Taste of garden memories always sweet

From a Brighton Garden by Fran Blank

One of the joys of my summer is to stand in the middle of a tomato-laden garden with a friend and share bites of vine ripe fruit. Garden feasting on sun-warm tomatoes always fills me with memories of my Ukrainian Grandpa and Grandma Woloszanski.

Grandpa Nick always had a garden out back by the alley that still runs between E. 31st and E. 32nd streets in Lorain. I remember Grandma Anna handing a saltshaker to us four cousins and sending us out to the garden to snack on tomatoes. I can still feel the warm, salty juice running down my chin.

Forty odd years later, when I stand neck deep in my own late summer tomato patch and that familiar taste fills my mouth, I can hear Grandma's voice shooing us out the back kitchen door to the garden. Life seemed so simple then.

Today's gardeners are presented with whole catalogs devoted to page after page of tomato varieties. We know in our gardener's souls that one of those varieties will taste like Grandpa's tomato. Which one is it?

Hoping to finally end my yearly struggle and find that perfect tomato, I planted more than 35 kinds in my garden this summer. Each tiny tomato plant was encircled with a wire cage to provide support, control growth and, hopefully, make the patch navigable later in the summer when things tend to get jungle-like. Each cage was immediately tagged with the name of the tomato planted within it.

It's late July now and the first tomatoes are ripening. Even with cages and good intentions the tomatoes will soon be lost in their own rampant growth. Garden visitors gasp and blurt out in embarrassment "Look at all the tomatoes!" I avert my eyes and mumble something about "my tomato experiment."

Thanks to my sensible labels we can browse the tomato patch and know for sure whether we've tasted a Pineapple or a Hillbilly. I am overwhelmed with the bounty of the tomato patch and I'm suddenly struck with the daunting task of choosing the best tomatoes for next summer's garden. How on earth do I choose? I need more input and that means more tasters.

Our solution has been to make a date with friends for an afternoon of tomato tasting. We gather to pick, chop, label, taste, and discuss. By days end we hope to have tasted tomato perfection.

What is the proper etiquette for a tomato tasting anyway? Should the pinkie be extended? Should we sip, suck, swirl and spit? Should palate-cleansing foods be included? Should bibs be offered? Should we be scientific and compare skin thickness, juiciness, and seed percentages? I checked my copy of Emily Post's classic "Etiquette -A Guide to Modern Manners" but evidently Emily P. never had a garden overflowing with 35 kinds of tomatoes. Grandpa Nick chose his tomatoes by familiar variety names and by their taste. I guess we'll follow his lead, keep things simple, and let our taste buds choose.

We set up old doors on wooden work horses and cover them with sheets. Whole tomatoes are carefully displayed on an upended plastic cup in the center of a plate, surrounded with chopped tomato pieces, and labeled. We browse the long rows of dripping plates with toothpicks and eager taste buds. Spirited opinions are shared and we eventually pick the best of the best.

The winning tomato is topped with a tiny, gem encrusted, gold crown. Last year's best of the best was Pineapple Tomato, a bi-colored red and yellow beauty with a rich, fruity, and sweet taste. Yum!

Why all this work and worry over a tomato patch? It's that I know one magical summer I'll grow a Holy Grail tomato that will carry me back to the 1950s and the taste of Grandpa's garden. It's my unfailing belief that one unsuspecting summer afternoon I'll wander out to the tomato patch with a salt shaker and a friend and we'll pick a sweet memory that bursts over our tongues like a gift from a long remembered Grandpa and Grandma. We'll smile as warm juice rolls down our chins and we'll send a silent thank you heavenward.