"Say you're sitting on the sunny patio of a local restaurant during the height of tomato season. So, of course, you order a tomato salad. But what arrives is not so much a plate of tomatoes as ghostly impostors, soulless industrial tomatoes with less flavor than a napkin. You look across the street--a literal tomato's toss away--at a yard full of juicy Brandywines, Yellow Boys and Black Krims and you can't help but wonder, maybe out loud, why it's so damned hard for a restaurant to get local ...

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