OK, so I've been growing them for three years now, three plants a year. At the current rate, and with tomato seeds seemingly remaining viable for centuries, I should have enough seeds for at least another decade. Oh joy. Well, every cent I can save on tomato seeds means a cent or two I can spend on other things. Aubergine seeds, perhaps, or maybe a real splurging out, and crossing the 1€ per litre barrier for everyday wine. The seeds were free, a thank you gift for spending a pretty fortune through Graines-Baumaux, although after three years of growing the wretched things, I'm beginning to see why. Beware the neighbour giving you free plants - lemon balm and mint have spread like Japanese Knotweed around my plot - and beware the seed company giving away free seeds.
The problem?
Well, I, in fact we both, just don't like them. I wait and wait and wait and eventually the stripey green bullets get the slightest of yellow tinge to them and instantly become a pappy mass, and one with very little flavour. I like my tomatoes to be rich and earthy for cooking - Marmande or St Pierre any day - or a perfectly balanced mouthful of sweetness and acidity - Gardener's Delight or Black Cherry, about which I have already raved this year.
Green Zebra? Mushy flesh, thickish skin which really has to be bitten into when raw, resulting in an undignified dribble, and no discernible flavour. I've had better tomatoes from Dutch greenhouses in winter.
Solutions?
I tried cooking up a green tomato curry, picking the fruit when firm enough to withstand cooking but, hopefully, juicy enough to, well, release some juice. The recipe had worked well enough when I inadvertently cut off a truss of unripe Roma plum tomatoes, so it seemed reasonable to assume the Zebras would be good, too.
The recipe is straightforward enough. Dry fry cumin and fenugreek seeds, add the tomatoes, chopped into bite size pieces, green chilli to taste plus ground coriander, turmeric and salt. Stir and fry a bit, then add a paste made by blitzing ginger root and garlic together with a bit of water, some amchoor, sugar, dry chilli powder and enough water to make the whole thing saucy. Cook gently until the tomatoes are soft.
Not so good. The zebras had done their usual trick and gone from rock hard to green tomato puree in the blink of an eye, or the single stirring of a wooden spoon.
Mixed tomato salsa actually worked really well. A combination of red Cyril's Choice, a small red heirloom variety, Ola Polka, a medium sized yellow and the bloomin' zebras looked a picture, along with some garlic, a careful dose of fatalii chillies, fresh mint and coriander, and a balance of sugar, salt and lemon juice meant it tasted good too. I couldn't really taste the zebras, which perhaps helped.
My last attempt to use up the fruit of these annoyingly productive plants, was to adapt an old recipe for sweet pickled green tomatoes. We are yet to taste the end result; like leeks and parsnips, it is forbidden to open this year's pickles before the first frost!
The recipe comes from a publication from the AFRC Institute of Food Research and was first published in 1929. I believe it is out of print, but it is still available from various online retailers. I love this book and would suggest anyone wanting to preserve their garden produce takes a look.
Sweet Green Tomato Pickle
- 1.4kg green tomatoes (the recipe calls for them to be left whole, but I cut the zebras into eighths)
- 1 kg sugar (I found this too sweet and reduced the quantity)
- 300ml vinegar (I used cider)
- 150ml water
- 1 tsp vanilla essence (I use a single split vanilla pod)
Combine the sugar, water, vinegar and vanilla in a pan big enough to take the tomatoes, heat slowly until the sugar dissolves then bring to a boil. Add the tomatoes and cook for five minutes. Place into warmed, sterilised jars and seal with vinegar proof lids.
This recipe is usually wonderful. If the zebras screw it up, then they have had it.
Free seeds anyone?
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