The Best Thing

prove and would not be dissuaded. That's why, on September Johnson set out to do one of the most dangerous activities in the newly formed United States of America. He would eat a tomato. Yep, a tomato. Before becoming a staple in diets worldwide, the tomato was practically anathema to Europeans at home and in the colonies. However, during the age of colonization, Europeans pillaged plenty of the America's and took large quantities of valuables, including food, back to their

home countries. Many of the foods that we've come to consider European staples today, such as potatoes, and tomatoes originated in the Americas. The Aztecs were eating tomatoes as early as seven hundred CE, and likely introduced them to Spanish conquistadores, who in turn brought them back to Europe. Some new delicacies, like coo, were greeted with delight. Others, like the potato and the tomato, were only met with skepticism. The strange shapes and colors didn't always endear the new foods to

the Europeans. Once most people got over their fear of the unknown, they cheerfully began incorporating some of these new ingredients into their cooking. However, some were unwilling to take indigenous folks word for it, and just i had to conduct their own studies into whether these plants were healthy or deadly. One of the earliest references to tomatoes in European literature was made by Pietro Andrea Mattioli, an Italian

herbalist in the mid fIF hundreds. Pietro described the tomato as a golden apple and suggested that it was likely a member of the night shade family, or perhaps some kind of man drake. From their rumors about tomatoes took two paths. The first was one that Pietro originally intended that tomatoes were a mild afrodisiac and therefore a sinful food and an obstacle to salvation. The second rumor made tomatoes seemed downright lethal. John Girard, an English herbalist, published

his most well known work, Herbal in fifte. Gerard was heavily inspired by other herbalists, although he might not have grasped what he was writing. Gerard plagiarized huge portions of other herbal books which were already inaccurate, and in short, created the worst game of telephone to be played in the sixteen cent to republishing industry. In Gerard's copy and paste opinion, parts of the tomato plant were highly poisonous.

Some thought that tomatoes were only safe to eat in warmer climates like meso America, but might make for good garden ornaments. This attitude prevailed in Britain and British colonies like New Jersey. I think of this as sort of like iffy information from a TikTok video, without the ability to go to a medical doctor or a scientist and ask them for the facts. Religious fervor than fear of nasty demise led plenty of people to vilify the tomato.

Even the fruits color seemed to scream danger, the bright, vivid reds that seemed to allude to lust, danger, and death. It might seem unusual, and it's easy for us to joke about the ridiculousness of being afraid of a tomato, but oddly enough, there seemed to be genuine cases of people getting sick after eating tomatoes. Of course, it wasn't the food, it was the tableware. You see. The majority of the people who could afford to try tomatoes and

were theoretically dying for them, were wealthy people. Unlike poor folks who had wooden or clay plates and spoons, the wealthy used pewter, and pewter was a metal with the specifically high led content that would leach into the food. Tomatoes are extremely acidic. As it happened, acid brought out the poison in the pewter and led people to getting sick. Since no one knew where the poison was really coming from,

the port tomato got the blame. Doctors counseled against consuming any tomatoes, although some chose to ignore them and survived. Colonel Robert Johnson was one of those people. He was disgusted by what he considered gross misinformation and was determined to prove that tomatoes weren't, in fact dangerous. They were healthy and delicious. He had been eating them frequently and hadn't suffered any ill effects. Johnson had found the fruit

while traveling abroad and brought it home with him. He even hosted tournaments among his neighbors, who like to live on the edge, to see which of them could grow the largest tomato. In September are of eighteen twenty, Johnson trooped down to the courthouse in Salem, New Jersey, to stand against scientific and religious precedent to defend his favorite snack. Setting the basket of tomatoes down next to him, he reached in and, to the horror of the crowd, pulled

out a big, ripe red one. Firmly staring down the masses who had stopped to watch, Johnson took a bite, then another, and then another. He consumed the entire basket while the residents of Salem watched and waited for him to fall down dead before their eyes. But he didn't, to the morbid disappointment of his neighbors. Instead, he had a great time, and the tomatoes reputation began to be rehabilitated. A couple of years later, tomato recipes would spread across

the United States. While the accounts of the Tomato Trial of Salem, New Jersey might have been exaggerated, people finally got the nudge they needed to realize tomatoes are delightful in any form, And then, of course, it was up to the cooks to uh catch up with the times. Some inventions are so successful they change the way we speak. When we have a cold and need to blow our nose, we don't ask for a tissue. We ask for a kleenex. And if we cut ourselves on a knife in the kitchen,

we don't reach for an adhesive bandage. We grab a band aid, even when that may not be the brand we have on hand. That's how important certain creations are to the zeitgeist. But one such invention isn't tied to a particular brand or a company. It stands alone as an achievement all on its own. It's been widely considered the best thing since well. Ever, bread is not a new construct. It's been around in some fashion for roughly thirty thousand years. However, one man believed that he could

improve upon it in a unique way. His name was Otto Frederick row Vetter from Davenport, Iowa, or in eighteen eighty. Otto was a jeweler and an optometrist, but was always tinkering with something on the side. He used the skills that he picked up making and repairing jewelry to invent all sorts of other new machines. One such device was designed to do something people were already doing on their own in their kitchens. However, Otto's contraption would remove all

of the efforts and sliced fingers from the equation. He wanted to build an automatic bread slicer, and Otto went all in. He sold all of the jewelry stores that he owned to pay for the research and development necessary to build it. A prototype was constructed around nineteen twelve, but after a fire wiped out both the machine and its blueprints in nineteen seventeen, his progress was set back

a number of years. Then in nine seven he cracked the problem and developed a machine that not only sliced a loaf of bread into equal portions, but wrapped it as well. It was immediately patented, and by the summer of the following year, the first loaf of sliced bread hit the shelves. The machine itself was manufactured and mass allowing bakeries and grocers to slice and sell their own bread.

For homemakers, which were mostly women at the time, it meant no more sharp knives and doctors visits to have stitches put in. Life had been made just a little bit easier. Sliced bread became a staple of kitchens everywhere for the next fifteen years, thanks to the popularity of Wonder Bread sold by the Continental Baking Company. In However, the slicing came to a halt as America entered World

War Two. The war effort meant all sorts of materials such as rubber and nylon were collected for making airplane wings, uniforms, and tank treads. Food also became scarce as civilians sent what they could to the troops overseas. Rationing was soon implemented across the country. The lack of butter and sugar led to the creation of unique cakes baked with all kinds of ingredients substituted in. Boiled raisins were used instead of sugar, while vinegar was swapped in when there wasn't

enough flour, but one color. A re creation that took a hit was sliced bread. In fact, automatically sliced bread wasn't just kept off the shelves, it was outlawed. The head of the War Foods Administration, Claude Wickered, believed that not slicing the bread would save on wax paper usage, and no sliced bread meant no more automatic slicing machines,

which required large amounts of steel to manufacture. Well. To the people stuck at home making meals for their families and already dealing with all kinds of restrictions, the sliced bread band was a step too far. Letters started pouring into newspapers and magazines from the women responsible for getting their children and spouses out the door in a timely manner. Having to slice upwards of forty pieces of bread a day took too long and left them prone to mishaps

with the knife. In addition, Mayor LaGuardia of New York City told bakeries with automatic slicers that they could keep using them despite the ban. This put the city's bakeries at odds with each other, since many did not own their own slicers, all in all, the National Sliced Bread Band only last did a few months. Ben was officially killed on March eight of nine. Giving up stockings and wire hangars were one thing, but having to slice one's own bread that would go down in history as an

idea that had never been fully baked. I hope you've enjoyed today's guided tour of the Cabinet of Curiosities. Subscribe for free on Apple Podcasts, or learn more about the show by visiting Curiosities podcast dot com. The show was created by me Aaron Mankey in partnership with how Stuff Works. I make another award winning show called Lore, which is a podcast, book series, and television show, and you can learn all about it over at the World of Lore dot com. And until next time, stay curious.