Tomatoes at Trader Joe's

I didn't know about the tomato scare until a friend- fully pregnant- told me about her husband's warning on how she should limit her tomato intake. "No way!" I had said, "That's a total crime- life without tomatoes is like a tortilla without potatoes, or a ring without a band, or... Why are we being told what we can or cannot eat ALL THE TIME!!" You gotta be kiddin' me!!

I made my way to Trader's Joe in Hartsdale last Sunday morning to get some 'stuff' to prepare breakfast- after all, my cousin was over and we had nothing in the fridge to feed her other than some wine, vodka and frozen vegetables.

After snagging a shady spot in the vast parking lot, I was welcomed by stacks of watermelon and charcoal bags through the automatic gates of air-conditioned heaven. Baby, I was home!

Straight to the produce section, I stood in front of the bins and bins full of tomatoes- "Field of Tomatoes", my mind wandered: vine ripened, plum, roma, yellow, green, large, medium, small, x-tra small, minuscule, baby, grand, beefsteak,... How can tomatoes have salmonella? I reached for the Baby Romas- lined up so perfectly against the vine, tightly held up together, reminding me of contestants at a beauty pageant. So perfectly huddled together.

I held up the container in my hand, checking out the expiration date, if such things really existed. How can tomatoes expire, I questioned, when they get mushy, you make sauce out of them. I guess- though- everything in today's world have expiry dates- even we do! We first expire from a being a child, then expire from being a teenager, then expire from the ID-check at bars, then expire from motherhood, expire from work, sometimes expire from favor, and expire from wrinkle-freedom, expire from old age, and expire from the world... And we're conditioned to think this is just reality- whose I don't know- but I refuse. We don't have expiry dates just as tomatoes shouldn't.

I brought the container close to my nose- yes, I smell my tomatoes- as I do with all other fruits and vegetables before I buy them. These smelled of the 5-year-old me, picking out my very own tomatoes from my grandparent's veggie garden- barefooted, with braids in my hair, matching hair clips, a Mothercare sundress... Without the complications of SPF 15, SPF 30, SPF 45, zinc oxide, lather, reapply, wait, re-apply,... Pure, unaware, happy me. Picking up ripened tomatoes, bringing them close to my nose, inhaling the heady perfume of summer. Intoxicated by complete smell of tomatoes. Nothing else. The end of a hose nearby, washing and eating tomatoes. No salt, no basil, no buffalo mozzarella, no fresh cracked pepper, no olive oil, no balsamic vinegar needed. Uncomplicated tomatoes, uncomplicated me.

These are good tomatoes I said as my nose's job was done. Container still in my hand, my eyes wandered over to where I found them- I wondered if I should pick another container. Would they be better? I mean these were good, but would the others be more perfect? Was I getting the "best" batch of tomatoes available this morning? "C'mon, get over yourself," I thought to myself. Since when did you become a perfectionist? "Oh yeah," another voice rebelled in my head, "You always want the best of possible choices: best hairdresser, best nail salon, best technician, best pizza, best moisturizer, best this, best that! Who are you kidding?" That was right. Who was I kidding? Why would I ever settle for less than the best tomatoes?

Closer examination. I read the label: "Hydroponically grown." Huh? Since when did they start growing tomatoes in water? Not the least bit ashamed of my ignorance. Don't tomatoes get their earthly goodness from... ummm, earth? I chuckled to myself imagining of having this conversation at a high-tea gathering in a fancy southern colonial house with kids running around in country-club-perfect outfits: "Oh, dear, I only buy hydroponically grown tomatoes. The ones that come from earth, uh, so passe! They key is in the hydroponics of it!" A small high-pitched laugh. All the others around me joining me in my laughter, clicking their tea cups, staring at the symmetrically cut cucumber sandwiches. In a Oompa-Loompa fashion, "We've been buying hydroponic tomatoes for-EVER!" they say.

Where did that come from- I really cannot tell- but I should definitely be expired before such a day comes!

Hydroponic, schmydroponic, who cares?! They looked like tomatoes should, smelled the way they should- and hopefully, tasted like they should. I placed the tomato container in my shopping cart, and moved over to the eggs.

Here we go again...