Confessions of a fruit dodger 🍑🤺
How I faked my way through a fruit-filled friendship
Every time I meet a new friend, I have to confess my dirty little secret.
I met Daniel as a co-worker in Beijing back in 2015. A tattoo-covered, music-teaching fellow nerd with killer trombone skills.
We clicked immediately.
One day - in the early days of our friendship - Dan bursts into my classroom clutching a shoebox-sized package and said:
"Mate, they're here!".
Un-fun fact about me: I despise 99% of fruits. I only eat green apples and bananas. I'll nibble a watermelon slice out of politeness, but that's my limit.
When I was 7, my pediatrician offered me cold, hard cash to try a peach.
I declined.
So Daniel opens the box with a loud "TA-DAAA" and... figs.
Thirty-six of them. Fat, ripe, and fragrant.
Did you know that a wasp has to die inside each fig for it to pollinate? Yum.
I faked excitement. I wanted Dan to like me, so off we went to my place and cooked not one or two, but FIVE fig-based dishes.
It pains me to admit it, but they were pretty good.
To me, eating fruits is one of those acquired tastes that makes me feel part of a club I've always longed for: people who eat peaches & cream, drink melon & wine, have strawberries & sex.
It's alluring, like a secret society I can't quite infiltrate.
Maybe I come from a tribe that had a strict mushroom diet. Or they were scared of fruits because of an early death involving a poisoned berry. Or even worse: choked by an oversized raisin.
As I chewed through Dan's fig feast, I wondered: was I finally joining the fruit-lovers' club, or just getting better at faking it? Either way, it was a small price to pay for friendship – even if it meant swallowing a wasp.
See you on the next one! 🫶
Matías.
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