Heirloom: Notes from an Accidental Tomato Farmer

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When I was splitting at the seams with abundance, the overloaded Toyota blew a clutch and I had to rent a box truck, which the tomatoes ably filled. The truck buzzed with chefs. I sold out every time. As the season wore on, though, I began to feel toward this lucky crop the way a father might feel toward an onerous brood of children, wearily anticipating the day the last spoiled brat gets hauled off to college.

Heirloom: Notes from an Accidental Tomato Farmer

We were muddy and worn out from picking all day and we had not eaten since breakfast. Restaurants had yet to discover how a reputation for seasonal purity might be clinched by having a filthy farmer waltz fifty pounds of just- picked tomatoes between crowded tables and into the kitchen. On the way uptown with the final delivery, we got snagged in gridlocked traffic, and I felt a tremendous urge to pull a Jackson Pollock with my remaining tomatoes, to yank the stems out like hand grenade pins and pulp the white van wedged in front of me.

I was thinking of all the tomatoes waiting to be picked at the crack of dawn. We must have been the most bedraggled, bordering- on- homeless specimens on the Upper East Side of Manhattan that night, and here was Daniel Boulud offering us a coveted seat. I sat down and rose again, thinking this time of my truck parked at an expiring meter.

There were seven in all. Each course featured a paired wine and a kitchen staffer who offered a table- side explanation of the provenance of the ingredients in the dish.

Heirloom: Notes from an Accidental Tomato Farmer–Another Book Review

And the bread! I do remember a clear, lemon- tinted soup made from the freshly squeezed juices of Taxi tomatoes. At the bottom of the bowl, a tiny wild Mexican tomato glimmered like a fathomless ruby.

Those were my tomatoes! Never again? I say that every October. And every March, I drag out the Dumpster- inspired germination rack that moved to Pennsylvania with me.

I still do not own a farm, but I have my own tractor. And that landlord who gave my tomatoes the boot? He works for me.

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Heirloom: Notes from an Accidental Tomato Farmer - Lib

Book Description Broadway Books, Condition: New. Never used!. Seller Inventory P More information about this seller Contact this seller.

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Book Description Broadway, Brand New!. Seller Inventory VIB Ships with Tracking Number! The cast of characters range from a curmudgeonly neighbor with complicated legal ties to Eckerton Hill to an amiable Amish friend; from the Korean rice farmer transplanted to the Pennsylvania hills to the free-spirited tomato whisperer who spends the off-season going wherever the sun takes her. Before he was an organic, locally-grown produce vendor, Tim Stark was a writer with an impressive collection of generic rejection slips.

Either his writing skills grew along with his farm or those earlier editors were looking for the sort of mass-produced tasteless fare that abounds in the world of literature as well as produce. Heirloom is a flawless serving, full of profound flavors and intriguing spiciness. Which of these is milder?


Cats with lipstick-red kissers. Hovering, UFO-like eyeballs with mascara-thick lashes. Then came tomatoes and lima beans. Walking alongside the metal V-shaped stone boat that was pulled over the field by horses, they gathered up stones of all sizes and piled them into the stone boat. Every spring, when it came time to plow again, a whole new crop of stones would appear.

They built houses with fieldstone. All of the plowing and cultivating was.