To me. To you. Tomato.

 

When I was fifteen I bloody hated tomatoes. They unpredictably squirted bitter juice all over my white school shirt, just as that girl I really fancied walked past. They didn’t taste good with chips, with chocolate or even on toast. What was the point?

But.

Twenty-five-year-old me eats so many, and with such grace, that (now also 25) girl would go weak at the knees. Probably. Well maybe not, but they do taste great. Especially on toast.