You’re sitting there with your morning coffee, staring at the grid, and there it is: a variety of tomato that is also a meat NYT crossword clue. It’s four letters. Your brain immediately goes to Roma or Plum, but they don't fit. Then it hits you. Beef. Or rather, Beefsteak.
It’s one of those classic New York Times wordplay moments where the literal and the botanical collide. Most people just fill in the boxes and move on to the next across clue, but there is actually a pretty weird, fascinating history behind why we call a fruit "meat." This isn't just about a crossword answer; it’s about the heavyweights of the garden.
The Beefsteak tomato is the undisputed king of the summer sandwich. If you’ve ever sliced into a Brandywine or a Cherokee Purple and noticed that it’s almost entirely solid flesh with very little of that watery, snotty seed goop, you’ve met the "meat" of the tomato world.
The Botany of the Beefsteak
Why "beef"? It’s not just a marketing gimmick from a seed catalog in the 1800s. The term refers to the structure of the pericarp. In a standard cherry tomato, you have a thin wall and a large locule—that's the technical term for the seed cavity—filled with placental gel.
Beefsteaks are different.
They are multi-locular. Instead of two or three large open chambers, they have dozens of tiny ones scattered throughout a dense, meaty tissue. When you slice it crosswise, it looks less like a fruit and more like a marbled slab of steak. This density is exactly why the variety of tomato that is also a meat NYT clue works so well. It’s a linguistic bridge between the butcher shop and the vegetable patch.
I remember talking to a master gardener in New Jersey—the undisputed home of the best tomatoes on earth, don't @ me—and he described the Beefsteak as "the tomato that fights back." It doesn't collapse under a knife. It holds its shape. It has a high acid-to-sugar ratio that mimics the savory depth of a protein.
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The NYT Crossword Obsession With Food
The New York Times crossword, edited for years by Will Shortz and now moving into a new era, loves these kinds of puns. They rely on "rebus" thinking even when it’s not a rebus puzzle. They want you to think about the texture. They want you to think about the culinary application.
If you’re stuck on a puzzle and see "Variety of tomato," and "Beef" fits, you're looking at a clue that has appeared in various forms for decades. Sometimes it’s "Big tomato," other times it’s "Fleshy fruit." But the "meat" connection is the one that really sticks in the craw of solvers because it feels like a trick. It isn't. It's just accurate.
Heirloom vs. Hybrid: The Real Meat
Not all Beefsteaks are created equal. If you buy those "Beefsteak" tomatoes at a big-box grocery store in February, you’re eating cardboard. Those are bred for shipping, not for the "meatiness" that the name implies. They have thick skins so they don't bruise in a truck.
The real variety of tomato that is also a meat—the stuff crossword creators are probably dreaming about—are the heirlooms.
Mortgage Lifter is a prime example. Legend has it a guy named "Radiator Charlie" Byles in West Virginia crossbred the four largest tomatoes he could find in the 1930s. He sold the seedlings for a dollar each and paid off his $6,000 mortgage in six years. That’s a lot of tomato. These things can weigh two pounds. They are literally the size of a dinner plate.
Then you have the Cherokee Purple. It’s ugly. It’s dusty purple-brown with green shoulders. But the flavor? It’s smoky. It’s rich. It’s... meaty.
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Why the Clue Keeps Popping Up
Crossword constructors love "Beef" because it’s a short word with common letters. B-E-E-F. It’s a goldmine for connecting difficult vertical clues. But beyond the mechanics of the puzzle, the variety of tomato that is also a meat NYT clue resonates because it taps into a shared cultural culinary experience.
We all know that specific type of tomato. The one that defines a BLT.
The salt pulls the moisture out of the "meat" of the tomato, mingling with the bacon fat to create a third, superior flavor. If you used a Roma (a paste tomato), it would be too dry. If you used a cherry tomato, it would roll out of the bread. You need the Beefsteak.
Tips for the Aspiring Tomato Connoisseur
If you’re reading this because you got stumped on the crossword, or maybe you're just hungry now, here is how you actually handle these "meat" tomatoes in real life:
- Never refrigerate them. Seriously. A Beefsteak’s flavor compounds (volatiles) break down at temperatures below 50°F. You turn a meaty masterpiece into mealy mush.
- Slice against the grain. Just like a real steak. Look for the stem scar and slice horizontally to expose those beautiful, tiny seed chambers.
- Salt early. Salt draws out the juices. If you're making a sandwich, salt the tomato slices on a paper towel for five minutes before putting them on the bread.
- Look for the ribs. The best "meaty" varieties aren't perfectly round. They have ridges and bumps. This is called "ribbing," and it’s a sign of a complex internal structure.
The Linguistic Quirk
It’s funny how we use meat terms for plants. We talk about the "flesh" of a peach, the "heart" of an artichoke, and the "meat" of a nut. The tomato is the only one that gets a specific cut of beef assigned to it. You don't see "Porkchop Peppers" or "Brisket Beans."
There is a weightiness to the Beefsteak.
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When you hold a ripe one, it feels heavy. Substantial. It doesn't feel like a fruit. It feels like a meal. This is exactly why the NYT crossword clue is so persistent. It plays on our sensory memory. You don't just solve the clue; you can almost taste the acidic, savory explosion of a sun-warmed fruit plucked straight from the vine.
Growing Your Own "Meat"
If you want to experience the "Beef" variety of tomato at its peak, you have to grow it. Most hybrids like Big Beef or Beefmaster are surprisingly easy to grow even for beginners. They are "indeterminate," meaning the vines keep growing until the frost kills them. You’ll need a serious cage—not those flimsy wire ones from the hardware store, but something made of rebar or heavy-duty cattle panels.
These plants are heavy. The fruit is heavy.
One of the limitations of these varieties is "catfacing." Because they are so large and meaty, the blossom end can sometimes get scarred and misshapen. It looks like a puckered mess. Beginners often think the fruit is rotten. It’s not. It’s just the tax you pay for having a tomato with that much density. You just trim around it.
The Final Word on the Grid
The next time you see variety of tomato that is also a meat NYT in your daily puzzle, don't overthink it. It’s not a trick. It’s a tribute to the densest, most savory fruit in the garden. Whether it’s a four-letter "Beef" or a nine-letter "Beefsteak," the answer is rooted in the literal texture of the food.
To level up your tomato game, start looking for heirloom starts at your local farmers' market this spring. Look for names like Black Krim, Big Rainbow, or Old German. These aren't just tomatoes; they are the "meat" that the crossword is talking about. Slice them thick, add a pinch of Maldon salt, and forget about the grocery store "slicers" forever.
The true value of this knowledge isn't just winning a crossword—it's knowing what to put on your plate when August rolls around. Stop buying tomatoes that taste like water and start seeking out the ones that earn their "meat" moniker.