Every vegetable gardener envisions the perfect tomato, but how many have actually realized their dream this year?
Our tomato crop has been somewhat disappointing. It’s not that we don’t have any; it’s just that their usual largesse never quite materialized. And while the weather would seem to have been perfect for these heat-loving plants, I suspect a few factors played a role: late planting, less-than-ideal soil and, of course, the dryness.
I also have to admit I didn’t primp the plants as I usually do. I let the suckers run a little too freely and wasn’t as attentive to their needs as I could have been. In short, I’ll take the blame. Sometimes the garden gives you a bumper crop, and sometimes it gives you a lesson.
Late summer weather is shifting, and the sun is handily ripening the vegetables, but can it recoup the languishing tomato crop? The ensuing weeks will tell.
I have to wonder, as I fret over my tomatoes, did these scrumptious fruits produce the same anxiety for the early South and Central Americas who first cultivated the plants? Perhaps not until their versatility was recognized. Tomatoes are the heart of a lot of culinary treasures, a debt we owe to those early cultivators and the explorers who brought the fruit to a wider population.
Some historians say it was Christopher Columbus, who brought the first tomatoes to Europe in 1493. Others contend it was the Spanish explorer Cortez who captured the small yellow version of the fruit when he seized the Aztec city of Tenochtitlan, now Mexico City, in the early 1500s.
The progenitors of today’s tomatoes were herbaceous green plants with small green fruit growing in the highlands of Peru. These early members of the Solanum family diversified into the dozen species of tomato recognized today. The Aztecs called it xitomatl, meaning plump thing with a navel, and it was later called tomato by other Mesoamerican peoples.
While reading up on tomatoes, I came across a saved article in the British magazine Gardener’s World. Here is the skinny on saving seeds.
If and when you find the perfect tomato, you can bank on having it again and again. Most tomatoes are self-pollinating, so the offspring will be identical to the parent plant. All you need to do is save your seeds.
Drying is the preferred method for saving small amounts of seed. Collect seeds from ripe or overripe fruits of any variety you wish to grow again next year. Slice the tomato in half and scrape out the seeds carefully onto a clean plate with the point of a sharp knife.
To save a few seeds, leave them to dry on the plate or on a piece of paper towel, spreading them out so they don’t go moldy. Once dry, put them in a paper bag or envelope and store in an airtight box.
For saving a large quantity of tomato seed, a technique known as fermenting is recommended. To remove the gel that protects seeds from disease, scoop the seed pulp into a jar and leave it in a warm place. After two days, a yeasty smell will show that the gel is fermenting. When you notice a white fungal layer after about five days, rinse the seeds thoroughly in a sieve.
Spread them out to dry for a week or so, then store as previously noted in a cool, dark place to keep the seeds viable.
I remember summers when the garden seemed determined to keep pumping out tasty, plump tomatoes, one after another, with hardly a thought given to whether I had done anything to deserve such bounty. That is what I’m hoping for next year. In the meantime, I’ll amend the soil, pay closer attention to my plants and try to create the conditions for a better crop.
And perhaps I’ll keep a few tomato seeds aside, too. After all, the Pueblo people believed that those who witnessed the ingestion of tomato seeds were blessed with powers of divination.
If that’s true, I may have found my answer.
Once the final tomatoes are picked, I’ll sit down with one, swallow a few seeds and see if I can divine what next summer has in store. Given this year’s crop, I figure I have nothing to lose — and everything to gain.
Perhaps the perfect tomato is out there waiting for me. I just hope my powers of divination tell me where.
“You say tomato, I say tomahto.” — “Let’s Call the Whole Thing Off” by George and Ira Gershwin
The Seaside Gardener
By Laura McLean