Normally, throwing a tomato at a friend or, especially, a stranger is considered rude at a minimum. But exceptions do apply. Once a year, for example, the quiet town of Buñol, Spain, encourages — in fact, promotes — full-on tomato fights. On the last Wednesday of August, tens of thousands of people gather in the streets to take part in La Tomatina — a festival born from the whimsy of children back in 1945.
For the festival, trucks roll in with
120 tons of overripe tomatoes, grown only for this event. Not for slicing into
salads. Not for simmering into sauces. These tomatoes exist for one purpose: to
be hurled.
There are no teams. No overall
strategies. Only one rule must be abided by — squash before you throw. After an
hour of relentless fire, the cannon sounds, and the battle ends.
By then, the cobbled streets are
rivers of puree. Participants stand ankle-deep in tomato mash, exhausted and
stained.
No doubt I would have reveled in such
an event as a boy, but even now, as a chronological adult, I find myself
smiling at the thought of pitching a squashed tomato at someone — especially
knowing I can apply a vivid red stain.
That’s good stuff.
Here in Montana, I’ve “bapped” a few
apples across the street with a baseball bat and tossed raw eggs on occasion.
But 120 tons of tomatoes is the stuff dreams are made of.
—Mitchell Hegman
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