Introduction
It’s a blistering spring day (as all spring days in Arizona are just a precursor to summer), and my sister
and I are off to check the garden. It was our idea, Mom had said, so making sure they didn’t die was our
responsibility. Except, the irrigation system is broken, so we have to water them by hand. Of course, my
sister has dibs on the strawberries and easy-to-grow herbs, so I head over to my roped-off section, filled
with warm-colored flowers. There, clinging to a vine-like plant like dull red ornaments to Charlie Brown’s
Christmas tree, hang the tomatoes.
Ah, the tomato: a set of contradictions in a bright red ball. It’s sweet, yet acidic; firm when it’s ripe, yet
always malleable; it’s fundamentally Hispanic, quintessentially European (especially Italian), and
undoubtedly American. And, of course, within the tomato is the biggest contradiction of all: It’s a fruit
that’s also a vegetable.
The Oxford Dictionary defines the tomato as a “pulpy edible fruit which is eaten as a vegetable or in a
salad.” Yeah, you read that right. Botanically and scientifically speaking, tomatoes are fruits. Their seeds
are on the inside, and they are formed when the tomato plant’s flower is fertilized; that, according to
the Oxford Dictionary, is the hallmark of a “true fruit.” I once accidentally referred to a tomato as a
veggie in front of my über-gardener Auntie Kath—if I hadn’t been seven, she might have disowned me.
To her, the differentiation between what’s a fruit and what’s a vegetable is as sacred as recognizing that
the so-called “Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim” are originally from Anaheim, not L.A. It’s as good a
controversy to take sides on as any, I suppose.
However, according to their more popular uses, my dear auntie is only half right, since the culinary use
of tomatoes is much closer to that of vegetables than of fruit. They are savory, naturalized citizens of the
world of veggies. If you look up “why is a…” in the search engine Bing, the second option is usually “why
is a tomato a fruit?” When my family used to plant tomatoes in the backyard, they would be planted
with the vegetables, not the fruits. Even the United States Supreme Court got it “wrong” in the 19th
century, declaring the tomato to be a vegetable rather than a fruit. (Yes, this issue really did make it to
the Supreme Court! For more on this bizarre decision, skip to the third chapter, which concerns the use
of the tomato in North America.)
The controversy between whether tomatoes are fruits or veggies does not detract from these fantastic
plants, the same way an alliance to any NFL football team could not make the Super Bowl less exciting.
No matter how you slice it, the world loves rivalries and claiming things. Though tomatoes started off in
South America, lots of restaurants, states and even countries have incorporated them into their
signature dishes. They’re decidedly universal, belonging to many cuisines and excluded from practically
none.
Let’s take a look at three of the world’s major cultures that use tomatoes in their staple dishes, starting
at their true birthplace: South America.
Chapter 1: Xitomatl
(Central & South America)
The original tomato is thought to have originated in or just west of the Andes Mountains in South
America. The Andes Mountain Range is a huge collection of mountains, plateaus and volcanoes that
stretches across the western coast of the South American continent. Since that mountain range is about
4,300 miles long and 200-700 miles wide, it’s a bit like saying the Declaration of Independence was
signed “somewhere in America.” Scientists believe that tomatoes originated in the Northern section of
the Andes, near the areas now known as Chile, Colombia, Bolivia, and Peru. In these regions, there are
still many varieties of tomato that are grown in the wild, but they aren’t that similar to their more
cultured cousins from the north.
Despite the fact that the tomato started out in the Andes, it is believed that they were first
domesticated in Central America, 2,000 miles north of their place of origin. Aztec and pre-Mayan
civilizations living in present-day Mexico cultivated the tomatoes, calling their newly domesticated
plants “Xitomatl.” Central American tribes that were not associated with the Aztec or Mayan civilizations
referred to the giant berries as “tomati,” from which we get the modern word “tomato.” Some Aztec
writings involving recipes that included peppers, salt and tomatoes are believed to be the first set of
attempts at creating salsa.
How the tasty “tomati” found its way to the Aztecs is a mystery. One theory is that the tomato was
originally a weed that became domesticated around the same time as maize, or corn, and beans.
Another theory indicates that when natives traded the seeds for maize and beans, tomato seeds got
mixed in and acted as stowaways on the journey north. Either way, their arrival in the Aztec Empire was
most likely a happy accident.
According to various accounts, the first tomatoes might have been yellow. The biggest hint that this
might be true is the moniker given to the tomato by the Italians: pomi d’oro, or “yellow apple.” Some
botanists have postulated that since the tomato starts out green and changes colors from that state, the
earliest tomatoes might have been green. It’s uncertain whether they were originally yellow or if they
were cultivated to turn that color in Mexico, but either way, they probably were not the bright red color
they are known for today.
In decidedly South American countries like Chile, tomatoes have generally tended to play second fiddle
to maize, even in modern recipes. Even in Peru, where eight types of wild tomatoes are still grown,
tomatoes are apparently generally used more as a garnish than as the base for foods. On the other
hand, if there is one staple of modern Mexican cuisine, it’s salsa. Tomato-based salsas have been pretty
much synonymous with Mexican cuisine ever since the food’s apparent inception during the Aztec
Empire several centuries ago. Though the name “salsa” was coined by Spanish invaders, the sauce itself
is a heritage dish that long predates Cortez. And, according to the notes of conquistadors like Bernadino
de Sahagun, the ingredients from sixteenth-century salsa recipes aren’t that different from the ones we
use today.
Uncle Clark’s Salsa Recipe
While the friend who introduced this salsa to me is as European-American as you can
get, decades of living in Arizona had prompted her uncle to invent an amazing salsa
recipes. Now that the recipe’s pretty much been perfected, it’s a staple at their family’s
parties. My little brother has been hooked on it ever since our first Super Bowl party at
their house, and I frequently bribe him with a batch of the salsa and a bag of toasted
corn Doritos. The ingredients ought to be easy to find on a trip to Safeway and World
Market.
1 can (7.75 oz.) El Pato jalapeño salsa
1 can (7.75 oz.) El Pato tomato salsa with jalapeño
2 cans (7.75 oz. each) El Pato tomato sauce
4 oz. diced green chiles
3 sliced green onion stalks
½ bunch fresh cilantro, diced
1 lime, juiced
1-2 tbsps. Cal Mex Seasoning Blend
Mix all ingredients together in a large mixing bowl. Serve at room temperature. If
there’s any left over, refrigerate.
Note: 1-2 tablespoons Cal Mex Seasoning Blend (from World Market) can be
substituted for the same amount of the following spice mixture:
Minced garlic
Garlic salt
Onion salt
Dried onions
Cumin
Mexican oregano
Paprika
Red pepper flakes
Dried jalapeño
Dried cilantro
Mix equal amounts of the spices together. Use a mortar to grind into a fine
mixture. If a mortar is unavailable, a flat spoon ought to work. Use 1-2
tablespoons of the spice mixture; save any extra for future batches.
Chapter 2: Lycopersicum
(Europe)
Tomatoes were not seen by Europeans until the early 1500s A.D. The crew that accompanied Spanish
explorer Cortez to the New World is credited with the “discovery” of the tomatoes, which were
reputedly found in an Aztec market. When he invaded the city of Tenochtitlan (modern-day Mexico
City), Cortez heard the fruits referred to as “tomati,” and adapted the name to “tomate” to fit with the
Spanish language. At the time of their journey, it was about 1520 A.D. When the first tomato seeds were
transported to Europe, they were treated as botanical curiosities, but they weren’t used as food just yet.
The scientific name for tomatoes, “S. lycopersicum,” is Latin and translates to "wolf peach." Their bright
coloring led some Europeans, especially Englanders and other Northern Europeans, to believe that the
tomato was a poisonous fruit. It was also a common misconception in the medieval period that
tomatoes could be used for summoning or warding off werewolves, depending on the source. (Maybe
that’s why garlic and tomatoes are often together in European recipes…) German folklore indicates that
witches would use tomatoes and members of the nightshade family of plants to produce werewolves.
Whatever the case, they weren’t considered safe to eat. As is the case with many common
misconceptions, there is a grain of truth to this myth: The leaves of nightshade plants are poisonous
when they’re eaten. The tomato fruits, thankfully, are perfectly fine to eat.
Now, of course, most Europeans aren’t afraid to eat tomatoes. Southern Europeans were much more
quick to adopt the tomato than their northern counterparts, and this is reflected in their respective
cuisines. Once the northerners saw that their southern neighbors weren’t dying because of tomato
consumption (and that werewolves were probably not affected by the fruits), it’s likely that they started
eating it too, but in smaller quantities than Southerners.
Tomatoes were reputed by the French to have aphrodisiacal properties, and this is reflected in their
nickname pommes d’amour, or “love apples.” (This could also be the result of a misunderstanding of the
fruit’s earliest Spanish name, pome dei Moro, or “Moor’s apple.”) During summers in France, tomatoes
are cut up in salads, in tartine sandwiches, and in stews like the ratatouille or cassoulet. Conversely,
northerners like the British tended to use tomatoes sparingly, if at all, in their recipes until well into the
1800s. Like Americans, the modern Brits that I’ve met have tended to co-opt recipes from other
countries. Pseudo-Italian staples like spaghetti sauce are apparently popular, and my cousins from the
United Kingdom are huge fans of pizza. Even in Poland, tomato soup (which, depending on the source,
may or may not have originated in Spain) is considered one of the top comfort foods.
The fruit has become practically synonymous with Italian cuisine in particular, which isn’t too surprising
given that the country was one of the first in Europe to adopt the tomato. The first Italian tomatoes
were likely yellow, as indicated by their Italian nickname pomi d’oro, meaning “golden apples.” It’s a
little hard to believe, looking at modern Italian menus, that dark time in history before the Italians
started to cultivate the tomato. I mean, what Italian restaurant worth its salt wouldn’t have some sort of
spaghetti dish on its menu? And where would pizza be without tomato sauce?
Secret Spaghetti Sauce Recipe
This was my go-to food as a kid—I’d put it on pasta, on steaks, bagels, string cheese… I
don’t remember what I didn’t put it on! I had always admired Mom’s ability to make this
sauce without ever consulting the recipe, and to make it good consistently for 15 years.
According to family legend, she invented the sauce when I was still in preschool as a way
to trick my sister and dad (yes, dad) into eating the zucchini that grew in our backyard.
When I moved away from home, I asked her if she could Xerox the recipe for me; in
return, she gave me a blank stare. As it turns out, her own recipe was so secret that even
she didn’t have a written version of it. So, after some experimenting, she and I were able
to figure out the following recipe. Enjoy!
1 small onion
2 medium zucchini
4 garlic cloves, minced
Olive oil (~1 tbsp.)
Canned tomato sauce (28 oz.)
Canned tomato puree (28 oz.)
Canned crushed tomato (28 oz.)
1 tsp. Italian seasoning
2 tsp. basil
½ tsp. salt
1/8 tsp. black pepper
1/8 tsp. crushed red pepper
1 tsp. sugar
Sautée the onion, zucchini and garlic in olive oil (just enough to cover the bottom of the
pan) until slightly tender, about 10 minutes. Add sautéed vegetables to a pot, and add in
the tomatoes and spices. Simmer everything for about one hour, until the vegetables
are soft. Puree until smooth. Taste-test to make sure the sauce is spiced correctly; make
any necessary spice additions, to taste. Serve over pasta.
Chapter 3: Nix v. Hedden
North America
Although Thomas Jefferson reportedly raised them as ornamental plants, the long-standing European
tradition that tomatoes were poisonous carried over in the British colonies until well after the United
States became a country. According to legend, Americans only just started to trust that tomatoes were
edible after a public demonstration in 1820. Colonel Robert Gibbon Johnson reputedly staged an event
in which he sat on the courthouse steps in Salem, New Jersey with a basket full of tomatoes. As the
story goes, the Colonel had decided to eat the entire basket’s worth of tomatoes while sitting in front of
an audience of the curious townsfolk who had come to see his death. When he survived, I suppose, the
citizens of Salem realized the fruit was harmless.
After the fruit was deemed edible, it started to get imported en masse, to the point that the American
government felt the need to start taxing the import of produce. New York importer John Nix, annoyed
that the Port of New York was taxing his tomatoes, sued Edward L. Hedden for collecting the taxes. Nix’s
argument was this: The Tariff Act of 1883 specified that the import of vegetables, not fruits, would be
taxed, and since tomatoes were botanically a fruit, they ought to be exempt from the taxation. This case
was controversial enough to make it to the Supreme Court in 1893. Both the defense and the
prosecution made use of the contemporary Webster’s Dictionary definitions, picking at what
differentiated fruits from veggies: Was it the botanical definition or the way the plant was used that
defined it?
The court decided the tomato’s culinary use as a vegetable outweighed its technical definition as a fruit,
and the tax stayed in place. Of course, Supreme Court justices get their paychecks from taxpayers’
dollars, so it’s hard to say if there was a conflict of interest there. Some states have played into, or
stayed out of, this controversy while still declaring their love for tomatoes. New Jersey named the
tomato its state vegetable, while as recently as 2009 the tomato was made the state fruit of Ohio.
Arkansas took both sides when it declared the tomato (specifically, the South Arkansas Vine Ripe Pink
Tomato) to be both the state veggie and the state fruit.
Because of the melting-pot nature of American cuisine, the United States has variations of the foods
from everywhere in the world. As a result of this, we have easy access to salsa, spaghetti and nearly
every tomato-based food in between. Of course, American food aficionados have made several
innovations of their own. While pizza is labeled an Italian food, it has been altered so many times that
American-style pizza is now a distant cousin to what would be served in Rome. Even within America, we
have geographic in-groups that correspond to the types of pizza: Chicago-style, New York-style, thincrust and thick-crust are just the tip of the pepperoni-encrusted iceberg. Of course, the single largest
tomato-based innovation made by Americans just might be the invention of ketchup.
While an archaic form of ketchup may have been in China, tomato-based ketchup wasn’t created until
early 1800s America. Because it was highly processed with vinegar, ketchup was considered safer to eat
than raw tomatoes (remember, this was before the Colonel proved the fresh fruits weren’t poisonous),
and its creation became popular on farms. When the F. & J. Heinz company started mass-producing
ketchup in 1876, they may not have realized how massively popular their product would be. A century
ago, Heinz billed its initial “catsup” product as an alternative to canning tomatoes, which has always
been a time-consuming process. Part of that initial popularity of canned tomatoes (and thus ketchup)
stemmed from the old belief that tomatoes were poisonous—if it’s highly processed, it stands to reason
that the poisonous part has been processed out, right? Now, Heinz-style ketchup is still especially
popular in fast-food restaurants, the ultimate time-saving eateries.
Autumn’s “Baby Pizza”/Lazy American’s Bruschetta
In high school, my best friend and I were often tasked with babysitting her younger
brother and sister, who love pizza. What kid doesn’t? Rather than try and make pizzas
every babysitting night or (gasp!) order one every time her parents left, she came up
with these miniature pizzas to pacify them. Despite my usual aversion to mayonnaise, I
still count these among my favorite snackage recipes. If you slide one of these onto a
piece of toast, it’s instantly transformed into Lazy American’s Bruschetta.
4 regular tomatoes, sliced
½ cup mayonnaise
½ cup parmesan cheese (shredded)
½ cup mozzarella cheese (shredded)
1 tbsp. oregano
1 tsp. minced garlic
Preheat oven to broil, making sure the oven’s top rack is in place. Mix everything but
tomatoes in a mixing bowl. Spread mixture on top of tomato slices. Broil on the top rack
for about 3 minutes or until golden brown. Let cool before serving.
Conclusion
It’s amazing to think how far the once-lowly tomato has come only to wind up on my plate here and
now, a few thousand miles north and several centuries from where it all began. The little red fruit (or
veggie?) has come a long way from its possibly-accidental first steps in Tenochtitlan, its werewolfhunting days in Germany, and its death-defying stunts on Salem’s courthouse steps. If I was going to
take a road trip to Mexico City today and order some chips and salsa, maybe the tomato’s journey
would come full circle. But for now, as I sit with a stomach full of spaghetti and a heart reminded of
home, I think its trek to culinary stardom is complete enough.