And now it looks like this:
|Basically, just a bit more brown.|
Today was a balmy -3 C (27 F to all you silly Americans), so I celebrated by wearing an inappropriately lightweight dress, tights, and my new boots:
I decided I needed to celebrate more. I decided I was going to consume a fruit. Not just any fruit, however. I wanted a large, tender, pink-fleshed flora ovary, ripped from the branches of a tree two thousand kilometres away and roughly manhandled in a series of trucks and airplanes before finding itself, mostly inexplicably, nestled among kiwis and lemons in a poorly-stocked grocery store. In other words, I wanted a grapefruit.
Grapefruits and me go a long way back. I remember trying to eat them as a child and having to pour tiny mountains of sugar on them in order to be able to consume them without gagging. Recently, I decided to give them another shot and was pleasantly surprised to discover I no longer needed sugar to enjoy them. Apparently the taste buds of children and adults are literally wired differently - that sort of explains how children can eat so much terrible, sugary junk and not get sick of it, and why no child seems able to appreciate the lovely tastes of spinach, asparagus and broccoli.
|Here's a picture of me awkwardly groping a grapefruit. The more things change...|
They are wonderful little things - they are the perfect size to slice in half for a nice snack. Their rind makes a perfect bowl from which to eat the flesh. They have a unique, citrus-y taste and a pleasant colouring.
|So lovely and innocent and delicious.|
There is, however, a problem. Between my first exposure to grapefruits as a child and now, grapefruits seemed to have developed some radical new natural defence mechanisms. Eating a grapefruit has become an ordeal, and that's probably an understatement. The juice contained below the delicate tissues of the grapefruit seems to have a mind of its own - a mind intent on finding my eyeballs, my clothing, my hangnails and papercuts. It is almost a battle - who will resign first? Who will emerge victorious?
PrepareGather the fruit, and the tools. Eye protection - a must, should you wish to keep your eyesight. Sometimes you will get a particularly aggressive grapefruit. Bandages on any open wounds. Old clothes. Here I am modelling a t-shirt from a pub crawl long past and my best WARFACE.
|I will fuck you up. Watch out.|
|TINY SPOON also a dinosaur.|
AttackCarefully cut out the triangular sections of grapefruit flesh, skillfully dodging any citrus fluid attacks the fruit should make at this time. Consume the flesh. Repeat until the fruit is carved out, with only undesirable tissue and juice remaining.
Scrape the spoon along the inside of the grapefruit, releasing any remaining bits of flesh. Squeeze the rind to shape a vessel that you can drink from. Do not let the fruit's passiveness fool you - at this critical stage, it may make its final, desperate move, unleashing a torrent of juice down your hands and chin. Be wary!
Once you have consumed the last drop of fluid from the broken body of the grapefruit, your victory is seized. Clean the blood of the defeated one from your lips, hands and posessions. Bask in the glory you have won for yourself. YOU ARE VICTORIOUS!