Alas, I have had to come to terms with the end of what was once a beautiful relationship. For many years, cherries and I had an annual affair filled with passion during which time I devoured as many as I could before the season turned.
Holding a cherry to your lips, feeling the smooth, tight skin stretched over the yielding flesh, trembling slightly as it dangled from its slender stalk, before a tug with the lips pulled it into my mouth. The first squeeze of teeth releasing a rich squirt of juice. Using the tongue to extract the pit. Again and again.
But this year I have to admit that the noble cherry, for all its beauty, has proven to be a lover I have no stomach for. Literally. My human digestive tract has no means of processing the cellulose which forms their skin. Let’s just say that the undigested cellulose does not make friends with my lower abdomen.
The trouble is that otherwise, cherries are really good for you. Packed full of vitamins A and B, and anthocyanin — the stuff that makes fruits and vegetables dark in color and which acts as a powerful anti-inflammatory. The trouble with summer is that there is such a wealth of delicious fruit that it’s all I want to eat.
Every year I make a mental Note To Self when my belly becomes so bloated I feel like I could float away: maybe it’s time to end this affair. Fruit salad — goodbye. Clafloutis – farewell.
See you next year.