David, my gardener, has been skulking up to the covered front porch on a daily basis to leave half-ripened tomatoes on the rail, as a hedge against local birds who maraud the vines. There are beefsteak tomatoes, a dandy little sunny-yellow hybrid called a Lemon Boy,  and the rare and wonderful Trimato whathefuckiia arlingtonensis.

I really couldn’t bring myself to eat the whole thing, though one of the lobes seemed sound enough for a douse with balsamic vinegar.

You don’t want to see the cucumbers. Trust me.


7 thoughts on “Trimato

  1. We had our first small garden this year. Tomatoes are all about “Nature, red in tooth and claw;” nasty things prey on them and take up residence, which require other nasty chemicals to eliminate. I really don’t like surprises that much. My cucumbers went from fetal innocence to porn dimensions within 24 hours and scared me to death. Eggplants, I’ve decided, are totally satisfying: lovely plant, lovely color, lovely feminine shape, shy pale drooping flower, great meals.

    • “Fetal innocence to porn dimensions” is a lovely phrase and I may borrow it the next time someone starts a conversation with me about zucchini…

      Thanks for dropping in!

    • I have some very nice herbs, but even they have gotten kind of big for their britches. Gotta go take more pictures. As for the tomatoes, since David is the culprit, I can still say I stick to herbs too.

  2. This year (because I am a sucker for Russian stuff) I bought and planted a variety called “Black Krim” with St. Basil’s Cathedral (never mind that it’s in Moscow, not the Crimea) on the label.

    Even though I know better. Russia and produce don’t go together.

    What do you think, sled? Gigantic, Stalinist plant that has taken over the garden. Loads and loads of flowers and NOT A SINGLE piece of fruit. Not a single one.

    Some Russian mafia guys are laughing.

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