When it’s tomato time, it’s also time for one of my favorite summer dishes: gazpacho. As a kid, I wouldn’t have been eager to eat gazpacho, a kind of chilled liquid salad with chunks of veggies in a tomato-based puree. Something about soup served cold would’ve seemed to upset the balance of things, like a man in a dress, or my brother being nice to me. It just wasn’t done.

But I didn’t grow up in southern Spain, where gazpacho originated as a peasant dish that offered a quick, cool meal in a hot climate. The version we see in restaurants here is closest to the Sevillian style, with tomato, green pepper, and cucumber. But the only required ingredients for gazpacho in the Andalucia region are garlic, bread, olive oil, salt, water, and vinegar. From there, the Spanish variations include a white gazpacho that adds almonds and fruit, a green gazpacho heavy on the herbs, and other red tomato versions served with salt cod, ham, hard-boiled eggs, or cumin crushed with mint.

While we usually eat it from a bowl with a spoon, it can also be drunk from a glass like tomato juice. In Pedro Almodovar’s 1988 film, Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown, the lead character, Pepa, is contemplating suicide (or murder), so she concocts a blender full of drinkable gazpacho spiked with a handful of downers. Coming to her senses, she deposits the blender in the refrigerator, but others can’t resist the lure. "Ah, gazpacho!" says one girl who steals a swig and then takes a long nap on Pepa’s patio, where she proceeds to have sexy dreams. Almodovar too seemed to realize there’s something sensual about tomatoes.

While gazpacho is an easy dish to prepare yourself (recipes abound on the Web), I can be almost as lazy as a doped-up sweetheart in the Mediterranean sunshine, so I began looking for restaurants where I could get a bowl of tasty, chilled gazpacho served to me.

I tried five local preparations, all of them similar in veggie ingredients, but with enough variation to suit different dispositions. Each began with a puree of vegetables, to which was then added more chopped vegetables for a combined smooth and crunchy texture. None of the recipes appeared to use bread in the puree, but most used hot sauce or hot peppers to give the broth a little kick. Nowhere did I read that traditional gazpacho is spicy, so I’m not sure if this comes from an American tendency to add hot sauce to everything or a misperception that gazpacho is of Mexican origins and therefore supposed to be spicy.

Gazpacho-to-go is available from the Produce Station (1629 South State) at $3.29 for 16 ounces. Made with a watery broth and finely chopped vegetables, you could almost drink it. It has a lightly spicy kick and isn’t too oily, but the vinegar is a little strong. This version sticks mostly to the basics—roma tomatoes, green bell pepper, white onion, cucumber, shallots, red wine vinegar, and olive oil—but the ingredients also include V-8, hot sauce, and Worcestershire. I liked this preparation, and I’d get it again for a summer lunch or appetizer.

Another place with easy gazpacho take-out is Barry Bagel’s (Jackson & Stadium in Westgate), where a sign on the door announces, "It’s Back! Gazpacho Soup Made Fresh Daily From Scratch." I brought home a large bowl in a Styrofoam container (oh well) for $2.49. As soon as I lifted the lid, I knew there was a problem. Celery. I could smell it in the cold broth. You might not think that’s possible, but there’s no love lost between celery and me, and I know its foul presence instantly. I can detect the smallest celery seed in coleslaw, and I can deftly remove a whole cup of chopped celery from chicken salad without even noticing I’m doing it. But even if I liked it, celery doesn’t belong in gazpacho, so Barry’s version was automatically suspect. It was the thickest of the soups I tried, with large pieces of veggies, but there were no herbs or garlic to speak of, so it came off rather flat. I wouldn’t recommend it unless you’re on that side of town and need a fresh veggies re-charge for lunch (and don’t mind celeric adulteration).

When you buy the gazpacho at the Prickly Pear (328 South Main), you’re really buying the downtown eating scene, since a modest serving in margarita stemware costs $4.95. But you get a basket of free salty chips and salsa, and you can sit on the Main Street sidewalk or in the backyard patio in the shade. Their gazpacho was easily the most beautiful serving I tried, with a colorful selection of diced veggies (zucchini and yellow squash, red and green pepper, red onion) tossed on top of the cilantro-laced soup, along with fried tortilla strips and chives sticking up like flags. But the broth was thin and oily with a mushy tomato puree, and the only significant flavor came from the raw onion. It was also awkward to mix together and eat out of the tall glass, with so many loose items piled on top.

While gazpacho begs to be eaten outdoors in the sun, a delicious version can be enjoyed in the dark, seamy ambiance of the Del-Rio (122 West Washington). Served in a big ceramic bowl for $2.50, it has a rich red color, big chunks of cukes, green pepper, tomato, and onion, and a strong herbal finish from barely-chopped parsley. To me, the broth was the perfect thickness and had a deep flavor, like the ingredients had had more time to mix with each other. You can adjust the spiciness with two choices of bottled hot sauce. Another item I like on the Del’s menu is the hard boiled egg, which goes great with the gazpacho (and makes it even more authentically Spanish).

Finally, I also enjoyed the gazpacho at Casey’s Tavern (304 Depot), although it is a small serving in a coffee mug for $2.95. The broth is thin, but it tastes like it’s been flavored with salad dressing—not a classic style, but yummy. You can order it with sour cream and a few large croutons that quickly soften in the soup, allowing some sense of the traditional bread-based preparation.