Deda's Garden

Fresh, seasonal ingredients make all the difference

You are holding a firetruck-red tomato bigger than your fist. There are still leaves and part of the vine attached to the top, green as a Christmas tree. The dry cracks down the side of the fruit make it look a little lopsided. You feel the smoothness of the skin on your fingertips, and the firm flesh underneath.

You take a bite like it’s an apple. The burst of juice coats the inside of your mouth with light acid. There’s a bit of tomato skin stuck between your front teeth and juice dribbling down your chin, but you don’t care.

You prepare for the next bite by sprinkling a little salt where your teeth will land. You bite in with more enthusiasm this time. Your brain lights up. Fireworks, applause, the peppy violin parts in the finale of Dvořák’s symphony “From the New World”. How can this possibly taste this good?

If you have eaten a fresh, raw tomato like this and are nodding in agreement right now, welcome. You have found your people. If you read all of that and thought who in their right mind would bite into a whole tomato, you are welcome, too. It’s not for everyone.

I relished this spiritual tomato experience every summer for about the first twenty years of my life. I couldn’t wait for Deda’s tomatoes to ripen every August. My earliest memory is of climbing onto the kitchen table to grab a tomato from a basket my grandparents had brought over. I toddled into the living room, eating the tomato like an apple, and dripped juice onto the brand-new carpet.

Nana and Deda lived on 2 acres of land just south of Akron, Ohio, and they made the most of every inch of it. American grocery stores were a strange concept to them after leaving Yugoslavia in the late 1960’s. They had grown a lot of their own food in Europe and wanted to maintain that self-sufficiency, so the sprawling backyard was lined with cherry, plum, pear, peach, and apple trees. The back corner of the yard was dedicated to the garden. Berry plants partially hid the entrance. The blueberry bushes were so tall I could only pick from the lower branches. There were strawberries and red currants. There was also a raspberry bush that presented the perfect adventure to me as a child: to get to the sweet, ruby treasure, I had to brave a jungle of thorns and bees.

But inside the fence was the center of the action. Both Nana and Deda worked in the garden, but it was the biggest source of pride for Deda. He’d spend hours in the backyard in his uniform: straw hat, striped polo, dark blue pants, comfy sneakers. Sometimes when us grandkids were over, he’d bring us outside and see how his vegetables were coming along. He used the same earnest tone of voice usually reserved for prayers before a family meal. 

“Do you see that? Beautiful!” he’d say, with a tongue click for emphasis.

The gardening legend himself

Starting mid-summer and through the fall, the bounty would roll in. Cherries, berries, cucumbers, peppers, green onions, lettuce, carrots, potatoes, zucchini, herbs, and tomatoes.

We’d have slices of raw, salted tomato with breakfast. BLTs for lunch. Creamy cucumber salad. Zucchini bread. Blueberry muffins. Cherry strudel. Bags of fruit were frozen for the winter. Baskets of produce went to neighbors and friends. Even into my college years, when Deda wasn’t well, I’d bring home armfuls of fruits and vegetables.

Circa 2013

“It just doesn’t taste the same when it comes from a grocery store”, my mom would say.

It never does. The attention and teamwork that went into that garden always showed up on the plate. The dishes Nana and Mom made from those fresh ingredients hold a special place in my heart.

It wasn’t until after my grandparents passed that I realized the impact of watching Deda work in the garden. He taught me the importance of knowing where your food comes from, and the joy of coaxing that food from the soil to the kitchen. It does taste better. And it connects us, quite literally, to our roots.

Today, weeds have claimed Deda’s garden. The cherry trees and the raspberry bush are gone. Only the blueberry bushes remain— challenging my mom to try new desserts every year. 

Now I live in a big city and struggle to keep fresh herbs alive in my kitchen window. But I still chase down whatever is seasonal for my cooking at home. Thank goodness for farmers’ markets. They help me re-create the love and care that went into my grandparents’ food. It’s one of the best feelings in the world, like biting into a home-grown tomato for the first time.

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Inspired by my love of tomatoes and other seasonal ingredients, I’m sharing a recipe for an addictive, restaurant-style salsa you can make after reading this. Find the recipe here.