Archive for the ‘caffeinated bacon? baconated grapefruit?’ Category

Admittedly, at times I’m like a dog with a bone (or a brain with a banana) when it comes to certain things. Forgive me as I wax poetic once again on this matter, and cap off this trilogy of tropical treats.  I’ll try to make it brief.

I was in the grocery store with my mother, when we stopped for bananas and she revealed a fun factoid to me.  First you must know that my mother and I have extremely different tastes in food.  I won’t eat anything if I can’t remember when I bought it (I may or may not have a thing about funky-looking foodstuffs), and her philosophy is more along the lines of “oh, just scrape the mold off of it.”  (She likes the taste of burnt things.  Need I say more?)

But in spite of these, our vastly different palates, we agree on two things.  One, bananas are good green.  Two, aspartame has a funky aftertaste.  Not funky like it’s going to take you to Funkytown and wear silver spangles and rollerdisco, but funky like it’s going to take you to Funkytown, steal your wallet, and left you bruised and bloodied in a back alley.  (Funkytown is a dangerous place after dark.  The crime rate is through the roof, but man, can those hoodlums dance.)

So the fun factoid she revealed is as thus: it’s a genetic thing.  Apparently there is some chemical or what-have-you that lurks in both sugar-free substitutes and ripened bananas.  Apparently a lot of people can’t taste the aspartame dragging them off and holding them at gunpoint behind a Funkytown disco dumpster.  But through the miracle of birth, and DNA, we both have the ability to taste it, and the predisposition towards preferring greener bananas.  Magic!

(For the record, this is not fact-checked.  What do you expect me to do, discredit my mother?)


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Apparently my pleas to the great gods of fruit were actually heard.  For the next bunch filling the fruit basket was indeed the sort of unconventionally picturesque fruit I conjure in my mind when I think of delicious, delicious bananas.  Enormous, firm, and capable of being separated from the herd without discoloration or godawful bruising.  And just slightly greenish, the way I like them (don’t look at me like that).

The purpose of this post, in case you were wondering, is twofold.  Firstly, it is a classic illustration of one of my life philosophies, in that you can only truly appreciate the good once you’ve experienced the bad.  Yes, I know they’re just bananas, but one can only truly appreciate an analogy when it’s at its most bizarre.  And secondly, it is a soapbox where I can stand tall and declare that so-called “ripe” bananas are only good if you’re going to mash them into some sort of delicious bread (or perhaps waffle).  This is not a solitary opinion, either.  Both a coworker and my mother agree with this assessment.  The revolution will come someday, slowly to be sure, but our unripe bananas will hold firm and ultimately make better weapons than those mushy messes you peons so enjoy.

(Rest assured, I am concerned with things other than fruit.  But seriously, y’all, eat more fruit.  It’s awesome for you.)

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I’ve discovered a scientific anomaly in my kitchen.  A time-dilation field.  It’s the only explanation I can come up with for why when I remove a banana from the basket, within an hour it has cycled through colors like autumn leaves.

I like my bananas green.  Nice and firm, not too ripe, and definitely unbruised.  This morning when I left the house, I had a green banana in hand.  Hours later, it’s brown.  I can’t figure it out.  Am I severing the tenuous bonds of fairy magic when I remove the banana from its bunched brethren?  At first I thought it was my own fumbling, stupid fingers, tossing the fruit cavalierly into my bag without regard for its feelings, leaving it bruised, possibly forlorn.  But I rectified that behavior, transporting it in the cradle of my palm from destination to destination.  And still my fruit betrays me.  What possible steps do I have left to take, I wonder?  Wrap it in silk, nestle it in folds of secure packing peanuts?  Pray to the banana gods (possibly with human sacrifice)?  Never eat bananas again? 

Clearly, I need to enroll in grad school and find a solution to extend the bubble for transport, thus preserving the proverbial shelf life of my fruit.  Or else my daily potassium intake is doomed.

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