Tales From the Fruit Cart: Summer 2007 Edition

Intrepid sister/fruit cart pusher, Liz, gives us the latest update.

On the fruit cart today they have Dinosaur Eggs!! They are tennis ballsized fruits that are yellow and red speckled. Apparently they are across between plums (70%) and apricots (30%) – two fruits I reallylike!! They are really called Pluots. Dinosaur Eggs are just a subset– like the yellow rose of Texas is a subset of roses. Other Pluotsinclude The Hand Grenade, Last Chance, Flavorglo and the Dandy Dapple. Just between you and I though, I don't think I'd eat a mysterious fruit called Last Chance or Hand Grenade…
It isn't ripe yet, but will give you an in-depth analysis on its flavor, texture and what I am sure will be its all around superiority to other strange fruits that are occasionally on the fruit cart – like persimmons, which – you may recall, showed up on the fruit cart a few years ago and were slimy, chalky and tart all at once.
I'm a little upset that there were no dinosaur eggs or other fun fruits on the fruit cart last Friday when I pushed the fruit cart. In fact, I didn't even get a name tag to hang on the front of the cart. This wouldn't normally be a problem because I would prefer anonymity given the regular debacles that happen when I push the fruit cart(like being called a bad penny, crashing into computers, getting my belt loop stuck on the kitchen door knob…the list goes on). However,the lack of a name was in and of itself a debacle because the second person who I gave fruit to took it upon himself to give me a name tag.
In thick, black sharpee he deemed me "captain of cool," which, had he known me, he would have known that I am so far from being a captain of cool that I can't even pull it off as a sarcastic, self-mocking joke. I thought about removing the name tag when I turned the corner, but what would I say if someone saw me remove it or if – gasp – I ran into the guy who made it for me later on my rounds and didn't have it. His soul would surely be crushed. So, instead I tried to obscure the nametag behind some spotted apples that I didn't think anyone would want to eat. As it turns out, this didn't really work and people saw the name tag. Thus, I was left to endure the humiliation of thename-tag inspired comments that were not always nice.
Here are the main reasons that the name tag was utterly humiliating:
1. It made me look like a D-lister trying to be an A-lister but noteven landing among the ranks of the C- or B-listers because the C- andB-listers would have known better than to attempt such asocially-awkward stunt.
2. One of the guys in IT took it as an invitation to show me hiscaptain action figures (captain America, captain planet) that resideon his desks next to the Lego pirate ship and a pile of bazooka gumwrappers. This delayed my rounds by at least four minutes. And I was already running late because I forgot I had fruit cart duty.
3. I had to make witty banter in a feeble effort to live up to the name.
4. Just as I was finishing a section of the office without having to endure a comment about the name tag, a former kickball team mate saw it and shouted – what makes you the captain of cool? Thus calling everyone's attention the name tag that I had covertly tried to hide behind the apples instead of displaying it prominently at the front of the fruit cart by the bananas.
5. Whenever people asked me why I had the name tag I had to say someone in the other department made if for me. This inevitably elicited a bunch of "oooooooos" that reminded me of the 3rd grade and made fear that they would start singing the K-I-S-S-I-N-G in a tree song.

This is the long way of saying that if I had dinosaur eggs on my fruitcart, people might have thought I was the captain of cool – or at least not have noticed the name so much because the dinosaur eggswould have distracted them.

New Food: Chicken Livers and Frog Legs

G and I have been watching episodes of Anthony Bourdain's No Reservations. In this show he travels worldwide and hits off the beaten track restaurants and markets; in L.A. he eschews the Hollywood stars for ethnic fare in little Thailand, in Northern Ireland he shares pints with two tour guides-- one Protestant and one Catholic-- with the idea that good food and drink will unite all. We recently watched an episode set in Miami (no South Beach, but instead a visit to a Haitian shaman and a tour of various immigrant neighborhoods) where he spent one evening frog hunting in a nearby swampy area. The frogs he and his guide caught were taken to a nearby shack and skinned and the legs fried. This guy will eat anything!
G has been inspired by Bourdain's bold gastronomy and has recently prepared items new to me. One day on my way home he called and said, "you're going to have part of a chicken you've never had before." The beak? The feet? I was a little nervous. He prepared chicken livers, saying, "they were the most inexpensive item in the meat section at the grocery store- we could have them all the time!". Uh huh. I categorize chicken livers in the same category as brussels sprouts-- something enjoyed by an older generation who lived through the Depression. I did try them and was not completely disgusted-- they had a dense, chalky and rich taste which I felt couldn't be good for me in great quantities. They aren't something I'd crave, but if I had to eat them again, I would.
The following week G roasted a chicken-- somewhat of his specialty-- and instead of throwing out the giblets, declared he would find a recipe to use them. I said I only knew about giblet gravy and didn't know anyone who actually cooked even that (again, see Depression Era folks). In the end, they sat in the fridge a few days while he was compiling his research and he decided they weren't worth it, so threw them out.
Last week we tried a small Brazilian restaurant in Cambridge. As I was perusing the menu, I saw the appetizer of friend frog legs and jokingly pointed it out to G. He said we should try it and I demurred. Then the owner of the restaurant himself came to our table to take our order. G asked about the frog legs ("How fresh are they? Where do they come from?" "As fresh as can be and they come from perhaps Costa Rica.") and then said while he would be willing to try them, his girlfriend did not. Shamed in front of the owner, I told G just to go ahead and get them. When they arrived, fried golden like chicken, I tried not to think of what they actually were. G encouraged me by telling me that Anthony Bourdain would be proud. I bit in like a chicken wing and, voila! What did they taste like? Actually, not unlike chicken!