caimito

To eat fruits known from childhood awakens a romantic connection, a bridge to the essence of a flavor encompassing memories of tasting and being, all referencing what has passed, and the past.

To eat fruits previously unknown, awakens the need to understand them, acquire their taste with a sincere palate. Sincerity is a state I impose on myself, demand, or at the very least hope with these new, introductory experiences. But sincerity wants a vicinity to truth, and truth seems to be a very weird term in the articulation of man, though perhaps not so much as truth is itself. Still, I speak of being sincere, being true, because these experiences are to be pure.

Do I have the ability to articulate a difference between the true and the pure? Perhaps, unknowingly. Perhaps.

In name, and in taste, the caimito had been unknown to me until this week. In texture it feels like a tender and juicy muscle. In taste there is little acidity, a mild, very mild peach flavor, crossed with that of a pear, though without the strength of the pear taste.

And this is similar as with the true and the pure. On one hand is the intuitive reference this individual makes, and on the other is what the caimito is – referenceless.

One after-effect: the lips will feel slightly glued to each other.