I was outed recently. Outed as a strawberry hater. (That is a funny thing to write on this, the opening day of Pride weekend here in San Francisco – and yes, I know it has a longer official name that specifies the people who are proud, but to me it is simply Pride and it is tons of fun but oh my how it messes up traffic!)
People were over for brunch and someone had brought strawberries. I had, in fact planned that by asking her to bring fruit. It was late May in San Francisco and “fruit” almost directly translates into “strawberries” since they tend to be really good around then and no one is sick of them yet (the strawberry season here runs from April until the end of time, from what I can tell). By asking her to bring fruit, everyone could have strawberries but I wouldn’t have to deal with strawberries or make something with them that, being a hater, I wouldn’t end up eating.
Another friend mentioned my hatred and the cat was out of the bag. Man, do people like to gawk in amazement at someone who doesn’t like strawberries. I’ve mentioned my dislike here before, but people can’t process it. It makes no sense to them. I try to emphasize the positive for them by pointing out that it means that they can eat more of the strawberries before us. Sometimes that bright and shiny object works, sometimes it doesn’t.
You know what else I don’t like? Tropical fruit. Seriously. It all tastes perfumey and sweet and, basically, everything everyone else loves about it I don’t care for.
Except mangoes. I used to dislike mangoes, too. Or, rather, I assumed I disliked them because they seemed just like all that other mushy sweet stuff I didn’t like. I’m not sure I’d ever had one. Then I was invited to a Parisian librarian’s apartment for dinner and she served mango for dessert. It was offered as though manna from heaven and I like to represent the civilized side of Americans when I’m abroad, so I ate it. It was a sweltering day during a summer that was one giant heat wave (punctuated by the random metro bombing to keep everyone on their toes) and we were crammed around her tiny table in her tiny apartment decked out in Ikea furntiture which seemed terribly modern and cool since we didn’t have Ikea in the Bay Area yet and there were traditional non-deodorant-wearing French people involved. Let’s say that the aromatic nature of the mango was as welcome as its ability to be sweet and smooth and cooling. The mango, it made a good impression.
My dashing husband took us all to Hawaii for my birthday. We got rest, we got fun, we got shave ice. We also spent a whole lot of time together, the three of us, and it was delightful to remember how very much I like these two fellows who live in my house.
Oh, and we ate mangoes. Lots of them. Plain and in lassi form. Cut up a mango, put it in a blender, add some yogurt, squirt in some lime (or sour orange) juice. Whirl it up. Is it hot out? Add a handful of ice cubes.
The gold digger | 25-Jun-10 at 5:13 am | Permalink
1. My husband will not eat anything that ends in “erry.” Fine with me because as you point out, it’s just more for me. I don’t want to share. I don’t want him to “try the blueberries again” because he knows they are good for him. No! Blueberries are expensive and I can get them only one month a year. Stay away from my blueberries. Oh, the trauma of the big-headed blueberry eater a few years ago. (See story here: http://diaryofagolddigger.blogspot.com/2010/06/in-which-i-take-candy-from-baby-and.html)
2. I love mangos. We lived in Panama when I was in high school. Mangos all over the place and the really good kind, not the kind that are sold here. Turpentine, I think they’re called. They are huge and sweet. The ones here are Thompson or something like that. Anyhow, my mom adapted pretty much every peach and strawberry recipe she had to mango: mango pie, mango bread, mango shortcake. All excellent. My dad even devised a mango picker with a long stick, a twisted coat hanger and netting so he could reach the mangos high on the tree.
(We also had an avocado tree in our yard, but I refused to try them, despite my dad’s pleas. Oh, what a fool I was.)
Jude | 25-Jun-10 at 5:33 am | Permalink
Just found your guest post on sfgirlbybay! I’m *from* Hawaii but now living 3000 miles away – thanks for a lovely virtual trip!
Molly Watson | 25-Jun-10 at 9:48 am | Permalink
The thing with avocado trees is you get avocados *and* a great looking tree. Such fools as children.
Miss Unsinkable | 02-Jul-10 at 6:41 am | Permalink
I grew up LOVING strawberries and now – I can barely stomach them. I LOVE mangoes and could eat those and peaches every.single.day!
Love your blog!
Molly Watson | 02-Jul-10 at 7:47 am | Permalink
so good to know I’m not the only freak!
Nabeela | 14-Jul-10 at 3:19 pm | Permalink
My husband hates anything with a sour tang…so all sorts of fruits are out of the reckoning. Initially it used to bother me….but I’m used to it now and don’t balk when people tell me they hate strawberries