Galloping on a tomato

The man that cannot visualize a horse galloping on a tomato is an idiot.

— André Breton

I visualize everything galloping on tomatoes. I love tomatoes. I think they're beautiful.

I prefer the fiery orange ones over the pink-toned ones. I'll take juicy over meaty. At the grocery story, when possible, I choose the ones still on the vine. I love that smell! Breathe in.

I could eat them for breakfast, lunch, or dinner. And as snacks. I like them fried with my bacon and eggs. Sliced, in sandwiches. Souped hot, or gazpachoized cold. I like them salsified, with garlic, parsley, cilantro, onion, whatever. Juiced, with vodka.

Lately, they form the basis of my now famous Red Salad: a handful of tomatoes (sliced, quartered, diced, chunked, whatever), red pepper, red onion, and beets (from a can). If I'm feeling particularly feisty I'll throw in some radishes. Olive oil, lemon, salt, and pepper. (And sometimes sumac. I'm not sure I taste the difference sumac makes, but it makes everything redder.)

But a tomato is best eaten essentially naked, like an apple. Lick it, salt it, bite it. Repeat as necessary.