You’ve decided to follow this dumb blog and now you’re gonna pay for it, starting with this brief tale: I grew this tomato, from seed, and ate it for breakfast this morning.

I’m no hero for doing it, just stating the facts. It’s bruised, looks like it may have lost a fight to a stray cat, but when I had Gordon Ramsay slice it and plate it up it looked pretty damn good, and it tasted pretty damn good too.

In a season of tomatoes mostly destroyed by blossom end rot and/or biblical rain, I was happy to have a single, halfway-decent, edible tomato. 

It was certainly not on the level with these monsters I found at my local pretentious food market. Though it’s hard to tell from the photo, these heirlooms were the size of two fused together man fists.

I have no idea how to grow tomatoes this amazing. I can’t remember what they were called but if I farmed these suckers, I’d name them Cat’s Ass tomatoes for two reasons. The first of which is that they’re awesome. 

Not long after my market trip, I ran across this tomato plant in a West Village parking lot catching supplementary rays from a street lamp. It was tiny, and I’m fairly sure no fruit will be coming off its branches. But like my tomato plants, it was undaunted by inevitable failure, straining to grow taller even if home was the top of a rusty gas pump in a parking lot. Maybe it will prove me wrong and surprise its owner with a single, man-fist sized beauty that will be ripe just in time for breakfast. I sure hope so, tomatoes for breakfast are good.