Tomato Battle

My husband, Paul, hates tomatoes. So to lure him to the NorCal Tomato Battle—a giant food fight inspired by Spain’s La Tomatina, in which thousands of people throw thousands of pounds of tomatoes at each other—I convinced him that it was the perfect opportunity to take out his anger toward the evil produce, to “throw it on the ground!” Andy Samberg–style. I, on the other hand, needed no convincing to cross off this ridiculously messy but fun once-in-a-lifetime event from my life list.

We roped in my sister, Erin, and prepped for the battle by donning old clothes and cheapie swim goggles, safely storing our phones and cameras in plastic baggies, and leaving behind valuables such as wedding rings and eyeglasses. We tossed a few towels and a roll of plastic garbage bags into the trunk of my car (for the return trip), and headed to the Alameda County Fairgrounds.

The day-long event started at noon, with performances by local bands, costume contests, and beer. We arrived hours into it, roughly 45 minutes before the scheduled food fight. We signed release forms, took professional “before” photos, hung out in the shade, and got a preview of things to come, being downwind from the piles of tomatoes in the fenced-off battle area. It. Smelled. So. Bad. I knew the tomatoes were unsellable, that the Tomato Battle staff was quick to point out that food wasn’t being wasted, but rather food going to waste was being used (and on top of that, ticket proceeds are donated to local food banks and charities). I just didn’t quite understand that meant it was rotten.

[Above photo from Tomato Battle]  The food fight began several minutes early, when the chanting, probably drunk, crowd broke through a barrier into the fenced-off battle ground, as event organizers were beginning to explain rules and safety. We had been relaxing in the shade and had to scramble to pull on our goggles and run into the crowd. As we pushed our way toward the center, tomatoes painfully pelted our heads. One to the back of my skull nearly knocked me out. Another to my arm left an immediate swelling welt. Two more hit my left kidney, and I wondered how long I’d last. Rotten or not, those tomatoes were painful. Eventually, I stopped and stood with my hands near my face, trying to shield myself. I couldn’t easily bend down to pick up tomatoes to throw, since the crowd was so tight and unpredictable. Soon, my feet began sinking into a soupy mix of mud and tomato guts.

I think we lasted a grand total of 10 minutes on the battlefield before heading back out. But we got thoroughly drenched in tomato juice, and bits of skin and seeds were left clinging to our skin, hair, and clothes. I had tomatoes down my shirt and in my ears. We posed for an “after” photo and attempted to rinse off at one of several hose stations, but the water was crazy cold. We decided to walk to my parents’ house, only about a mile away, where we could wash off in their outdoor shower and jump in the pool (and at the same time, save my car from sure ruin.) The looks of passers-by were priceless, as we ambled down the sidewalk, dripping and stinking.

After an outdoor rinse, a fully-clothed swim in the pool, and real showers with several rounds of soap, we returned to the fairgrounds for my car—and Paul snapped this photo of the empty battlefield.  Even though the event had another hour scheduled with more live music, all but a few dozen participants had left, leaving behind an empty parking lot littered with abandoned stained and soiled shoes. I’m not sure who won the battle—but it wasn’t the tomatoes!

From what I understand, the NorCal event was the biggest Tomato Battle yet, and organizers plan to return next year. Maybe I’ll see you there!