I'm no fan of the tomato. Never have been one to take a bite out of the "love apple" or cut thick, hearty slices for a dagwood sandwich. Even chunky salsa used to make turn up my nose with a quick, "No thanks."
Only in recent years have I acquired a taste for homemade salsa, or been able to stomach the squishy guts of a raw tomato atop my hamburger. Still, tomatoes were always there...always staring at me from the kitchen table or grandmother's garden. Heck, even today I have several friends in the city who are growing plump, juicy tomatoes in their backyard gardens!
I was raised upon the foundational belief that nowhere is there to be found a better, juicier, sweeter tomato than in southwestern Indiana, home to generations of my horticulture-loving family. Yes, the sandy deposits of the Wabash and White rivers help to grow the best tomatoes in these continental United States...or so I've been brainwash...er...told.
Well, now I can better understand the root of this Hoosier love affair. Just look what I found in an old New York publication called "The Cultivator, Vol. IV" page 303: