The Bodacious Brandywine

Will gave me the high sign fifteen minutes before the Farmer’s Market opening bell He had what I wanted and was keeping it safe. The fragile Brandywine tomatoes were tucked under his table and out of the hands of careless potential purchasers who looked over his crops with their fingers as well as their eyes. His care is essential. Will is one of the few vendors who even try to bring Brandywines to market. They are that delicate. Find them in a grocery store? No way. Not wanting to be too obvious I gradually moved over to the corner of his booth. I was ready to get my share at the very first moment.

The bell rang! I took my spot with my special bag ready to take in the first of the season Brandywines. They need special care to get home, too. They travel in old shoe boxes lined with paper towels and that I carry in a sturdy canvas tote. Luxury for a Farmer’s market vegetable but worth every effort.

Brandywines are quite simply the best tomato ever. Not always perfectly formed, they are often lumpy and easy to bruise. For those in the know, their sweet, tart, slightly acid flavor has been the essential taste of summer since 1885. Frankly, they can’t be beat. Their full and meaty texture can make each tomato, often weighing more than a pound, practically a meal in itself. They are worth every minute of my devotion in the garden and my vigilance at Farmer’s Market to get my share.

Will had a half dozen or so of us who belonged to his favored customer club. He made sure we’d all get a chance to have our shares. He sold plenty of other heirloom and market tomatoes for the regular Farmer’s Market customers. But all morning long I could see other members of his Brandywine Club stop by for their prized vegetable.

As good as Will’s Brandywines are they can’t stand up to the ones from my garden. I start the seeds inside under grow lights in late February and plant the seedlings in May. Brandywines are one of the latest maturing tomatoes. You don’t get ripe tomatoes until nearly one hundred days from the time you set out the plants. They are fussy to raise. They can be subject to blight, blossom end rot, cracking, and number of other ills.

In mid-August, if I’m lucky, Brandywine bounty takes over my garden harvest and fills my kitchen for the next month. My patch is overflowing with their delicious ripeness. Picking one warm from the vine and devouring it right there with juices dripping down your chin is the best thing ever. How else can you eat them? Tomato sandwiches—no need for bacon, chopped into salads, sliced onto French bread with basil and fresh mozzarella, diced and stirred into mac and cheese or other warm pasta, stuffed with chicken salad, served as an open-face tomato tart. The list is practically endless. I never tire of them. Simply put there is no better tomato. Just make sure you never, ever put them in the refrigerator if you are planning on eating them fresh.

Still, all good things do come to an end. After Labor Day the vines slow down as they set fewer new tomatoes in cooler temperatures. The ones on the vine ripen more slowly. Time to put some by. As hard as it is to stop eating, I do freeze some Brandywines for winter. It is easy enough to do. Simply bring a pot of water to a boil, carefully drop the Brandywines in for a thirty seconds or so, cool slightly and then pull off the loosened peel. Squeeze out the seeds into a sieve set over a bowl to collect all the juice. I give the Brandywines a rough chop and toss in a freezer bag, add the juice, and flatten them so they freeze evenly. The bags stack neatly and are ready to add just the right flavor to winter’s soup, stew, or chili. OH! When the bags of tomatoes are mostly frozen I press creases into them so I can easily break off just the right amount if I don’t want the whole bag.

Summer is a state of mind and I try to keep it for as long as I can. When the first frost threatens my garden crops, there is one last opportunity for continuing Brandywine delight. Just before the temperatures drop below thirty-two degrees overnight I pick off the green tomatoes to finish ripening inside. I put them in a cardboard box in a dimly lit room. As they sit in a single layer, carefully separated, the Brandywines gradually turn red. Of course they don’t taste like a real summer-ripe tomato, but they do carry with them the dream of summer’s tastes. With any luck we’ll have fresh tomatoes until Christmas. Then after two months, in February, it is time to start the Brandywine quest again with seeds, potting soil, and grow lights. My small plants grow while I tend them patiently. The sharp aroma of summer fills the air when I run my hands gently across their emerging leaves as they release the pungent green tomato smells. I dream of freshly picked Brandywine delights to come.