That, folks, is a picture of tomatoes. Yes, I know: duh.
But wait: I picked them yesterday. (!!) They were growing on the tomato plants I brought indoors in October. (!!!) (Yes, the same aphid-infested items I've written of here.) Save for one tiny (even tinier than these) specimen that I simply ate two days ago (it was delicious), these are the first harvest from last summer’s hail-devastated plants. (!!!!)
I haven’t been counting on tomatoes from these plants, not during the winter, not in this house where they get only a few hours’ sunshine and temperatures swing from forty to the occasional high of seventy. No, these weren’t here for winter harvest, but for the earliest possible jump on the spring season.
If any fruit did ripen, I reminded myself, they might not taste very good, since they’d grown under such inauspicious circumstances. (Every time my hopes start to rise, I put on my stomping boots and jump up and down a few times on the young shoots.)
But when I sliced these, they were redder inside than out, and they tasted sweet, juicy, and oh so rich. I was making a blue-cheese pasta topping; at the last minute, as husband Steve drained the linguini, I dropped the tomatoes into the sauce and gave them a swirl, then did the same with the pasta. Wow.
I’m going to have to re-think my position on indoor tomatoes. Last time I made an official pronouncement on the subject, I was against it. With the taste of last night’s tomatoes still on my tongue, though, I’m not so sure. Ongoing tests will be conducted as more tomatoes ripen. Check back here for the results.