There is nothing finer than a garden-fresh tomato. I've always thought so.
In the summer of 1988, I was freshly returned from my mission in Colombia, eager to begin my last year of college; working temporary jobs to make ends meet.
Because it was summer, the garden was in full operation.
When I was young, I remember marveling at my dad when he would slice them up fresh from the back yard, sprinkle salt and pepper on them and then eat and enjoy them like they were a fine steak.
I don't have many memories of what I packed for lunch that summer of transition, but Mr. Dub does. He claims the first time he saw me, I was on a lunch break sitting outside the Northboro Raytheon facility, eating a tomato like it was an apple. He claims it was love at first sight. That's a first impression story for which I owe a great debt of gratitude to one of my dearest loves, the summer tomato.
Hail! The first two summer tomatoes, fresh from our little garden patch.