It was an unusually warm summer, Saturday morning in Carmel-by-the-Sea, California in 1999. I'd been cooking breakfast for Dagma before taking her for a play-day on the beach. Omelets were about to be served when the phone rang. "Gary, this is Oscar over at Whole Foods. I've got a problem and I'm hoping you can help me out." I really wasn't up for solving problems for anyone else but family this morning, but disguised the reluctance clinging to me and managed an inviting, "What's up Oscar?"

"I displayed all those boxes of heirloom tomatoes you brought me on Wednesday, and I've sold lots of the red ones but haven't been able to move any of the other varieties. My customers don't seem to be interested in the purple or black tomatoes, or the striped ones and orange ones, or the ones with the heavy misshaped folds that my staff is calling the 'ugly' tomatoes. Also, some of my customers are complaining that the tomatoes are too soft. My boss and I are concerned that I'm gonna have to throw out lots of this expensive fruit in a couple a days."

"It's still early and I'm sure I can help you get things rolling in the right direction for the beginning of your weekend." My wife looked up at me from the dining table and I knew by her expression and having heard my side of the conversation she knew we were not heading to the beach.

"OK Oscar. I can head over there now. It will take about a half hour. In the meantime, please set up a long table for me by the front door near the tomato display. I want to greet your customers as they come in the door. On the table, please give me plates and bowls for me to cut up samples for tasting, a good cutting knife, a bowl of toothpicks, a cutting board, a roll of paper towels to clean up the juices from cutting and provide me with plenty of plastic bags for me to fill for your customers. I'll bet the problem is really that your customers, along with most other folks, don't know any kind of tomato other than red, round, rubber-ball-tough tomatoes that have been filling the marketplace for too long. I'll bring a poster with the names and photos of the different varieties so I can send them home with the names of the tomatoes they buy."

"Ok, I can do this," he said. "Thanks."

Dagma joined me on the rescue mission.

I greeted our first customer with a smile and said, "Would you like to try a truly delicious heirloom tomato?" I held up a bowl of cut sections of a brilliant orange tomato pierced with toothpicks. To another customer I asked, "Have you ever tasted a purple tomato?" The woman replied that she had heard of these different colored tomatoes but hadn't tried them before because they looked like they might have gone bad. She ate the tomato I offered her. Her eyes went from hesitant-squint to surprised-wide, and her mouth opened to a generous smile. "Hmmm. What a nice delight," she said.

"You like?"

"Yes, I do. May I have another taste?"

"Yes. You see all these different colored tomatoes? Each one has a distinct and delightfully different flavor. Some are boldly acidic, some are mildly sweet, some come with earthy and complex tomatoey nuances and some with a gushing sweetness of tropical fruit. What we enjoy most at our home is to make a salad by slicing up several colors, adding fresh basil, perhaps fresh mozzarella cheese drizzled with extra-virgin olive oil and a little Balsamic vinegar, a dash salt and pepper. It becomes a feast for all the senses--a beautiful display and a delicious gift for your family."

She asked, "Would you please select some for me for our dinner tonight?" I filled a small bag for her as another couple of people asked me to select some tomatoes for them.

Another woman who knew her way around the produce section with authority, passed by my tasting table, went straight for the store's tomato display and began squeezing the red tomatoes one after the other--all too roughly for me. The way she was dropping them back on the display called for my attention and comment, "You appear to be looking for something in particular," I said.

"Yes, I'm looking for harder tomatoes." She held one up to me with a face filled with disappointment. "These are all soft." I thought if she squeezed them any harder we would both get wet.

"That's called RIPE." I smiled. "We picked all of these tomatoes slightly under-fully ripe on Tuesday for a Wednesday delivery. They're at peak ripeness now and should be perfectly flavorful for the next two or three days."

"But I like them hard. I put them in the fridge so they will last a week."

"Right. If you buy your tomatoes hard, that's a good indication that they were picked green, when the flavor hadn't yet been established, so they will be firm and last longer on the display case. Yes, they will last a week if you put them in a temperature below fifty-five degrees, but most of the inherent flavor will shut down. I suggest keeping your tomatoes out on a shelf at room temperature, displayed in a basket or bowl so you can enjoy their beauty. Are you shopping for dinner tonight?"

"Yes."

"In that case, may I select some tomatoes for you to take home for dinner?"

"Yes."

"Have your family let you know if they like the difference from what they've experienced in the past."

There was now a crowd around the tomato display table throwing questions at me almost faster than I could field them. Many waited for my answers and left with bags full of different colors. A woman with two young children who were holding onto her and obviously curious about what I was doing, caught my gaze. "My kids don't like tomatoes," she said.

I reached into the display and plucked a bright orange, 1-inch cherry tomato, sliced it in half, skewered it with a toothpick and said, "Meet Flamme." I stretched my hand toward her son. I guessed this would be an attractive, unthreatening size, and would offer a tantalizing sweet flavor that had a very good chance of making it past any preconceived impressions.

He took it from me. He looked at it. His mother and sister had stopped breathing. He put it in his mouth. He smiled. His eyes got big. "How do you like it," I said. He just nodded his head slowly.

"I like it."

Other customers who were watching started handing me their bags to fill. The boy's mother said, "I don't believe this. What was that one called?"

"Flamme, and if he liked that he's sure to like the Snow White cherry tomato and the Black Prince. These tomatoes taste sweeter. Next thing you know, he may be asking for big slices of beefsteak tomatoes in a sandwich."

I could see the faces of Oscar and the manager over the heads of the tasters. They were obviously pleased. By noon we had sold almost all the tomatoes--except for the red ones.

TomatoFest introduced heirloom tomatoes to Whole Foods Markets. This single Whole Foods Market in Monterey which started with an order of 100 pounds per week, ordered a ton of tomatoes per week within a year. Our heirloom tomatoes fast became one of the most profitable items in the store. Within three years we attracted tomato lovers from around the world to our annual Gary Ibsen's Carmel TomatoFest event in Carmel Valley, and enthusiastic news of our heirloom tomatoes was featured in the New York Times, Sunset magazine, Smithsonian magazine, international food publications, national garden magazines, and food television shows.

News of the pleasures of organically grown heirloom tomatoes was out. Heirloom tomatoes of all colors and shapes were introduced into markets, restaurants and homes bringing a renewed and well-deserved celebrity to the tomato experience.

I recall after that first successful season of heirloom tomato sales at the Monterey Whole Foods Market the manager came up to me and asked, "How can we continue to get heirloom tomatoes now that your season is over? What do we tell our customers now that we have such a loyal following?"

"Well, you could tell them they can look forward to next years' harvest with great anticipation, the way they do in France for treasured wines."

"That won't work for us at Whole Foods Market. We need to get these tomatoes year 'round."

"Well, if you import these tomatoes from hotter climates far away, they will have to be harvested green to make the trip and insure you a longer shelf life. Consequently, you will not get the intense and distinctive flavors that your customers fell in love with. Heirloom tomatoes with their delicate thin skins are a product of family farms and farmers markets. They were not intended for shipping long distances. There's going to be a learning curve for all your tomato customers about what is truly a seasonal 'vine-ripened' heirloom tomato experience."

"That's okay. We'll find a way to get them--even if from far away."