Oh, Oh, Oh, Tomatoes!

Otherwise known as Ode to a Tomato

What am I doing writing about tomatoes in December?
A good question, indeed.

There are a couple of reasons, but mostly I am writing about tomatoes because I think they’re gone now. Finished. Kaput. Done, at least for those of us in the Northern Hemisphere.

To be honest, I’m not sure. I haven't made it to the farmers’ market yet. There may be a few tomatoes left, I don't know. In Seattle last week, at the University District Farmers’ Market, I saw a few, sad last-of-season tomatoes, so perhaps there is hope for California. But barring a nightshade miracle, I most likely won’t buy another tomato until next August.

August, you ask. August?

I know we have a long growing season here in California. It is possible to get local tomatoes long before August (and Mexican tomatoes year round), but I have to tell you—they don’t taste as good. To my mind, August is the beginning of the sweet spot of tomato season and worth waiting for.



You see, I am a tomato snob. I grew up on cherry tomatoes from my mother’s garden, plucked straight off the vine and popped into my mouth, warm from the sun and exploding in a burst of sweet-tart goodness. It’s one of my favorite childhood memories.

Tomatoes like that you just can’t get in June, not even in July. For those kinds of life-changing tomatoes, you’ve got to wait until August. At least that’s what I think.

My first day back at the Ferry Plaza Farmers’ Market, after my trip to Canada this summer, was a Saturday in early August. As I made my way through the crowd I overheard a man talking to his female companion.

“Did you see those tomatoes?” he asked her.

“See them?” she said. “I almost made love to those tomatoes.”

(I kid you not)

For tomatoes worth making love to, it’s really best to wait until August. I don’t hold it against anyone if they jump the gun, but I’m holding out for true love. For me—perhaps also for you—true tomato love comes in August, or perhaps the second half of July, it depends on the year.

This year I found true tomato love.

I had heard about the dry farmed tomatoes that Joe Schirmer grows at Dirty Girl Farm in Santa Cruz long before I had a chance to taste them. Other bloggers have written about them. All spring and early summer I was looking for the Dirty Girl Farm booth at the market in San Francisco, but to no avail. Joe knows true tomato love happens in late summer and he waits for it.



Joe grows his tomatoes on a couple of acres within the city of Santa Cruz (don’t you wish your city had a farm within its borders? I do). They are dry farmed Early Girl tomatoes. This means the tomatoes are given water when they first are planted, and then they aren’t watered again all summer.

Dry farming may sound like a lazy gardener’s dream (can I consider my negligent watering habit to be dry farming?), but is only possible in areas that have a temperate climate. Try dry farming tomatoes in Arizona and all you’ll get is crispy dead tomato plants. But here in Northern California, we’re lucky to get dry farmed tomatoes.

What happens is that the plants send their roots deep down to search for moisture. The tomatoes these plants produce are smaller, with a slightly thicker skin, but they have the most concentrated flavor you will likely ever taste from a tomato.

They are truly worth falling in love with.

I’m not the only one who thinks so either. Joe’s tomatoes are often mentioned in the food blog world, and were even written up in the LA Times. And one weekend at the farmers’ market, I found myself picking out tomatoes at Joe’s stall next to one of the members of the San Francisco Board of Supervisors. “These are the best tomatoes at the market,” he whispered to his friend—like it was a secret he didn’t want to get out in case there might be a run on the Early Girls and he wouldn’t be able to get enough for himself.

Yep, the tomatoes are that good. They are so good I even considered writing a love letter to Joe about his tomatoes. I didn’t—I mean, really, who writes love letters about produce—though I suppose that I am writing one right now.

I know there are those who love heirloom tomatoes, I too love their colors and fantastic shapes. They look wonderful and are nicely meaty, but when it comes to taste I have yet to find an heirloom that can hold a candle to one of these dry farmed Early Girls. To my mind, heirlooms have the girth and the heft, but they don’t have the flavor to match.



A few months ago, when the brilliant Melissa of Travelers’ Lunchbox asked the food blog world what five things a person should eat before they die, a number of bloggers picked the simplicity of a fresh tomato. One of them went so far as to specify, “a tomato that you have just picked out of your own garden.” I agree in spirit, but Joe Schirmer’s tomatoes are far better than the tomatoes I grew in my garden this year. Next year I'm not going to bother. I’ll just wait patiently until August and be first in line for Joe’s tomatoes when he shows up at the market (after I elbow out the esteemed member of the SF Board of Supervisors).

Am I sad to say goodbye to tomatoes until next summer? Not as sad as I might have been. With a little help from my food blogger friends, I have been getting ready for this moment.

Thanks to Molly, I prepared lots of oven-dried tomatoes.





I like my oven roasted tomatoes still a bit on the soft side. My favorite way to eat them is on an open-faced sandwich with Della Fattoria bread, goat cheese, and a leaf or two of basil. Yum.



Thanks to Pim, I preserved some of these roasted tomatoes as tomato confit.



And I was so moved by Ivonne’s post on Doing the Tomatoes, that even though I had not planned on doing any tomato canning, I couldn’t resist. I loved reading about how her Italian-Canadian family gathers each year to can tomato sauce and keep their traditions (and family gossip) alive. If ever I am in Toronto in September, you can bet I am going to be begging to join that circle of women "doing the tomatoes."

Even though I do not have a large Italian family to join me, the one day I took off in the month of September (crazy Litquake season for me), I spent in the kitchen with a box of dry farmed Early Girls. I followed the steps Ivonne mentioned, trying to imagine the collective tomato wisdom that must reside in her family.

I cut them into pieces.



Boiled them up.



Ran them through a food mill.



It strained out all the skins and seeds.



The resulting sauce was wonderful on pasta.



And it canned up nicely.



I even made a few jars of canned whole tomatoes, a process I now think of as the ordeal.

First you peel them, by cutting an X into the skin before submerging them in boiling water.



Once out of the hot water they must be plunged into cold water.



Then you peel the skin off.



While it was fun to have canned tomatoes that I made myself, these did not turn out so wonderfully that I would repeat the labor-intensive process again (a bit on the watery side, sadly). Next year I'll freeze some, but also rely on organic canned tomatoes from the store. I just wasn't able to come up with a version that I thought was better, and it is a lot of work, and even more cleanup.

I’m not the only blogger who has been smart about squirreling away some tomato goodness for the long winter. Sam has been busy in her kitchen as well, and now she has a freezer full to tide her over until next year. Check out her fantastic slide show.

I am sad to see the tomatoes go—it is a long way until next August—but I will wait patiently (with my preserved tomatoes to tide me over). For I know that a life-changing tomato, like true love, is worth the wait.



In all fairness I must mention that Mariquita Farm and Ella Bella Farm both sell dry farmed Early Girls as well. Mariquita even sells San Marzano tomatoes, which are excellent for saucing (they are considered "the world's sauciest tomatoes"). The thing is, Joe Schirmer's Dirty Girl tomatoes were the first dry farmed tomatoes I ever tasted. And you never forget your first love...