A whole lot of needless (but amusing, I promise) backstory
It was September of 2009 and I was desperate to impress the people who I at the time assumed could be my future in-laws. Not being a man with a great many practical talents and pretty sure that a pair of Idaho born and bred folk wouldn’t be impressed by my poetry, I instead opted to wow them with my cooking skills – an odd decision if you’ve ever eaten something I’ve cooked.
Not feeling confident enough to cook meat pies or a proper Aussie barbie, I decided to introduce them to the
New Zealand Australian delicacy known as the humble pavlova.
Not having any experience with cooking pavlova, I went out shopping in search of the essentials. I’d brought a pair of Magic Eggs with me, so I was mostly after fruits and such.
- Blueberries – Check
- Strawberries – Check
- Bananas – Check
- Blackberries – Check
The quizzical look on my ex-girlfriend’s face stirred a primal terror deep inside of me. This poor fool had no idea what a passionfruit was – let alone how orgasmically good they were!
Without passionfruit, the pavlova was an unmitigated, gooey disaster. A delicious one, I might add, but a disaster all the same. I blame the absence of a core ingredient rather than my complete lack of ability to craft anything more complex than ramen or toasted cheese sandwiches in the kitchen.
I thought this was a test drive?
Oh yeah, that was a whole lot of back story that had absolutely nothing to do with the topic at hand. Except they both feature passionfruit because, well, passionfruit is the tits. It’s the cat’s pajamas and the bees knees. I’ve even heard some call it the cat’s meow, but I’m a good Christian and I try to avoid using profanity.
Let’s flash forward to December 2012. A much balder, beardier, and more awesome CWB is roaming the streets of Sanya after a day of beers, lounging around, sneaking looks at Russian birds in bikinis, and reading on the beach. His pretty American girlfriend is walking alongside him when they spot a fruit stand.
All manner of tropical delights are present. Dragonfruit, clementines, pineapples, cherries, strawberries, mangosteens, rambutans and… passionfruits.
“Have you ever tried one of those?”
I ask, pointing to the stack of wrinkly brown fruits that could very well pass for a collection of well aged African scrotums.
“No,” she replied, “What are they?”
Rather than trying to explain, I instead forked out 5RMB for a bag and we rushed back to our hotel. Fifteen minutes of trying to explain to room service that I didn’t want food – only a knife and two spoons – lead us nowhere. So let’s flash forward again to… last night.
It’s cold as balls in Nanjing and we’re in bed watching Revolution when Heather asks for a ‘sweet treat’. Passionfruit aren’t really sweet, but they’re better than another home delivered McFlurry from McDonalds, so I go get them prepared.
What follows, dear reader, is her reaction:
Have you been blessed enough to try a passionfruit? Or were you found unworthy of the most divine of fruits like the Philistine pictured above?
Got any fun ‘first time with fruit’ stories that don’t venture into the realm of American Pie? Share ’em!