I’ve been meaning to save my own tomato seeds for years.  It always felt like one of those things that was not merely a good idea but a full-on AWESOME, supremely Jay kind of thing to do.  But, probably for curious reasons that are worth me pondering further in solitude, I never found the time to learn do it.  It was proving to be a bit like learning to bend notes on the harmonica.

Except that bending notes on the harmonica is really tough, and saving your tomato seeds is shockingly easy.

All you do is…

1. scoop seeds out of your tomatoes and cover them in a cup with maybe an inch of water,
2. cover the opening of the cup with a paper napkin or towel to let them breath,
3. remind yourself over the coming days that the mold soon growing across the water and your seed goop is perfectly normal,
4. remove the seeds after a week or all of the seeds have sunk to the bottom of the glass on their own,
5. wash them clean in running water,
6. dry them on the counter, turning to make sure all sides dry,
7. and pop them in the freezer wrapped safe in an envelope, stored for planting next Spring.

Like most vegetable (i.e. – fruit) seeds, tomato seeds are covered in a protective waxy coating.  In the wild (and this is all my personal deduction), this coat ensures they survive until they’re safely nestled in the ground.  Then the weather and soil wear the coating away so the seeds can sprout into new plants.

What you’re doing at home, thus, is playing Mother Nature, something we all, as modern humans, have ample experience in.

I’ve since saved the seeds of other heirloom ‘maters and a yellow watermelon we got from the CSA, which I found a freak of wonder.

I was psyched to finally get off my rear and do this.  Each summer for years I’ve bought nice heirloom tomato seedlings at the Brooklyn Botanical Garden plant sale, but next year I’m going to grow my own seedlings.  The first variety I saved was a Black Krim heirloom, also known as a Black Russian.  I picked it a few hours before flying to Florida to visit the in-laws.  I knew it wouldn’t last on the vine until I returned, so I just nestled it into my carry-on next to my new copy of Telegraph Avenue.  We ate the Krim, a surprisingly sweet variety with low acidity (not what you’d expect from the wilds of Russia), on Sanibel Island a few days later.

And I happily scooped my seed goop into a Ziploc that I nestled safely next to my copy of Telegraph Avenue on the flight home.

The in-laws and Shannon found this amusing.

But my Black Krim’s taste smoked that of the store-bought Anonymous Red numbers we also ate that weekend.

And come April 2013 I’ll be growing Airborne Snow Bird Black Krim seedlings that, if I stay on point, I’ll give to anyone who wants them.

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