A chef's guide to tomatoes and the perfect way to eat them
I was brought up by my grandparents for a good part of my childhood, after my parents split up. On reflection, it had its advantages.
When my dad – who, unusually, had custody of my brother and me – was busy, it meant time with my grandfather, Bill. He was a county councillor (and mayor of Bridport), chairman of the local football club, and had a painting and decorating business as well as an assortment of serious hobbies, not least of which was gardening.
While one of his greenhouses would be full of chrysanthemums – he was a prize grower – the other brimmed with tomatoes, along with a few experimental cucumbers and honeydew melons.
I helped him after dark with a torch, removing earwigs with tweezers from the chrysanthemum heads then pinching out the side shoots of the tomatoes to encourage fruit growth.
Of these he grew only one variety, Moneymaker, a simple, round, red tomato, but the intoxicating scent of the fruit when the greenhouse door was opened has stayed with me.
Eating them with crusty bread and Sarson’s malt vinegar was a regular summer teatime snack when I returned from the harbour after an afternoon’s mackerel fishing.
These days I love gardening, but I don’t have the time my grandfather had to pay attention to troublesome plants. I tend to grow easy stuff like herbs, salads and artichokes, which I can keep cutting and which regrow – boosted by the irrigation system, something my grandad didn’t have.
The weather on the Dorset coast can be extreme and my tomatoes don’t always cope, so I have invested in a little lean-to greenhouse for, hopefully, a more successful crop.
There are varieties available now that I’m sure my grandfather would have grown if he’d had internet access. My old friend Trish Maunder, who makes award-winning Somerset membrillo from her own and neighbouring quince trees, brings me goodies from her garden, including samples from the 20-odd tomato varieties she grows, from Black Cherry and Pineapple to Black Beauty and Marmande.
Great tomatoes need very little doing to them. Some cooks add sugar to boost pasta sauces, but I’d argue that’s only necessary if they’re using flavourless, imported tomatoes at the wrong time of year. The Italians get around this by making passata and preserving tomatoes in jars of olive oil at the height of their season, so maximum sweetness and flavour is retained.
Another Italian tradition is to sun-dry tomatoes – and we Brits have lapped them up. In the late 1980s and early 90s there was barely a menu in Britain that didn’t star sun-dried tomatoes, to the point that I actually once banned my cheffing team from using them.
But now I do rather like making my own semi-dried versions as they are a great flavour booster, especially for dressings, and a vegan or vegetarian’s dream. With unripe, green tomatoes to turn into a curry and ox-hearts to grab from the greenhouse for salads, there’s plenty to do.
It’s a shame Grandad isn’t still around – we’d have a hell of a time.
Read more: Mark Hix’s signature Italian dishes by way of Dorset