I love fruit.
Mango and pineapple are some of my favorites, but I go for nearly every fruit.
Apples, with their crunch. Pears with their subtlety. Watermelons for their sugary dribbles. Lemons and limes for the brightness they add to baked goods, soups and sauces. Plums and apricots for their tartness. Peaches and nectarines for their embodiment of sunshine.
During winter months, I love any and all citrus. Recently, I have been indulging in mineola, heirloom and blood oranges. Each with their own succulent tang.
The blood oranges in particular, remind me of my trip to Italy in 1999. I was working for five days with a private high school's modern dance troupe that was booked for performance in Ravenna, one of my favorite places on earth. After my gig was over, I met Mom in Florence and we traveled for an additional 11 days. Each morning we had a glass of blood orange juice, something neither of us had tasted previously. I was hooked. It was sweet and tart and deep purple in color.
The mineolas I love for their tartness as well. I love to use them in baking. Their zest and juice add a special touch to Hamentaschen in particular, filling and dough alike.
Last but not least, I adore grapefruits. I have a tendency to overindulge in them, though. I like them plain, messily separating the flesh of the fruit from the membranes. That means I don't eat them in front of other people, or very often.
Citrus reminds me of Israel. My high school experience there was full of pommelo. Their thick rinds, their sweetness. The joy of sharing them with my friends and room mates.
Blackberries always remind me of summer camp in Wisconsin, picking wild berries by the side of the road while on canoe trips and behind the clinic, snagging my clothing and slicing my arms on the brambles. Strawberries remind me of our first home, and sneaking berries off the strawberry pot when Mom would send me outside to play.
Just keep the bananas to yourselves. They have a weird texture, taste and smell.
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