Food critic Craig Claiborne once called them “tasteless, horrible, and repulsive”; chef and author James Beard called them “an almost total gastronomic loss.”
New Yorker writer Thomas Whiteside, in 1977, described one surviving intact after a fall of nearly two meters to the ground, easily surpassing the federal standard for automobile bumpers.
The object of their contempt? The Florida field tomato, which the Donald Trump administration wants us to eat more of by imposing a 21 percent tariff on most Mexican tomatoes starting July 14.
The tariff represents a double insult to consumers, attacking both our taste buds and our wallets.
President Trump has said that society should settle for fewer (and more expensive) imported pencils and dolls for the “greater good” of bringing manufacturing back to the United States.
Some industry leaders admit the mediocrity of tomatoes grown in Florida fields.
What’s the point of producing in Florida?
Among those decisions is producing tomatoes not for flavor, but to survive disease, insects, transportation, and Florida’s climate—from scorching heat to tropical downpours.
Some varieties are bred to fit neatly on a fast-food burger, or, if destined for Subway, to look fresh in a display case hours after being cut.
Because high levels of sugar in tomatoes attract bacteria and fungi, while reducing size and yield, Florida growers have to deliberately minimize sweetness.
