Tomato Quotes

“A tomato may be a fruit, but it is a singular fruit. A savory fruit. A fruit that has ambitions far beyond the ambitions of other fruits.”
― E. Lockhart, The Disreputable History of Frankie Landau-Banks

“The proprietor of the grocery store on the corner was bidding a silent farewell to a tomato which even he, though a dauntless optimist, had been compelled to recognize as having outlived its utility.”
― P.G. Wodehouse, A Damsel in Distress

“The chaplain glanced at the bridge table that served as his desk and saw only the abominable orange-red, pear-shaped, plum tomato he had obtained that same morning from Colonel Cathcart, still lying on its side where he had forgotten it like an indestructible and incarnadine symbol of his own ineptitude.”
― Joseph Heller, Catch-22

“This rubicund youth, with his blunt features, appeared for all the world to have a tomato instead of a head.”
― Marcel Proust, Sodom and Gomorrah

“Yeah, it was my mom who showed me how to select the needle from her tomato, snip the bit of string, and find the eye.”
― Patrick Rosal

“You will realize that those round, pinkish red things that are available in the stores bear no resemblance at all to the real tomato”
― Craig Lehoullier

“I wish you could have seen the kitchen when I was done: It looked like a hurricane had blown right in the door! But I cleaned it all up, and when Mother came home the whole house smelled warm and spicy, Bing Crosby was singing "White Christmas" on the radio, I was wearing a clean apron, and she called me her "little homemaker."
What would you think about tomato mincemeat cookies? I bet no one else will think of that!”
― Ruth Reichl, Delicious!

“Her smile was somehow a little too bright, but I watched as she showed me how she had scored the puff pastry and brushed it with oil. She got me to smell the thyme pressed between her fingers and thumb, and told me how good garlic was for keeping away colds. She preached about food and sang and laughed and baked until the light started to come in the windows. Then we sat and ate hot tart without knives and forks. She kissed my cheeks and smelled like garlic. I remember the hot cheese dropping onto Mama's sweater and drying to a rubbery streak against the wool.”
― Hannah Tunnicliffe, The Color of Tea

“The non-hybrids/heirlooms I grew equaled or out-yielded the hybrids in general, with far superior flavors and variety.”
― Craig Lehoullier

“I don't know how long I spent wandering about the supermarket creating meals in my mind. Hot roast chicken and mayonnaise sandwiches. Pizzas on crispy bases. Big, heaving bowls of spaghetti Bolognese. Crunchy, cheesy nachos with sour cream. I did a full circle and ended back in the fruit and veg section. Next to the peaches were boxes filled with tomatoes still clinging to their vines. The ripe tomato smell was almost sexual. It filled my nostrils as I lifted the box. There were some slightly rotten ones near the bottom of the box, but the rest were just perfect, thick with the perfume of their green vines, fat and red.”
― Hannah Tunnicliffe, The Color of Tea

“Madame Escoffier," he said. In his white apron, he was again the man she loved. The gentle man who only spoke in whispers.
"I am sorry," she said.
"I am not."
He leaned over and kissed her. His lips tasted of tomatoes, sharp and floral.
The moment, filled with the heat of a reckless summer, brought her back to the gardens they had grown together in Paris in a private courtyard behind Le Petit Moulin Rouge. Sweet Roma tomatoes, grassy licorice tarragon, thin purple eggplants and small crisp beans thrived in a series of old wine barrels that sat in the tiny square. There were also violets and roses that the 'confiseur' would make into jellies or sugar to grace the top of the 'petit-fours glacés,' which were baked every evening while the coal of the brick ovens cooled down for the night.
"No one grows vegetables in the city of Paris," she said, laughing, when Escoffier first showed her his hidden garden, "except for Escoffier."
He picked a ripe tomato, bit into it and then held it to her lips. "Pomme d'amour, perhaps this was fruit of Eden."
The tomato was so ripe and lush, so filled with heat it brought tears to her eyes and he kissed her.
"You are becoming very good at being a chef's wife."
"I love you," she said and finally meant it.
'Pommes d'amour.' The kitchen was now overflowing with them.”
― N.M. Kelby, White Truffles in Winter

“There is the standing prime rib roast, which I salted three days ago and have left uncovered in the extra fridge to dry out. I place the roast in a large Ziploc bag and put it in the bottom of the first rolling cooler, and then the tray of twice-baked potatoes enriched with cream, butter, sour cream, cheddar cheese, bacon bits, and chives, and topped with a combination of more shredded cheese and crispy fried shallots. My coolers have been retrofitted with dowels in the corners so that I can put thin sheets of melamine on them to create a second level of storage; that way items on the bottom don't get crushed. On the top layer of this cooler I placed the tray of stuffed tomatoes, bursting with a filling of tomato pudding, a sweet-and-sour bread pudding made with tomato paste and orange juice and lots of butter and brown sugar, mixed with toasted bread cubes. I add a couple of frozen packs, and close the top.
"That is all looking amazing," Shawn says.
"Why, thank you. Can you grab me that second cooler over there, please?"
He salutes and rolls it over. I pull the creamed spinach out of the fridge, already stored in the slow cooker container, and put it in the bottom of the cooler, and then add three large heads of iceberg lettuce, the tub of homemade ranch dressing and another tub of crispy bacon bits, and a larger tub of popover batter. I made the pie at Lawrence's house yesterday morning before heading to the airport- it was just easier than trying to transport it- and I'll make the whipped cream topping and shower it with shards of shaved chocolate just before serving. I also dropped off three large bags of homemade salt-and-pepper potato chips, figuring that Lawrence can't eat all of them in one day and that there will hopefully be at least two bags still there when we arrive. Lawrence insisted that he would pick up the oysters himself.”
― Stacey Ballis, How to Change a Life

“My eyes widened at this jungle of freshness, the earth on the ground. The back wall, around thirty feet high, burst with terra-cotta pots filled with every herb imaginable- basil, thyme, coriander, parsley, oregano, dill, rosemary, and lavender. There were tomatoes of almost every variety beaming with colors of red, dark purple, yellow, and green. Lemon trees. Avocados. Lettuces, like roquette and feuille de chêne. Zucchinis and eggplants. Fennel, celeriac, artichokes, and cucumbers. Leeks, asparagus, cabbages, and shallots, oh my.
I exhaled a happy breath. This explosion of color, this climate-controlled greenhouse, was every chef's idea of heaven. I ran my hands over the leaves of a cœur de bœuf tomato plant and brought my fingers to my nose, breathing in the grassy and fragrant aroma, an unmistakable scent no other plant shared. All of the smells from my summers in France surrounded me under one roof. As the recipes Grand-mère taught me when I was a child ran through my head, my heart pumped with happiness, a new vitality. I picked a Black Krim, which was actually colored a reddish purple with greenish brown shoulders, and bit into it. Sweet with just a hint of tartness. Exactly how I summed up my feelings.”
― Samantha Verant, The Secret French Recipes of Sophie Valroux

“Tomatoes should be accorded with respect, for without them, Christmas stew wouldn’t exist.”
― Michael Bassey Johnson, Song of a Nature Lover

“The bread was earthy and chewy, crunchy on the bottom and meltingly soft on top, and rather than rubbing the bread with tomato as in a traditional pan con tomate (yes, I'd done my research), the raw tomato had been shredded and mashed and spread on top, a cool, sweet, tangy contrast to the bread. A hint of garlic spoke up in the back of my throat; anchovies whispered underneath, the salt and the brine making everything else taste sweeter.”
― Amanda Elliot, Best Served Hot

“I was so caught up in my thoughts I did not notice the wire till I got caught up in it. Right. Of course. Tomato patch. Those poor fruits. Or vegetables. Those poor fruitables. Those poor veguits.
I have too much time on my hands.”
― Finn Eccleston, The Community

“I would be much wiser to cultivate the tomato plant rather than expend my life attempting to transition it into a stalk of corn. For in the attempt to do so, both will die and neither will feed me.”
― Craig D. Lounsbrough

“Well, we are teaching tomato to tango - quite the colorful challenge! ”
― Dipti Dhakul