Major Crush

Extending the tomato harvest deep into winter is a breeze with a new best friend.

- Paulette Whitney

Last summer we made an investment. We didn’t sink our hard-earned into mining or retail shares, not even into more farmer-friendly carbon credits. Our investment was in a smooth, shiny, hard-working Italian.

Autumn in the temperate market garden is an epic marathon, when the opposing forces of seeding and harvest overlap – miss a sowing now and you’ll have no turnips or kale for winter harvest, and no broccoli for early spring. Leave a tomato in the field and a stray frost will turn it to mush overnight.

Crate after crate of tomatoes must be lugged quickly to the safety of the packing shed, for if you turn your back a moment too long the currawongs will spot your harvest and plunge their long, black beaks deep into the literal fruits of your labour.

At the end of a day spent racing birds and frosts the couch beckons. But no solace is to be found there; those crates of tomatoes won’t process themselves.

I feel immense gratitude when I go inside and see my new Italian friend, a whizz-bang electric passata mill, gleaming on the kitchen bench.