Pea tomatoes are stupid.
Don’t get me wrong, I love growing and eating tomatoes. But do yourself a favor and don’t grow the pea ones. I heard about them this year and who can resist a cutie pie teeny weeny tomato?
I can, after spending time picking the damn things. They’re elusive and the bunches don’t all ripen at the same time, and the bush is like cotton candy – you have to wend your hand in there like some Thai dancer on uppers. When you finally get your arm inserted far enough to reach the little nun’s fart of a fruit, you have to be double jointed to actually grab the thing. Then you extract your limb and are rewarded with a tomato that makes a lima bean look gargantuan.
Repeat countless times to get a mouthful. God help you if you think you might do something overly ambitious like, I don’t know, enough sauce for a personal size pizza… that’s not happening. You’d be there all night grabbing at the little bastards.
Fortunately, we’re growing other types as well, but they’re all tantalizingly unripe. There’s load of ‘em, but so green even a southerner wouldn’t be willing to fry ‘em up in breading and bacon fat. So I’m sitting there gazing at a pickup truck’s worth of tomatoes with an accompanying size bellyache if I eat them… so I’m back to the acrobatics to try to free those pea tomatoes.
On the positive side, the birds are leaving them the hell alone. Clearly they’ve worked out it’s too much effort for a tiny return. Even the tomato bugs are like, screw it man, not worth it.