You Say Tomato, I Say Tomato

I always buy my tomatoes from the same man. His tomatoes are delicious but that’s not the real reason I buy from him. I don’t know how his prices compare to the other booths, but I don’t really care. I buy my tomatoes from him simply because I like him.

If I had to give him an age, I’d guess that he’s between sixty-five and seventy. He’s a short man with a round belly, over which he always wears a v-neck sweater. Today it was dark red. His face is round and he’s mostly bald except for a bit of white hair around the edges. I have this sneaking suspicion that he is related to Santa Clause. He is the type of man who is undoubtedly an excellent Grandpa. I don’t know his name, and I feel kind of guilty about that. He deserves a name. I think I’ll ask him next time I go to the market.

Tomato man, as we fondly refer to him, gave Sarah and I a smile and a wave today as we walked past him. He knows that we always walk to the end of the market first before making our way back, stopping here and there to buy oranges, zucchini, grapes, and whatever other produce appeals to our senses. He knows that when we get to his booth we’ll fill our bags with tomatoes and a few cucumbers. And every week after we’ve filled our bags and he’s weighed them and told us the price, he sneaks a few extras into our bags as gifts. Today while we filled our bags, he took a cucumber, peeled it, and offered us each half as a snack. Last week, when we told him (through Despina) that we were planning to make tatziki, he helped us pick out the perfect cucumbers for our first attempt at the Greek specialty and then gave us an extra one just in case we needed it.

The free produce is nice, but we don’t really need it. The prices are so low we could afford to buy more than anyone could ever eat. We appreciate it, not for the money it saves us but for the gesture. Tomato man makes us feel welcome and wanted in a country where most of us know no one. I buy my tomatoes from him, because out of the many customers he deals with every week, he remembers and acknowledges us. He doesn’t speak English and we speak very little Greek, but with him I am reminded that communication goes far beyond speaking and that language should never be used as a barrier. And it doesn’t hurt that he is one of those people who smiles with his whole being. You can’t help but want to be around people like that.