I got three cherimoyas from the Fruit Viking. One I gave away. Another I gave away and then snatched back, having second guessed myself. I decided the giftee was going to leave the cherimoya in the fridge 'til it turned into a cherimoya liqueur. You should never "Indian-give" fruit. It's like the ultimate sin in the world. Luckily, she to whom I Indian-gave the cherimoya came over to work on a project and we split the cherimoya, so I may not go to The Lake of Fire. Probably just some boring Dantean circle where you have to account for all your time using S.A.P. or PeopleSoft or any one of those demonbastard softwares.
"This is great!" said my fellow projecteer, upon her first taste of cherimoya.
"It's like a banana... kindof."
"They say it's like a pineapple, but I don't think so."
"No, it's not acidic like a pineapple. At first I thought it was custardy, but it's not, it has sugar crystals."
"Sugar crystals? Are you eating the skin? Because I don't think you're supposed to eat that part."
"No, the sugar crystals are in the pulp."
"They also said it was like a pear, which I agree."
"Yes, it's like a pear."
"It's better than a pear."
"It's not better than a pear."
"I say it is."
"A ripe pear is very good."
And so we came to a shaky accord. Ah, fruit! Most elegant of food groups! Prized bringer of peace!
What reminded me, I'm eating a pear burrito. The recipe is like this:
One Ezekiel 4:9 tortilla.
These things take getting used to, but once you give up on the notion that they're the same as a corn tortilla or a flour tortilla and get into the fact that they're basically horsefeed in a flattened state, you start to like them. (If you've ever stuck your head in a big bucket of that sweet feed they give horses and taken a good long molassesey chevalsnort, you'll know why that idea is appealing.)
One point five slices of basic factory provolone cheese
Paperthin slices of superripe pear, to taste
Arrange cheese and pear on surface of asphalt tortilla, roll into a cigar and eat.
This would be probably a lot better if you broiled it, but who has the patience for that? Well. You know who. MFK Fisher, that's who. But she puts her tangerine slices on the winter windowsill and waits for them to dry just the perfect, perfect amount. Mere mortals cannot approach obsession on this level.