Elizabeth Barrette (ysabetwordsmith) wrote,
Elizabeth Barrette

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Wal-Mart had dragonfruit, cheap, so I bought one. It's the kind with white pulp inside.  This one is slightly sweet toward the center.

I keep trying to pin down why I like these things when they don't taste like much.  They have a few useful nutrients listed, but nothing out of the ordinary.  One possibility is they're a good source of trace nutrients that people don't track.  Another is that it may have more life energy, which people definitely do not track.

But I was thinking, tonight, about the flavor -- it's kind of like cucumber where it's not sweet, and a bit like honeydew where it has more flavor.  So I thought, maybe over time, people will breed these to get sweeter, like they have other crops.  (Or not, because now they don't breed for flavor, but for durability.)  That reminded me of how melons started out.  The archaic watermelon was a bitter little bulb the size of a walnut, with tiny seeds, mostly of interest because it was in fact very wet inside.  So I'm eating this and remembering what melons tasted like a while after domestication, before they got really good -- about fist-sized, like this, bland enough to be agreeable, but every once in a while with a trace of sweetness.  And eating those, I would think, someday these things are going to be amazing.  Now they're the size of basketballs, or bigger, and quite sweet, and all different kinds.  I eat dragonfruit, and remember once-melons, and imagine someday-dragonfruit.  Maybe that's part of why I like them too.

Part of existential intelligence is never being satisfied with the fact of a feeling, but always wanting to know why  it is so.  This question that I roll in my mouth like fruit, trying to crack open valence like small dark seeds.  Normal people, it seems, do not do these things, but that seems very boring to me.  My sense of wonder is curious as a cat.
Tags: food, personal
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