A Tomato Worth Talking About

There is always something rather hopeful about this time of year in Dorset. The garden begins to wake properly, seed packets appear on kitchen tables beside cups of coffee, and every year I seem to convince myself that this will be the year I grow the perfect tomato.

This spring, however, I may have got a little carried away.

Tucked amongst the usual dependable favourites was a packet of rather unusual tomato seeds called Ananas Noir — a name that sounds more suited to an old French wine than something destined for the vegetable patch. Naturally, I couldn’t resist them. I bought the seeds from "She Grows Veg " seed company.

Tomato Ananas Noir

The photographs on the website were extraordinary. Deep dusky shades of mahogany, olive green, burnt orange and crimson all marbled together in great hefty fruits that looked almost too beautiful to eat. They are sometimes known as “Black Pineapple” tomatoes, though there is nothing black about them really. Instead, they have those rich, smoky colours that seem to belong perfectly beside a summer barbecue table laden with salads, fresh bread and chilled glasses of wine.

I have spent the last few weeks peering hopefully into seed trays and nursery pots, waiting for signs of life like an impatient child. Now the young plants are beginning to stretch upwards, delicate but determined, and already I find myself imagining what they might become by late summer.

Apparently, when cut in half, the inside is every bit as spectacular as the outside. Great swirls of ruby red, emerald green, golden orange and rose pink run through the flesh like watercolour paint. The sort of tomato that makes people stop mid-conversation and say, “Goodness, what on earth is that?”

And isn’t that exactly what summer food should do?

I am already picturing thick slices scattered across platters with torn basil, peppery rocket and soft Dorset mozzarella. Perhaps drizzled simply with olive oil and sea salt so the colours can do all the talking. I suspect these tomatoes will become the show stoppers of summer lunches and family barbecues — the sort of thing guests photograph before they eat.

Of course, gardening has a wonderful way of humbling us all. There is every chance the slugs will feast before we do, or that our glorious British weather will decide otherwise. But half the joy is in the anticipation.

For now, the little Ananas Noir seedlings sit quietly in the greenhouse, full of promise. And somewhere between sowing the seeds and dreaming of summer salads, I think that may be the real magic of growing your own food.