Attack of the Killer Tomatoes

Are they tomatoes, or are they tomahtoes? she says.

Whatever, he says. The dialogue must be terse. He shrugs. Like I care, he says.

I care, she says. They’ve taken over my garden. Attack of the Killer Tomatoes.

Ripe, red, heavy on the vine. Like apples, only better. A good source of Vitamin A and C. Drop them in boiling water for 30 seconds, then plunge them into cold water and peel the skins. Sautée onions and garlic, then add chopped tomatoes, a generous dollop of red wine, one or two teaspoons of oregano, and a pinch of salt. Thicken with tomato paste.

The garden looks best by moonlight. The tomatoes have a pinkish cast. Pink gold. Under the kitchen lights, the red glares.

Is it her imagination, or are whole fruits growing-exploding on the vine overnight?

Dream of getting rid of excess tomatoes: open a seasonal restaurant that serves only tomato dishes. Tomato-apple cake, tomato ice cream, tomato-apple pie, chocolate-tomato brownies, gazpacho with pineapple, chicken chili, tomato bisque, tomato soup with rice, tomato juices, tomato salads, spaghetti, lasagna, assorted pastas, pizza, sub sandwiches, tacos, enchiladas, fajitas, tostadas, omelets, quiche, chicken cacciatore, goulash, tomato bread.

Every gardener she knows is giving away tomatoes. But the neighbors attempt to sell their tomatoes on the tree lawn: $1 a bag, on the honor system.

She considers bagging some tomatoes and undercutting their price: 50 cents a bag? But a neighborhood battle over tomatoes sounds...tacky. Wickedly, she puts a few tomatoes on the tree lawn with a FREE sign and hurries off to work.