Few things in life are better than a fresh tomato.
While discussing food this morning (it’s a hobby of mine), a friend exclaimed, “I can’t stand raw tomatoes.” He’s obviously crazy, so of course I chastised him with, “No way—they’re like salty watermelons, man!!!”
Admittedly, I haven’t always enjoyed tomatoes. In fact, I was ordering cheeseburgers sans tomato as recently as 18. That all changed a year later, however, after moving to Brazil. There, when they serve “salad,” it’s all tomato, doused in vinegar and oil. To not come off as a snobbish American, I reluctantly accepted said salad. In time, I grew to love the primary ingredient.
Now I eat tomatoes on anything and everything.
Not only are tomatoes delicious, they remind me of grandma. When I first moved from Georgia to Utah to attend BYU, my grandma would invite me over after class. As a snack, she treated me to ginormous, watery, home-grown tomatoes—sliced and sprinkled with a dash of salt and a generous amount of fresh cracked pepper. They were phenomenal. On occasion, I remember eating as many as two in one sitting.
To this day, I still haven’t found such succulent tomatoes. But I’ll keep on searching ’till the day I die. And I’ll keep on preaching the gospel of tomatoes to anyone within an earshot of my voice.
You’ve been warned.