The End of Heirloom Tomato Season

There are certain endings we should be mature enough to accept. Summer. Vacations. A good bottle of wine.

Heirloom tomato season is not one of them.

I was talking about this with a reporter friend who casually mentioned she’d just dropped six bucks on a heirloom tomato.

Six. Dollars. For. A. Tomato.

And it was worth it.

I understand completely. A truly great heirloom tomato isn’t just good – it is freaking brilliant. It barely requires human intervention. Give me a good tomato, some really good salt, a plate, fork and knife and I’ve got a meal.

Strike that.

I’ve got a banquet.

The tomato salad pictured above came, somewhat surprisingly, from a pizza joint in Philadelphia – although calling Barbuzzo a “pizza joint” is underselling the situation. Tomatoes, cucumber, baby lettuces, watermelon radishes, pickled onions, mustard seed and a drizzle of creamy dressing. Mama Vamp and I had this beauty there last weekend, right as nature prepares to cruelly yank peak season heirloom tomatoes away from us.

Then there are Fred’s Tomatoes at my beloved neighborhood Italian go-to, Noodle Pudding.

Here’s the rule: If Fred’s Tomatoes are on the menu, you order Fred’s Tomatoes.

No discussion. No “What are you getting?” No studying the appetizers like you’re reviewing legal documents.

You get the freaking tomatoes.

This plate came with seasonal corn, avocado, grilled sweet onions and tons of fresh basil. Absolute freaking perfection. Nothing clever. Nothing tortured. Just very good ingredients behaving exactly as they should.

And now we enter the dark times.

It’s time to slow-roast tomatoes – coaxing and concentrating lesser specimens until they give us that glorious tomato punch. Because I refuse to lose tomatoes simply because the Earth has tilted on its axis.

But I will miss the heirlooms.

I’ll think longingly about what was and dream about what will be again.

Hopefully, next year, for slightly less than six bucks a ’mater.