The transformation of luscious fruits dangling from verdant vines into exsiccated
red squiggles extruded through dentifrice-type tubes seems like the stuff of kooky, Futurist culinary experimentation, but it's not. Nope: this, ladies and gentlemen, is the life
cycle of tomatoes destined for pastehood.
You might assume that this reduction of the juicy tomato
into red squiggles is the singular result of industrial processes. True and not so true. In his fascinating book, The Tomato in
America: Early History, Culture and Cookery, Andrew Smith provides a recipe
for homemade tomato paste that dates
all the way back to 1835. So home cooks
were transforming tomatoes into red squiggles at least a decade or two before
Giovanni Cirio began his first experiments in conserving tomatoes commercially.
On the other hand, the tubes in which red squiggles are packaged are most certainly the result of industrial genius. And industrial genius is also probably responsible for the doppio (double), triplo
(triple), and sestuplo (sextuple) concentrations
of tomato paste produced by Italian manufacturers. (It seems exceedingly doubtful that these concentrations could be duplicated in the home
kitchen: they probably demand the use of culinary contraptions
comparable to atom smashers. So, if you want concentrated red squiggles and don't happen to have one of these babies docked
under your Subzero range, you're better off conceding to industrialization and buying
your red squiggles from the supermarket).
The sheer variety of red squiggles available at the supermarket is
broad enough to please even the finickiest palate, so don't brood for too long over
your inability to make sestuplo
concentrato at home.
There are two characteristics you should be seeking in commercial red
squiggles: (1) a pleasant, fruity aroma and (2) a balanced flavor that is
neither excessively acidy nor excessively sweet. The doppio
concentrato, made by several Italian manufacturers and typically sold in
tubes, is a good choice, as is the jarred Bionaturae brand made from Tuscan tomatoes. I use the former mixed into
broth or other liquid when I want to add color and a bit of zing to dishes
and I use the latter to make certain pasta sauces, such as sugo al tonno (although I generally prefer passata di pomodoro for most pasta sauces).
Make sure to refrigerate your red squiggles once opened and
to consume within the time recommended by the manufacturer or you may end up with a colorful glop of inedible art decorating your kitchen shelf.
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Oh-la-la
When the tomato reached Europe from its native New World habitat in the sixteenth century, the French,
who are proud of their expertise in all matters pertaining to food and love, initially
employed it exclusively as an ornamental plant.
They eventually christened it “la pomme d'amour", apple of
love, though it isn't exactly clear why they chose this epithet. Perhaps the reds and golds of the fruit
inspired poetic flutterings in their passionate breasts. Or perhaps, as was the case with the
renowned eighteenth-century chef, Vincent La Chapelle, the shapely fruit
reminded them of women's breasts.
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