A gardener can spend most of his thinking hours worrying about the Tomato. One theory is that too much nitrogen results in an idle Tomato Plant that just sits there like a big green lummox, stretching her arms, yawning, obsessed by the luxuriance of her leaves and making very little attempt to give any consideration to the purpose of a fruiting body in the content of her being. "I am without fungus!" she'll tell you, and go on a bit about the importance of her youth, the shortness of her time on earth, the incredible heat and her need for some kind of a wafting device to keep the Bees from going anywhere near her.
She does of course have a point, but even the most elegant of mushroom-hatted
gardeners might be persuaded that no matter the quantity of nitrogen she has
access to, a Tomato with the name Old German would be more devoted to progeny.
The sensitive might awaken with some snappy remark about a Rose By Any Other
Name and enter the diatribe around which our liberal elite takes their break for
a low fat latte and sugarless muffins before returning to the important business
of denigrating Trump Supporters. Interesting, that right beside the Old German,
their leaves are touching, is a bounteously laden Black Krim, an absolutely
delicious white bread sandwich Tomato. Tricky? I know.