I am so mean to strawberries. Friends swap quaint little tales of picking-their-own, cuddling their harvest during the drive back to the city, lovingly drawing them from baskets and rinsing them of bugs and dirt and debris. They gush over the aroma and whip out the thesaurus for fresh adjectives to describe the vibrant pinks and reds. Oh, and the endless accounts of brewing heady jams...
Me?
I cannot transport a single pint of strawberries from market to apartment without the mushy little fuckers turning into bruised, seedy sacks by the time I walk through the front door.
9 comments:
Reminds me of the watermelon I got home today... see I can't even take care of on a those!
If you cannot get the toughest fruit in the whole Fruit Kingdom home safely, there is no hope hahaha
YES! You know me, pulp maker 4 LIFE!
Watermelons are the gorillas...strawberries are the dainty mice, haha...if you beat the gorilla-melon, you totally earn the title of Pulp-Maker Life...hahahaha...man, that made my Friday...thanks!
4 SURE! At your service friend!
I do the same with sandwiches too! I had some grilled cheese guys in the oven and they came out nearly as Diamonds! I only had to peel back the coal...
the coal...to reveal the grilled cheese diamond inside!
This makes me think of the Eddie Izzard bit on fruit, in which he imitates stubborn orange rinds and devious pears. It sounds like your strawberries self-inflict their wounds to garner sympathy.
Boil them into jam, I say!
I agree--strawberries are begging for a boiling!
Having washed pint after pint of abused fruit for dinners and desserts, I truly understand. Though, my main problem is getting them home before eating them!
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