes, but they were green. I assumed that they would ripen just like you assume children are going to grow up, but it had been awhile, so I was out of rhythm. Plus, I was intimidated by my neighbors who were filling semis with tomatoes.
However, like major league baseball, the tomato season is long. You can be out of contention in June and July, then mount a comeback in August and win the pennant in September.
Finally, the tomatoes started ripening. Romas and Big Boys, Early Girls and Heirlooms. The pinkish-red Heirlooms are enchanting. It's enough to make you want to paint even if you can't paint.
They peaked when we went on vacation. Good for the neighborhood. No wonder they cheered when we left.
I missed the tomatoes because growing them is like raising chickens in your backyard. Egg days are good days. You don't need a dozen; two or three are sufficient.
Tomatoes make getting up in the morning and going home at night something to look forward to. I like to stick my face in the tomato holes, the space underneath the branches, and breathe in the pungent tomato smell, which is just as distinctive as a good zinfandel.
With harvest, life becomes pretty simple. Bringing tomatoes inside is like arriving at your front door with a gift. Look what I brought you. I grew these. Aren't they beautiful? Before slicing them with a sharp serrated knife, arrange them artfully on a plate. It dresses up a kitchen counter like a tablecloth dresses up a table.
Life, which has been good, is now about to get better. After slicing the tomatoes, sprinkle lightly with salt, lemon pepper and Balsamic vinegar. Fan them out on a plate.
September is brutal, but September tomatoes are a reason to live. Hang in there. We're almost to the promised land.
