If you spend a wee bit of time on Facebook, you will come to realize that a man’s virility can be measured, at least to some degree, by his ability to grow large, plump and succulent tomatoes, which for the balance of today’s essay will be referred to as maters.

That being the case, read the rest of this as if it were written in a female voice.

I am sad to report that my maters are of average size, with the most impressive coming in about the size of a fist – an 8-year-old girl’s. That being said, they pass the plump and succulent tests, and therefore maters will be a staple of my diet for months going forward.

What my maters lack in size, however, they make up for in quantity. As I write this, there are 17 maters perched carefully on my windowsill in varying degrees of ripeness — soon to be 16. An accurate count requires more effort than I am willing to exert, so I estimate that there are about 90 more maters on the plants in my garden, that figure being skewed upward a bit by the fact that one of the plants is actually a tomato bush.

I have over the years stumbled upon a fail proof strategy for accumulating an abundance of maters that I will now share. Plant a lot of tomato plants, and of several varieties. I have Big Boys, Beefsteaks, Better Boys, Early Girls, Cherry, Heirlooms and others.

I am again estimating, but I would say that about 60 percent of my 300-square-foot garden is occupied by tomato plants, which are kept company by squash, zucchini, okra, snap beans, cucumbers, jalapeno peppers and cantaloupe.

There is nothing magical about this formula; it is simply the result of decades of gardening, during which I have discovered that such plants as zucchini, squash, okra, snap beans and cucumbers are hit and miss, while tomato plants almost always thrive. Then there is this: While it is easy to find tasty store-bought zucchini, squash, beans, cucumbers, okra, etc., not so with maters – although you got a chance at a roadside vegetable stand.

The more attentive among you may have noticed that I ripen the maters inside, and not on the vine, which some consider sacrilegious, an admission that has drawn fire more than once. But one of life’s saddest sights is seeing a mater in its final stage of ripening, on the eve of being eaten, that is suddenly ruined by insects, worms or mold.

The first three off the vine this year had bottom rot and were tossed in a canal, but only after a brief ceremony. I wept — and then applied some fertilizer rich in calcium.

I eat maters because they are tasty, but I would even if they had the same health benefits as pork. As luck has it, they are also good for you. The tomato, which is actually a fruit and native to South America, is a good source of lycopene, an antioxidant that reduces the risk of heart disease and cancer, this nation’s No. 1 and 2 killers. They are also rich in vitamin C, potassium, folate, and vitamin K, all of which are good for something even if I don’t know exactly what.

If you insert a mater in between two slices of bread layered with Duke’s mayo and stacked with bacon and lettuce, which I am about to do, they are a bit less healthy. You can also leave off the bacon and lettuce, but not sure why anyone would.

My chief means of consumption, however, is in a garden salad or perhaps just sliced, peppered and with a light brush of Italian dressing.

Now some mater growers will tell you the best part of growing them is giving them away to friends and family. This is not true.

The best part of growing them is eating them, although I have in the past, perhaps in a weakened condition, given away a few maters. If you have been on the receiving end, then celebrate this: I really like you.

So, if you read this, and believe I have maters to spare, don’t dare.

I am reminded of a recent golf outing in Pinehurst with two buddies. As we approached the first tee, I told them: “Guys, I’ve got 10 Bud Lights on ice. So, enough for you to split one.”

That philosophy extends as well to my maters.