Food critic Craig Claiborne once described Florida field tomatoes as “tasteless, hideous and repulsive.” Renowned chef James Beard dismissed them as nearly a complete culinary failure. In 1977, a writer for The New Yorker observed that these tomatoes could withstand a six-foot drop to the floor unscathed—surpassing the federal standards set for automobile bumpers.
This is the very tomato that the Trump administration is encouraging Americans to consume more of by imposing a 21 percent tariff on most Mexican tomatoes starting July 14.
The tariff not only threatens to diminish consumer choice and flavor but also increases costs. While the administration has asked Americans to accept pricier domestic goods in some sectors to revitalize U.S. manufacturing, applying this logic to tomatoes is controversial. Reviving Florida’s declining tomato industry may not serve the best interests of American consumers.
Even industry insiders acknowledge the limitations of Florida’s field-grown tomatoes. In 2020, during a visit to Lipman Family Farms—one of the largest U.S. field tomato producers—the then-CEO Kent Shoemaker cautioned that consumers should not expect the rich, vine-ripened tomatoes reminiscent of previous generations. He explained, “We have to get the tomato from Immokalee, Florida, to St. Louis, Missouri, in February, and your grandma’s tomato wouldn’t survive that journey.” He added, “You have to make choices.”
Those choices mean breeding tomatoes not for taste, but for resilience against disease, pests, transportation challenges, and Florida’s extreme weather, which ranges from intense heat to heavy tropical rains. Some varieties are even selected to fit perfectly on fast-food burger patties or to maintain an appealing appearance in grocery store displays hours after being sliced.
Because high sugar content attracts bacteria and fungi while reducing yield and size, Florida growers intentionally limit sweetness. To endure long-distance shipping, tomatoes are harvested when still firm and green, then artificially ripened over several days in ethylene gas chambers.
Unsurprisingly, these tomatoes often earn unflattering comparisons to soggy cardboard or Styrofoam. How has such a product endured in the American market for decades? Historically, from the first frost in fall until summer’s arrival, consumers had little alternative. That changed in 1994 when trade agreements gradually removed tariffs on Mexican tomatoes, allowing growers there to capture market share with smaller and specialty varieties—such as cherry and cocktail tomatoes—that offer more flavor.
While tariffs will inflate prices for both Mexican and U.S. tomatoes, the consequences extend beyond consumers. Studies estimate that over 50,000 jobs in Arizona and Texas—among warehouse workers, truck drivers, and grocers involved in tomato distribution—could be at risk. Some of this business might shift to Florida, but a significant move of tomato production from Mexico to the U.S. is likely to result in a net loss of well-paying American jobs.
The tariffs will also increase demand for seasonal H-2A visa workers, primarily migrants from Mexico and Central America who harvest and pack tomatoes in the U.S. This comes at a time when policies aim to reduce migration from these regions, creating a policy contradiction.
Mexican soil, where tomatoes were first domesticated around 2,500 years ago, remains far more suitable for tomato cultivation than Florida’s sandy terrain, which requires intense fumigation before planting to combat crop-threatening pathogens. The tariff overlooks a fundamental trade principle: countries should import what others produce best and export what they excel at, benefiting both economies. Mexico imports most of its wheat and nearly all of its soybeans from the U.S. while exporting tomatoes and avocados northward. Mexico also stands as the largest export market for American agricultural products, making the tariff appear unnecessary except for the benefit of Florida tomato growers.
Florida farmers’ concerns about losing market share are understandable. Three decades ago, U.S. farms supplied about 80 percent of America’s fresh tomatoes. Today, that share has dropped to just 30 percent, with Florida accounting for most domestic production.
However, in the long term, Mexican tomatoes may present less competition to Florida growers than the emerging greenhouse tomato industry in the U.S. and Canada. These large, climate-controlled facilities—often exceeding 100 acres—produce tomatoes, lettuce, and berries hydroponically, using significantly less water and fewer pesticides. Greenhouse tomatoes can be harvested vine-ripened and delivered to supermarkets within days, contrasting sharply with the weeks-long journey of field tomatoes.
Given the unpredictable nature of tariff policies, Florida tomato producers might be wise to delay expanding their acreage. Meanwhile, consumers may want to wait until midsummer for truly fresh, vine-ripened tomatoes—the kind that evoke memories of “your grandma’s tomato.”
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