Those sad, tiny excuses for carrots came from my garden. On my knees, fingernails full of dirt I dug them up one-by-one this past weekend. I’d let them go for more than a month longer than their “maturity” date hoping that when I did harvest I’d find something bigger around than my pinky finger. As you can see, I had no such luck.
What you can’t see is that the tomatoes and bell peppers in the background are also bite-sized. My Amish Paste Tomatoes looked more like grape tomatoes and my big, heirloom slicing varieties resembled over-plump cherries more than anything. Slicing would have been futile; we ate them whole instead. The only thing that didn’t seem to suffer this year was flavor. The carrots were as crisp and sweet as ever. They just didn’t last long amounting to less than a mouthful each.