The first ripe, locally grown tomatoes still come as a shock. They stimulate all the senses at once, and place us firmly in summer. And they are a reminder of how far agriculture has drifted away from seasonality. When tomatoes are available in the supermarket year round, we lose that keen anticipatory yearning for the juiciness of summer.

—Alice Waters

I am not ashamed to say that when I first heard the news of the salmonella-tainted tomatoes, my first thought was that it seemed an appropriate punishment for anyone foolish enough to eat a tomato out of season. These pale, mealy, flavorless things that Waters appropriately describes as "approximations" of tomatoes can clearly only lead to evil, pain, and, possibly, loose bowel movements.

I have no idea precisely when the salmonella-tomato story of 2008 broke, but I like to think that it happened at the exact moment when I was straining my neck to overhear the dinner-party conversation in which our host (a knowledgeable man who infuses his own oils and makes a mean pozole) revealed his tomato-sauce recipe to my boyfriend. As recounted to me later, the tomato sauce is nothing more than a large quantity of fresh tomatoes—skins, seeds, and all—cooked down for hours, with a stick of butter tossed in at the end. When I picture/fantasize about these plump red fruits melting into sweet-tart liquid, I experience what another food writer, Laurie Colwin, calls the "deep, primitive feelings inspired by tomatoes."

May tomato season—and the juiciness of summer—come swiftly. (And condolences to all felled by crap tomatoes.)