Metro Man: ToMAHto or ToMAYto, bless them all

The equivalent of the Bible-toting believer is someone who carries a Ziplock baggie of sliced tomatoes into a restaurant to go with their dinner and gives gifts of homegrown tomatoes to a dinner party hostess instead of wine or store-bought flowers.

I believe God gave us homegrown tomatoes as solace from the devilish heat and humidity of July and August that otherwise plague us.

While the homegrown tomato is the only true tomato, there are many pretenders masquerading as the perfect fruit with radiant red, unblemished skins. Like the forbidden fruit of the Garden of Eden, they are tempting, but to eat them is to experience the emptiness of worshipping a false god, for beneath their flawless exterior and brilliant color they are tasteless, hard and lacking in all manner of juiciness. And while the homegrown tomato is priceless, these pretenders can cost as much as $4 a pound. Georgia is a hotbed of this heresy, trailing only Florida and California in commercial tomato production.

As a kid I worshiped the homegrown tomato. I remember following my daddy into the garden, saltshaker in hand, and eating tomatoes off the vine in the early morning when the dew was still on them. Somewhere along the way I strayed, seduced by commercial tomatoes. It was probably during the fast food conspiracy that still has a hold on us.

There is a trinity to the tomato – big round ones for making sandwiches, smaller ones, including cherry tomatoes, for salads and salsa, and plum or “Roma” tomatoes for sauce.

The proper preparation of the tomato sandwich is the subject of heated doctrinal debate. The orthodox believe it must be made with light, white bread touched only by Hellman’s mayonnaise and graced by a little salt and pepper.

Because of dietary restrictions, I am more of the reformed school. I toast just one large slice of Italian bread on which I spread a thin layer of a crumbly, creamy blue cheese dressing, followed by lettuce and tomato and topped with a sprinkling of Hormel bacon crumbs with 30 percent less fat than regular bacon.

Salsa or a salad is simply an offering of the best summer has to give – tomatoes, onions, green peppers, cucumbers and herbs. To me there is no better dressing than a little lemon juice mixed with olive oil, garlic, salt and pepper.

Like we mortal beings, homegrown tomatoes come with flaws, scars and all manner of imperfections. But when baptized in water at a full boil, they emerge easy to peel, with all their lush juiciness. All that is needed is a quick sautÈ in olive oil, garlic, salt, pepper and a touch of fresh basil. The Italians have perfected this. I have always thought their flag was red, green and white to stand for tomatoes, basil and mozzarella.

The ripening of a homegrown tomato can be something of a challenge. While we would all like to pluck it from the vine at its peak, we will inevitably lose out to the birds and squirrels.

The alternative is to pick the tomato when it first starts to ripen and place it on a window sill for a few days until it is fully red. This requires some patience. A quicker way, interestingly, is to place it in a brown bag overnight, and it will be red the next day.

My tomatoes are grown in a neighbor’s backyard garden, where I sharecrop with three others. I supply the water and they provide plants and nutrients. All three are women, and they tend to nurture the plants more than I do. My favorite time in the garden is early morning, where every day is like an Easter egg hunt filled with anticipation, excitement and discovery as I gather the harvest.

Like any religious experience, there is an emotional element to homegrown tomatoes – a sense of oneness with nature, and, unfortunately, the sin of pride is difficult to suppress. A homegrown tomato the most wonderful thing I create with my own hands.