[m i a o w] the cat

Because it hardly ever fills it’s potential, I hate fruit. Correction - I am a fruit snob. I only like the finest fruit. I do not eat fruit for the sake of eating fruit, I eat it because it tastes nice, as I do oysters, Coopers and port wine flavoured jelly. I am told I should eat more of it. I have a go every month or so, but am more often disappointed than not.

Today I had a fresh burst of hope. Released early from the office hothouse due to an electrical meltdown, I actually got to my mum’s place in daylight and took the opportunity to wander down, in the last of the afternoon light, to the organic supermarket that I discovered last week. I bought M (who would buy everything organic if I let him - it’s too expensive) some packets of pasta and rolled oats. On a whim, I bought two Fuji apples. Organic. Fuji. Apples. To eat on my walk back to the house. The last time I’d bought some apples was a month ago, from the fruit shop next door to the Sandringham supermarket - they were actually excellent, and this knowledge fuelled my purchase.

I wandered back towards my lodgings and took a big bite of the first apple. There is not going to be a second apple. The bite was a powdery mouthful of mank. But, although I fight against it, I was brought up to finish whatever food I begin eating, regardless of it’s mank factor. I managed about four other bites, which I priced at about .35cents each - these ‘organic’ apples were megabuck. So I have given up on the fruit angle of the organic supermarket and will rely on the occasional tangelo from Coles and the odd apple from the non-organic fruit shop. My angst is also due to the fact that if I hadn’t bought the two apples, I could have bought a stubby of Mountain Goat beer. Woe, I say. Woe.

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[…] Basically, the only dietary foible that causes an occasional pang of guilt is the absence of sushi fruit. But this is taken care of by my parents - when I stay at my mother’s, there is always some bit of manky fruit sitting balefully in my cereal bowl of a morning; when I stay at my dad’s sometimes it is fruit season and then I am happy to eat my own bodyweight in apples and blackberries - and at other times of the year I eat beer fruit. It’s not that I hate fruit, but that I am a fruit snob. […]

The pastatute speaks* « [m i a o w] the cat typed this on Jan 20 07 at 11:22 am

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