For as much as I complain about the quality of the grocery store produce we get in Kansas, being closer to the source doesn’t necessarily improve the situation. This is the lesson I brought back from a two-week trip to California.

Gardeners in many parts of California benefit from a longer growing season, good soil and the like, but consumers who rely on supermarkets don’t have regular access to more flavorful produce just because fruits and vegetables are grown in-state.

I am speaking generally here. Certainly, I’d eat a fresh artichoke from a California supermarket before I chewed through one that had sat in my Kansas grocery store for goodness-knows-how-long. As another example, cherries were ripe while we were there, and they were sweet and juicy from the roadside stands. Following this logic, I expected the supermarket tomatoes to be superior to those we have in the Midwest.

Before we left, the tomatoes in our garden had started to ripen, and my husband suggested that we take some to friends we would be seeing in California. This, I opined, was a silly idea on the order of taking coals to Newcastle.

We did it anyway, and the reception was astonishing. You would have thought our sack of Kansas tomatoes was filled with gold.

To get anything like a homegrown, vine-ripened tomato in California, the consumer either has to grow it herself or buy it at a farm stand or local farmers market. Ripe and flavorful tomatoes aren’t something Californians take for granted.

Obviously, California agriculture is geared toward mass production, and what farmers gain in quantity they lose in quality. Most of the tomatoes available in supermarkets are picked by machine. For that reason, they have to be thick-skinned and harvested before their prime. Even if they are destined for a supermarket nearby, they have to withstand transport, so they can’t be ripe. As a result, they lack the deep, sweet flavor of garden tomatoes.

This point was underscored for me on the freeway as I followed a semi with an open trailer filled with what easily could have been a million tomatoes. As I mused about the traffic jam that would occur if the trucker spilled his bright-red load across 10 lanes of interstate, I also had thoughts less sinister.

I was impressed that any tomato, even one that was genetically engineered for rough handling, could be sturdy enough to be packed into a semi load and jostled down the highway without turning into ketchup. Undoubtedly, this particular cargo was headed to a processing plant where a few bruises wouldn’t matter, but this still struck me as revealing. These tomatoes had little in common with what I grow at home.

I was disappointed to find that the best tomatoes I ate in California came from my garden in Kansas. Unfortunately, I have to include in this assessment fresh tomatoes served in taquerias and Italian restaurants, where I would have expected the produce to be superior.

When I returned to Kansas, my garden had been ravaged by the unrelenting heat and drought, and the withered plants made a pitiful sight – with one exception. My tomato plants were loaded with big, red, juicy fruit that will keep us well-supplied until the frost. So much for California tomatoes.