Why "Strawberries and Tomatoes?"

I love the fact that the first piece of food I ate today was a peach bought at yesterday's Davis market from my favorite flirtatious farmer. I love that I had to stop texting a co-worker about logistics for the day because peach juice was dripping onto my phone. When I eat locally grown food, dead ripe and juicy, I remember to slow down and live my life more fully -- with less multi-tasking and lots more flavor.

That said, my passion for local food does not prevent me from enjoying quite a few non-local specialties, some of which are near-daily indulgences. As my friends and co-workers will tell you, my daily need for high-end black tea in itself significantly increases the average number of miles that food travels to arrive in my Boston-based kitchen. And then there's the chocolate and the Parmigiano-Reggiano that are staples of my pantry -- and then there's tropical fruit, an entire subcategory of well-traveled indulgence in and of itself.

But like people passionate for their cause, I do draw the line somewhere -- even if that line is not exactly where I think it should be, and even if that line is far more mobile than I'd like to boot. 

Here's where I draw the line: come hell, high water, or a tempting fruit salad in February, I will never eat strawberries or tomatoes out of season. They are two of the fruits I love best, and what passes for them out of season is watery, mealy, and depressing. In addition, they are two of the produce items that modern consumers seem to require be present in every produce section of every grocery store all year long -- check for yourself next time you're there. Then there's the fact that I spent a year living 10 miles north of Watsonville, CA, home of a vast share of the nation's strawberry production and more than it's fair share of economic, environmental, and social challenges as a result. And whenever I drove from Santa Cruz down I-5 through the Central Valley to see my sister in LA, I passed more than my fair share of flatbread trucks loaded with anemic tomatoes, destined for the wintertime consumption of my parents and friends back home in New England. 

So now when I order a (ideally, but not always, grass-fed and local) burger in January, I am sure to ask the server to hold the tomatoes. And when a mid-winter potluck brunch features waffles loaded with strawberries, I politely say no thank you. Most of the time, anyway -- saying "no thank you" to my father-in-law's fruit-laden waffles is something I am still working up to.

So that's why I have titled this blog "Strawberries and Tomatoes" -- because they are where I draw the line. It is hard to eat seasonally in this culture of luxury and abundance, and I could do better. But when it comes to my friends Fragaria × ananassa and Solanum lycopersicum, I am steadfast. And keeping those two things on my DEBA-OOS list ("Don't Ever Buy Out of Season") helps me appreciate just how fleeting and precious moments like this morning's ripe peach-imbibing really are.