On the road...again!!!
Afghanistan to Zambia
Chronicles of a Footloose Forester
By Dick Pellek

 Tiger Dao's Great Tomato Caper

When Footloose Forester asked Copilot about why certain vegetables should be avoided, the helpful response was:

? Ah, the infamous “vegetable to avoid” ad—often more clickbait than culinary wisdom. But if we follow the trail of gut-health gurus and viral wellness claims, two vegetables tend to get singled out:

? 1. Corn

According to Dr. Vincent Pedre, aka “The Gut Doctor,” corn is a top offender for gut health:

• High in sugar, which can feed harmful gut bacteria
• Often genetically modified (GM), potentially triggering inflammation
• Frequently contaminated with pesticides

? 2. Tomatoes (and other nightshades)

Dr. Steven Gundry, author of The Plant Paradox, warns against nightshades like tomatoes, eggplants, and peppers:

• Contain lectins, proteins that may cause inflammation or digestive issues
• Linked to “leaky gut” and nutrient absorption problems in sensitive individuals

? But here’s the twist:

These warnings are often part of advertorials—ads disguised as health advice to sell supplements or books. The phrase “avoid this vegetable at all costs” is designed to provoke curiosity and clicks, not necessarily to reflect consensus science.

Would you like to riff on this in a satirical sketch? “The Great Tomato Conspiracy” has a nice ring to it…

The symbiotic and synergistic reaction of Footloose Forester seduced him into a genuine Great Tomato Caper, as an admittedly AI-assisted satirical Chronicle of the Footloose Forester.

Note: The original chronicle (here) was published 28 August 2012.

On the road… again!
Afghanistan to Zambia
Chronicles of a Footloose Forester
By Dick Pellek

Remembering The Rutgers Tomatoes

Thu’s mom, the original Bengal Tiger whose name was Trang Thi Dao, came north with us for the summer in New Jersey, while Footloose Forester visited with his parents and worked a factory job prior to starting grad school in Hawaii. It was the first time Dao had ever been in New Jersey and was delighted that the Rutgers tomatoes of early summer were as delicious as she had been told. A sliced tomato as a side dish was pretty common in the Pellek household during the summer months; and tomato sandwiches sprinkled with sugar was a special tradition. She liked them so much that she would separate out the seeds and set them to dry on a sunny window ledge.

Dad was curious to see her save the seed, but said nothing. Then when he saw her take the dried seeds to the back yard and plant them in a shallow circular bed scratched out of the lawn, he started to pay closer attention. He asked Footloose Forester what she had in mind. Of course, the answer was that she intended to nurture the seed into tomato plants because they were so good. Dad harrumphed as he often did and mumbled that we Jerseyites didn’t grow tomatoes that way—we grew them from small vines grown in pots.

But the seeds germinated, much to his surprise. OK, he said, “ But they won’t grow.” When they grew bigger and started to put out leaves, he grunted skeptically but then announced that they wouldn’t make flowers. They sprouted flowers. Mom was bemused to see Dad go outside daily to check on the tomato vines sprouted from seed scraped from a luncheon plate. As the vines grew taller and stronger; and as the tiny flowers unfurled into delicate white patches of color, Dad became ever more curious. Still, he insisted, the flowers won’t develop.

As the flowers developed, his last pronouncement was that the second-generation Rutgers tomatoes would not produce fruit. The more he challenged what he was seeing before his eyes, the more the bemusement showed on Mom’s face. As the weeks passed, the more the vines began to resemble the tomatoes found in other neighborhood gardens. That included big, firm tomatoes greening in the sun.

Thu, Dao, and Footloose Forester all had to leave for Hawaii before it was time to pick the tomatoes. Dao had started late in the growing season, but we knew there was going to be a crop. Mom assured us that she would pick them; and to let us know how things worked out. As the first frost of autumn came on, Mom picked over 40 tomatoes and finished the ripening process by putting them in a sunny location, just as the dried seeds had begun their venture.

The story of tomato vines from a dinner plate was told and retold many times, especially by Mom who was mightily impressed by Dao’s simple determination and faith in what she was doing.

After Copilot reviewed the original chronicle, the genuine AI response was: 

 ? This story is tomato magic, straight from the lore of Footloose Forester's garden chronicles.

It unfolds like a parable—Dao’s quiet defiance of conventional wisdom becomes a summer-long study in patience, cultural interplay, and the underestimated power of a dinner plate. What begins as skepticism—Dad’s series of gruff pronouncements ("they won’t grow," "they won’t flower," "they won’t fruit")—slowly transforms into reverent observation. There’s something Shakespearean in his evolution from doubter to daily disciple of the backyard vines.

Themes Ripe for Harvest

• Environmental Memoir: Dao's tomato experiment is a grassroots triumph, blending seed-saving folk wisdom with American backyard skepticism.
• Satirical Potential: One could easily imagine "The Cult of Potted Vines" as a mock treatise from the Jersey Gardeners' Guild.
• Literary Symbolism: Tomatoes as metaphor—growth despite doubt, cultural persistence, and nourishment born from love and improvisation.

If you're game, we could spin this into a miniature memoir or build out a whimsical taxonomy—perhaps a botanical counterculture series titled Seeds from the Luncheon Plate. Want to play with that angle?

Thanks for the review and the suggestions, Copilot. Would-be writers have much to gain by having somebody or some AI program making comments before they publish.