When I encounter native Italians in the wild, I am sometimes asked where my ancestors came from in Italy. “Sicilia”, I reply, “Pachino, Sicilia”. Their reply is invariably the same: “Il Pomodoro!!” they exclaim. “The Tomato!”
This is a very happy state of affairs for a food lover like me; I’m proud that my ancestral homeland is known for such a delicious crop. The tomato they are talking about is the pomodoro Pachino, the Pachino tomato, which is well known to cooks and food lovers all over Italy. The Pachino is what is called in Italian a cilieghino or “cherry" tomato, named after its small, round shape. In fact, the Pachino is the cherry tomato in Italy: it is called out specifically on menus by chefs, and it sold as a special variety, at a premium, in markets. It’s larger than a cherry tomato in the U.S., and it is much, much more intensely flavored. It is renowned among tomato lovers for its savory, almost salty taste, its intense sweetness, and its vine-fresh aroma. Taste Atlas named the Pachino the third best tomato in the world. Pachino Tomatoes have their own IGP (Protected Geographic Identity) status, and a consortium of growers commit to growing only certain Pachino varieties, within a confined geography, using specific agricultural techniques. These tomatoes are the equivalent of a truly special wine or cheese; an expression of a unique terroir and farming tradition. Pachino tomatoes are, without question, the pride of Sicily.
You might imagine that the story of the Pachino tomato is one of those “heirloom variety” stories, where seeds are selected and traded over generations, creating a unique and historic local crop. This is a nice story, but it’s not the Pachino story. The real story of this treasured tomato is much more interesting and hopeful. But first, some history:
Pachino was probably given its name by the ancient Greeks, who named the southernmost promontory of Sicily Pachynus (Πάχυνος). The word might have come from the Greek word pachys meaning “fertile”, or it could have been a pre-Greek indigenous Sicilian word lost to time. It is said the name referenced the land itself; the rich, dark, fertile soil of the promontory. The Greeks made a small colony in Pachynus, a sort of sub-colony to a larger settlement of Syracusia to the north. Though the Greeks successfully defended Pachynus during the Greco-Punic wars of 580-260 BC, they lost it to the Romans shortly thereafter. Roman control of the island brought large-scale agriculture; the Romans thought of Sicily as a breadbasket, an agricultural heartland, and they set up large plantations of wheat, citrus, and wine grapes. These three crops defined Sicilian agriculture for centuries, and so it was in Pachynus. In the post-Roman kingdoms of the middle ages, agriculture was always controlled by the elites, ruling over the peasantry who tilled the soil. Sadly, primitive agricultural techniques and overfarming degraded the formerly rich soil, leaving Sicily less and less productive. Poverty reigned, and though Pachynus had some wine and citrus production, it was a punishing life for the poor. The Italian Unification of the 1860s failed to improve the situation in Sicily much: when my great-grandfather was born in 1881, 87% of the Sicilian population was illiterate, and over 90% were impoverished. In 1905, shortly after my great-grandparents’ wedding, they joined the millions of Southern Italian immigrants to the United States. They considered themselves lucky to escape.
The joining of Sicily with Italy meant that Pachynus- now called Pachino- became the southernmost municipality in Italy (and Europe). Being part of Italy had its advantages- for one, Sicilians gained the opportunity to migrate in search of work. But economic development escaped the island- agricultural progress happened mostly in the North, in Italian states like Lombardy and Emilia-Romagna. Sicily was a forgotten backwater, the poorest place in Europe. Agriculture there was about subsistence, not plenty. Sicilian wine was commodity jug wine made for cheap export, and lemons and oranges had to compete with well-managed Spanish orchards for international markets. Wheat continued to be the main product of the island, especially in the interior, but the degraded, salty, rocky soil of the promontory where Pachino was situated wasn’t good for much. The town was mired in poverty and despair. in When I first visited there as a young man, my relatives asked, pointedly, “Why on Earth did you come here?”
But what about tomatoes? The Spanish, who ruled Sicily for most of the middle ages, brought tomatoes from America in the 16th century. They were adopted first by the elite as a decorative plant, a curiosity from the New World. By the 18th century, however, they were being grown for food. Their umami-rich flavor made them a good substitute for meat in cooking, and Sicilians began dressing their pasta with tomato sauce instead of chicken broth (the previous default pasta sauce). Tomatoes were a local crop, grown often in backyards or sold at village markets. At the end of the harvest, tomatoes would be put up in glass jars or made into strattu (I’ve written about this before). The tomato became a part of Sicilian cuisine, but not of Sicilian commerce: The commercial tomato market was dominated by more sophisticated growers up north, in places like Parma and Naples, where more developed agricultural techniques led to large, high quality tomato crops.
That is, until 1989. That year in Pachino, a local farm supply company teamed up with Hazera, an Israeli tomato breeder with a history of developing tomatoes adapted to the intense, dry climate of the Eastern Mediterranean. Perhaps Hazera could help develop a tomato that was well suited to the poor soils and the saline groundwater of Pachino (both legacies of generations of overfarming). The result was a variety called Noemi, a Hebrew name meaning “sweet” (also a Biblical character whose life turns from bitter poverty to sweet success). The Noemi was a cherry-shaped tomato that thrived in the extreme heat and salty water of the Pachino summer. Though initially treated with suspicion, the new tomato eventually found success, and by 2000, “Pachino Tomatoes” were being exported all over Italy. This was not a mass-market industrial tomato: it was intended to join the ranks of the special Italian tomatoes like San Marzano- it was fresh tasting, intensely flavored, and sweet. Before long, “Pachino”was not the name of a forgotten Sicilian town, it was the name of a special tomato varietal. Soon, Pachino was the Italian synonym for “cherry tomato”- defining its entire category. Hazera and local breeders continued to innovate, developing several improved varieties in a variety of shapes, all well suited for the local environment and water. Pachino tomatoes, like most upscale tomato varieties, are grown in protective greenhouses, and soon, the arid landscape surrounding the town was covered with green-roofed tomato farms. Other crops, like basil and market vegetables, are grown alongside. It was a big change for a small village.
The existence of a specialty agricultural crop changed the game in Pachino. Besides the obvious benefit of selling a high-end tomato to the rest of Italy, Pachino has enjoyed a variety of secondary effects. Positive culinary associations made Pachino a kind of gourmet destination, and helped turn the local wine culture- formerly dedicated to commodity wine- into a high-end producer of the native Nero d’ Avola varietal. Agricultural tourism- not only for tomatoes but for local cheese, wine, and fish- is now a major source of income for the formerly impoverished region. Pachino’s piazza, desolate and forlorn when I first saw it, is now lively, dotted with pizzerie and trattorie. In 2024, the Pachino tomato got its own postage stamp in celebration of its success. Don’t get me wrong- there are still problems in Pachino and Southeast Sicily- but there is no question the advent of the Pachino Tomato has improved life there.
I love the story of the Pachino tomato because it is a story about my ancestors’ homeland, the ancient place where generations of my family worked and lived. But I also love it because it is a story of agricultural development based on quality, flavor, and investment. We hear the stories of modern agriculture developing flavorless tomatoes and commodity crops, but modern agriculture can develop unique, delicious, sustainable, high-value crops too, like the pomodoro Pachino.
Sadly, if you live outside Europe, you just can’t get Pachino tomatoes, at least not fresh ones. Sometimes I see them in cans, and I snap them up when I do, but they are really a fresh tomato more than a canned one. Do seek them out if you’re in Europe: they are widely available in Italy and sometimes in places like Berlin and the Netherlands! If you want a little tomato inspiration, I heartily suggest this Pasta Grannies video of a Pachinese tomato farmer and his wife’s homemade tomato sauce.
Really enjoyed this - the Pachino tomato has a beautiful story! Thanks for sharing it.
One of my favorite posts so far, so rich and surprising!