Remember tomatoes? They were soft, dark red, and fleshy as steak. They nearly disintegrated from juiciness and the dusty herbal fragrance of the tomato leaf was the smell of summer.
You couldn’t buy tomatoes in the winter. You could buy impostors that came three to a plastic cage and went by the name of “Cello.” These were hard pink globes useful mostly as weapons in defending one’s snow fort.
Ever since Mr. B. returned from Virginia a few weeks ago, he has been on the hunt for the tomatoes of his home state. He had been duped by some cheap red numbers in the market that might as well have been dipped in paint for all the tomato taste they had.
The local farmers’ market seemed as if it might provide the solution. Mr. B. snapped up a couple of the fat fruits, but when I smelled them I knew that we were on the verge of disaster. They were little better than supermarket tomatoes. More successful is the local corn, although to my mind nothing is superior to Cape Cod (of all places) butter and sugar corn. But that’s because I’m from the Northeast, home of the best bean and cod you ever had the good fortune to eat for breakfast. But that’s neither here nor there.
Here, some photos from the Gainesville Farmers Market and the surrounding area.