I found them, of course, right beforehand.
Tucked into a bin next to some sawdusty roots, a raggedy collection of twigs were sprouting in a somewhat forlorn corner of the fruit-and-veggie store. Shopping carts whisked past, heading for the more promising broccoli, leeks and (barely deserving the discount) seconds. On the other hand, how anyone missed the burst of color in the sawdust and twig corner? I can't imagine.
Lychees.
I don't know how you'd pronounce them - my ligh-cheeze has never been quite right, but who has time to compare notes on pronounciation when that is dancing a delicate, swooping samba on the tastebuds? Liquid, apple and a light sweetness, with a little pineapple? or quince, maybe? definitely a tang that's halfway between a really aromatic Meyer lemon and a regular lemon, and oh, too much of my childhood for me to really taste the thing.
I think.
Judging from the looks on the boys' faces when they carefully divide them up, though, I might not be so far off. The boys' precision is overlaid by a sense of ruthless logic: if I'm really, really fair, then I'll get as many lychees as the other guy. Unless mum's not watching, in which case..? um. Or not.
And for the Man, it's one more oddity in a pantheon of edible oddities that he's learned to enjoy. An unfolding of flavors in the mouth, a discovery of unexpected pleasures - yep. It's really rather the perfect metaphor for a rather extravagantly numbered anniversary. Even if I did have to work the image a bit too hard to make it fit, well, hell. There's a bag of lychees in my fridge. Get here before they're all gone, and I'll let you see for yourself.
Unless we eat them all, the Man and I, sitting at our table in that most private of restaurants, with the candlelight flickering. And the kids, hopefully cooperatively asleep, having eaten their own bag of edible yum earlier that night...
Wishing us another many, many lots of the lumpy bumpy delish, love. So glad to have you with me for the road thus far, and I promise to share very, very fairly the deliciousness that comes...
Tucked into a bin next to some sawdusty roots, a raggedy collection of twigs were sprouting in a somewhat forlorn corner of the fruit-and-veggie store. Shopping carts whisked past, heading for the more promising broccoli, leeks and (barely deserving the discount) seconds. On the other hand, how anyone missed the burst of color in the sawdust and twig corner? I can't imagine.
I don't know how you'd pronounce them - my ligh-cheeze has never been quite right, but who has time to compare notes on pronounciation when that is dancing a delicate, swooping samba on the tastebuds? Liquid, apple and a light sweetness, with a little pineapple? or quince, maybe? definitely a tang that's halfway between a really aromatic Meyer lemon and a regular lemon, and oh, too much of my childhood for me to really taste the thing.
I think.
Judging from the looks on the boys' faces when they carefully divide them up, though, I might not be so far off. The boys' precision is overlaid by a sense of ruthless logic: if I'm really, really fair, then I'll get as many lychees as the other guy. Unless mum's not watching, in which case..? um. Or not.
And for the Man, it's one more oddity in a pantheon of edible oddities that he's learned to enjoy. An unfolding of flavors in the mouth, a discovery of unexpected pleasures - yep. It's really rather the perfect metaphor for a rather extravagantly numbered anniversary. Even if I did have to work the image a bit too hard to make it fit, well, hell. There's a bag of lychees in my fridge. Get here before they're all gone, and I'll let you see for yourself.
Wishing us another many, many lots of the lumpy bumpy delish, love. So glad to have you with me for the road thus far, and I promise to share very, very fairly the deliciousness that comes...
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