Loving the Love Apple
by Cait Johnson

Aphrodisiac or poison? Culinary delight or arthritic’s nightmare? Tomatoes are stuffed with more myths, legends, and history than there are ways to stuff them, and digging up tomato factoids can bring some hairy little rootlets to light. First of all, Marco Polo did not bring the tomato back from China along with pasta, thus creating the classic Italian combo. The tomato is actually a New World phenom, and long before disgruntled theatergoers started lobbing them stage-ward, the tomato was cultivated in South and Central America, where it was spelled tomati or tomatl, and was brought to the Old World, along with other ill-gotten gains, by Cortez and his ilk. For many years, the tomato was used exclusively as an ornamental plant.

The French, bless their wishful thinking, thought the tomato might be related to the mandrake, a famed aphrodisiac, so they began affectionately calling it a “love apple.” However, it was also a Frenchman who gave the plant its Latin name, Lycopersicon esculentum, which means “wolf peach”—not only because it looks similarly round and luscious, but because he confused it with the “wolf-peach” referred to by the third century physician, Galen: an attractive package concealing poison for wolves. For those of us who want to save the wolves, not poison them, the association is regrettable.

The tomato’s Borgia-esque reputation persisted well into the 19th century, despite the claims of adherents who insisted that the tomato was not only non-poisonous, it was every bit as delicious as its sensuous shape suggested. In fact, the first American Tomato Champion, Colonel Robert Gibbon Johnson (no relation) ate an entire basket of them in 1820 while standing on his hometown’s courthouse steps to prove they were harmless. A crowd of 2000 gathered to watch Johnson commit public suicide: women swooned, strong men gasped, the band played a dirge—everyone thought the poor misguided fool was a goner. But no... he was still standing! And so the tomato was gradually accepted in America as a food, followed shortly thereafter by Campbell’s tomato soup and ketchup.

Today, tomatoes fall into two distinct camps: the generic grocery store tennis balls bred to withstand shipping from the far corners of the earth, and the pungent, juicy, voluptuous heirloom varieties available at local Farmers’ Markets or your own backyard. Tough choice.

Some unfortunates are allergic to tomatoes, and others claim that they exacerbate arthritis pain. But if you are able to eat them, they provide significant amounts of the antioxidant lycopene, proven by the latest research to help prevent prostate cancer as well as heart disease and premature aging. They’re also bursting with vitamins C and A, as well as potassium, iron, phosphorus, and vitamin B. But, science aside, tomatoes offer about as much over-the-top, burst-in-your-mouth summer sexiness as a mortal can stand. Gotta love those love apples.

This no-cook soup is perfect for those days when it’s too hot to even look at a stove.

Chilled Fresh Tomato Soup

INGREDIENTS

• 1 quart canned crushed tomatoes
• 3 or 4 large ripe heirloom tomatoes, chopped
• 1/4 cup oil-packed, sun-dried tomatoes, drained and chopped
• 1/4 cup red onion, chopped fine
• 1 garlic clove, crushed
• 2 tbsp chopped fresh basil, or 1 tablespoon dried
• 2 tbsp olive oil
• 2 tbsp freshly squeezed lemon juice
• sea salt or tamari, to taste
• freshly ground black pepper, to taste
• sour cream for topping (optional)
• fresh basil leaves for garnish

Combine all ingredients in a large serving bowl or tureen. Chill until ready to serve. Garnish each serving with a dollop of sour cream, and/or a fresh basil leaf. Serves 4 to 6.