I used to hate raw tomatoes, and was, at best, indifferent to cooked ones. That’s because my primary experience with raw tomatoes was the dice on Nachos BellGrande (My favorite fast-food order of all time: extra cheese, add jalapeños, add sour cream. Taco Bell, please hit me up), and cooked tomatoes usually came out of a Prego jar. My mom planted some for a couple of summers, but we were overwhelmed by them, so even though they tasted incredible, the excess felt nightmarish. It wasn’t until I moved to New York, where one of my first jobs in the city was across the street from the Union Square Greenmarket, that I started to appreciate the tomato.
It was an office job, so I’d finish my assignments for the month over a few days, then spend the majority of my time distracting my coworkers. (It just occurred to me that I was Jim from The Office. And all this time I thought I was Karen.) Then I was distracted by an heirloom tomato on one of my colleagues’ desks. I needed to know everything about it. Where she got it, what her plans for it were, and of course, for a taste. (I’m realizing now that I owe an apology to anyone I’ve been in an office with.) That’s when I learned about Eckerton Hill Farm and all the jewels they bring to the city every summer. I’ve been a regular ever since, carefully cradling home plump specimens all summer long.
From October through June, hot house cherry tomatoes, double concentrated tomato paste, and all forms of canned tomatoes keep me occupied. And I don’t mind a bland plum tomato that’s been shipped across state lines in the name of nachos. But when the first real savory, sweet, bursting with juice heirloom shows up at the market in late July, I buy too many, every time, and the nightmarish excess of my mom’s garden becomes my personality. We eat market tomatoes at every meal for three months, and then we say goodbye.
Botanically, a fruit. Even more botanically, a berry. The tomato is a nightshade, cousin to eggplants, peppers, and potatoes, and it’s native to South America. Italy didn’t even meet the tomato until the 1500s, which I politely remind anyone who claims there’s one correct way to use them.
Here’s the part that actually matters for eating: a tomato’s flavor comes from sugars, acids, and a whole cast of volatile aromatic compounds that only develop when the fruit ripens on the vine, in the sun, in warm weather. Supermarket tomatoes in February are picked green and hard so they can survive shipping, then gassed with ethylene so they turn red. They look like tomatoes, but the aromatics never showed up to the party.
Hothouse tomatoes are a step up. They’re grown in greenhouses, usually hydroponically, and left to ripen on the vine. Vine ripening means they develop real flavor, so they’re the best option from October through June. But a greenhouse in January can’t fake summer sun and heat, so the sugars and aromatics only get partway there. Get a little help when you eat them: blistered in a hot pan, roasted, or hit with some tomato Knorr to turn up the tomato flavor. Raw and naked on a sandwich is a job for August.
The refrigerator is where tomato flavor goes to die. In that unnatural cold, the enzymes that produce those aromatic compounds shut down and don’t fully recover. Plus, (and maybe worst of all) the texture goes mealy.
Here’s the best way to store tomatoes:
Keep them on the counter, stem side down, in a single layer and out of direct sun. By storing them stem side down, moisture loss is slowed, and the delicate butt end is less likely to bruise.
If a tomato is fully ripe and you can’t eat it today, fine. Refrigerate it. A slightly muted tomato beats a rotten one. Try to bring it back to room temperature before eating.
Cut tomatoes go in the fridge in an airtight container.
When you inevitably overbuy (see above, re: my personality), the ones going soft become sauce, soup, pan con tomate, bloody mary, fresh pasta sauce, tomato water—an overripe tomato has endless possibilities.
Chili Crisp Tomato Sandwich There’s nothing wrong with a classic tomato sandwich—bread, mayo, tomato, perfect. But when I want a little extra I make this sandwich. It’s all about the details: Milk bread toasted on one side, kewpie mayo, thick sliced of tomato seasoned with tomato knorr, and a spoonful of chili crisp for a kick in the pants.
Smothered in Mayo I learned this shocking simple recipe from Chef Omar Tate, handed down to him from his mother. Thick tomato slices are slathered with mayo, lightly seasoned, then allowed to sit. Time does the real work here, as the tomatoes release their juices, they mingle with the mayo into a delicate dressing. Finish it with a shower of fresh assorted herbs like chives, parsley, and tarragon.
Pan con Tomate If you’re a purist, rub some crusty bread with garlic and a very ripe tomato, then dig in, but that’s not nearly enough tomato for me. Instead, I make a fresh sauce by stirring together grated ripe tomato, finely grated garlic, and a splash of sherry vinegar, then seasoning it with salt and pepper. This is also the best way to pan con tomate for a crowd; just bring the sauce and crusty bread to the table and let everyone build their own.
Roasted Tomato & Caper Spread Another one for the truly tomato-dedicated. Blanch, peel, then half plum tomatoes (or better yet, San Marzanos if you can find them). Then it’s all about the details: Arrange each half on a wire rack topped with a thyme sprig and garlic slice, then slow roast until jammy. Blitz with capers, then you’ll have one of my favorite things on earth to eat. Have it with crusty bread with a smear of straciatella, toss it into pasta, or serve with simply grilled seafood.
Tomato Raisins If you have a lot of cherry tomatoes and even more time, this was my go-to move when I was a pastry chef. The tomatoes are blanched, peeled, then brushed in a salt-sugar-evoo glaze before slow roasting until they transform into concentrated, mouthwatering bites of savory/sweet. Tuck a few into a strawberry shortcake, spoon over ice cream, or use in place of a maraschino cherry to crown a chocolate mousse. The flavor is such a surprise it makes me giddy with delight.
Heirloom Tomato Candle $64 Yeah, it really smells like walking through a tomato field. And yeah, it’s really $64 dollars. Is it worth it? I have a two, but I also have problems.
Tomato Salt and Pepper Shakers $78 From one of my favorite local spots to buy things that make me happy, Rosemary Home. What better vessel to store all that tomato knorr?
Tomato Platter $22 I don’t know if this means I’m getting old, but I’m leaning hard into grandma chic. This little platter helps me get there, and it’s the perfect size for eating a tomato sandwich.
Toddler Tomato Set $29.95 Until she has an opinion, I’m dressing her in all the vegetables, costumes, and taco-themed outfits I can find.
Serves 4 | Ready in 1 hour (mostly hands off!)
Shop the recipe here
This dish has got layers of shockingly big flavor while being super hands-off. Leftover rice and canned chickpeas roast underneath curry and honey-coated chicken thighs. The spicy-sweet chicken drippings are sopped up by the rice and chickpeas, which get crackly and crisp in the oven. Meanwhile, chunk up those ripe market tomatoes, season them up, and let them sit and get juicy. Toss the tomatoes with the hot crispies and serve with the gently spiced thighs. It’s juicy, crispy, meaty, spicy, and sweet all at once. And all that magic happens in just one bowl and one sheet tray.
Ingredients
3 cups cooked & cooled rice
1 can chickpeas, drained
Olive oil
Salt & pepper
4 to 6 bone-in skin-on chicken thighs
Curry powder
Honey
2 large heirloom tomatoes or 2 pints cherry tomatoes (about 1 1/2 pounds)
Tomato knorr (if you’ve got it)
6 ounces feta cheese
Steps
Heat the oven to 400F. Line a sheet tray with foil.
In a large bowl, toss together the rice and chickpeas. Generously drizzle with oil and season lightly with salt and pepper to taste. Spread across the prepared sheet tray.
In the same bowl (no need to wash it), add the chicken thighs and pat dry with a paper towel. Generously drizzle with oil, then sprinkle on salt (1 teaspoon Diamond Crystal kosher or ½ teaspoon fine salt per pound) and curry powder (2 teaspoons per pound). Use your hands to evenly massage the seasonings all over, then arrange on top of the rice and lightly drizzle with honey. Roast until the chicken skin is browned and the flesh is pulling away from the bone, 35 to 40 minutes.
Meanwhile, cut the tomatoes with a serrated knife and transfer to a large clean bowl. Season lightly with salt to taste (or level it up and season with tomato knorr). Set aside to get juicy while the chicken cooks.
Transfer the chicken to plates, then scrape all the crispy rice, chickpeas, and chicken drippings into the bowl of tomatoes. Toss to combine. Break the feta into large hunks and gently toss through, then dish up next to the chicken. Serve right away.
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