Another summer gone, and all that's left of the garden tomatoes are two sketches, neither of which would make one suspect how truly delicious these tomatoes were. I pick them just as they start to colour pink, getting in before the resident possums.
The yield is maybe one or two tomatoes a day over summer, not much, but the flavour is so deliciously, intensely, sweetly tomato, that when the last one is eaten, and shop bought tomatoes are reluctantly purchased, I find the cut-out shop type now taste just like wet paper.