As I examined the rest of the bowl more carefully, I realized something interesting: only the tomatoes that were perfectly uniform on the outside were normal inside. The slightly imperfect ones carried all these hidden patterns.
It made me think.
We often judge food—and even things in life—by the surface. A bruise, a crack, a small flaw, and we assume something is wrong. But sometimes, those imperfections are just signs of a different journey, not a broken one.
By the end, I didn’t throw them away.
I made the salad anyway.
And strangely enough, it tasted just as good as always.
