I grew up in Yorkshire loving tomatoes grown by my father, thinly sliced in a sandwich, sprinkled with sugar.
The tomatoes we eat here are an alien variety compared with those long ago tomatoes grown by my father and eaten at every meal throughout summer. We still eat tomatoes every day here, but they are roughly chopped with the odd scar or squashy bit cut out, alien to the neat cherry tomatoes bought from a supermarket. So here is a celebration of our tomatoes, from the neat rows of plants in June to the growing-green stage, to the orange starting-to-ripen stage, to where we are now: luscious red fruit, as rounded as globes, some as heavy as melons, crinkled, wrinkled, often nibbled by field mice, but tasting divine.
5 to remember
una fiesta – a celebration
en rebandas finas – thinly sliced
un bocadillo – a sandwich
una variedad extraña – an alien variety
una cicatriz – a scar