Passing judgment on tomatoes

It seems to be universally acknowledged around here that the summer of 2009 in Chicago was wet until it was dry, cool except when it was hot and generally lousy for tomatoes. Most people's ripened late and many never got enough sun for good flavor. Will I let these extenuating circumstances stop me from passing judgment on the tomatoes I grew on my back porches? Of course not.

Seed catalogs are arriving -- Baker Creek Heirloom Seeds, Seed Savers Exchange, many more no doubt to come. My experience has been that to keep seed-ordering under control I need to make a plan early, write it down and commit to it. Otherwise I will just keep collecting seductive new seed packets until I have 27 times as many seeds as I a) have space to start and b) would have room to plant outdoors. Making a plan requires rigorous assessment of what worked last year and what didn't. So fair or not, here goes:

I had space for a total of 10 tomato plants -- four in two large self-watering containers, two in large plastic pots that I jury-rigged to be self-watering containers and two small plants tucked into the ends of planter boxes full of herbs. All of these plants were on 3rd and 4th floor porches overlooking an alley (the only place in my greater gardening domain that gets anywhere near a tomato's worth of sunlight). Given the limited quarters and the fact that light is somewhat reduced by the porch railings, I chose all small-fruited tomatoes, figuring they had a better shot.

The varieties: 'Black Cherry,' 'Sun Gold, 'Red Robin' (a dwarf container-bred variety) and 'Bonito Ojo,' which has fruits a little bit larger than cherry but which seemed like a good idea at the time.

Turned out not to be -- because though the ones I tasted had a fine flavor, the skinny stems weren't strong enough to hold the 2 - to 2 1/2-diameter fruits. They bent under the weight, cutting off water to the fruits, few of which ripened. If I had attentively hand-tied every single stem to the cage, maybe I would have gotten a few more tomatoes, but that is never, ever going to happen in my lifetime. So no more 'Bonito Ojo' for me. I need tomatoes that can stand up for themselves in a tomato cage match.

'Black Cherry' seemed like a good idea, too, because I love the flavor of 'Black Krim' and 'Cherokee Purple' and other dark-fruited heirlooms. But 'Black Cherry' was a big disappointment. The tomatoes ripened late or (mostly) not at all -- yes, it was a lousy weather year, but still. Even when ripe -- or at least when they had some color -- they tasted more green than purple. Maybe if I gardened in sun-flooded Texas or someplace they would have been more flavorful. But I don't.

I had four plants of 'Red Robin,' which I had sought out because I had forgotten the tomato I really wanted was 'Tiny Tim.' (Sad saga here.) 'Red Robin' was sturdy and productive, giving me plenty of 1-inch-diameter red fruits right up until frost. Eventually I caught on that with the plants' short internodes, I needed to burrow among the foliage, where I often found ripe fruits hiding. Flavor-wise, they were only so-so. But they did yeoman duty supplying salads and pasta sauces when 'Black Cherry' was letting me down.

Still, I'm going to make an effort to find 'Tiny Tim' again this year, just to see if my intense memory of their fine flavor and perfect container habit holds up.

And finally: If I were one of the cool kids I would be too cool to admit I love the same tomato everybody else loves, but I'm not, so I'll say it: I love 'Sun Gold.' Once it got started, it gave me gazillions of flavor-poppin' little orange fruits, which ripened just fine when 'Black Cherry' couldn't. This is one I'll definitely plant again.

'Sun Gold' has just flaw, from my point of view: It's indeterminate. I did not fully realize the implications of indeterminacy in my particular gardening situation until one summer day when I looked down as I was hanging practically by my ankles over the 4th-floor porch railing trying to prune back long stems that were growing out over the alley and dropping green tomatoes to bounce off my neighbors' parked cars.

Not only did I feel unneighborly for launching missiles at cars and people, I was tired of hauling water to nurture tomatoes that I would never be able to reach when they were ripe. So I was risking my life to try and prune them. As I gazed down at the asphalt 50 feet below my head, though, I decided I would stick to determinate varieties in the future -- varieties that will keep my tomatoes within safe reach without requiring aerial acrobatics.

This is going to be tough, because there are so many more indeterminate than determinate varieties. My options will be greatly reduced. But maybe I'll live longer.

I'll make an exception for 'Sun Gold,' though, and just try to remember to prune it before it gets a chance to sprawl halfway to Garfield Park.

So, this year's ground rules: 'Sun Gold.' 'Tiny Tim.' Other small-fruited, determinate varieties to be named later. The hunt is on.

Got a garden question? I recommend you call or e-mail the Plant Clinic of The Morton Arboretum in Lisle, the Master Gardeners of the University of Illinois Extension or the Plant Information Service of the Chicago Botanic Garden in Glencoe .

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