Invasion Of The Kiwi Apples

Forget any Chinese grand-design for economic world domination. The real concern for global equilibrium is a blatantly expansionist aspiration, emanating from the apple orchards of Aoteoroa.

Before I'm accused of taking a swipe at our New Zealand friends, detour to the pre-eminent grocery emporium in your 'hood.
Head for Produce. Casually dangle your smartphone or recording device by your side, and surreptitiously document the blinding array of premium apples on offer.

If you've made it this far the rest is simple deduction.

Familiar Red, Golden "De-lish" and Granny Smith varietals have long been complemented by Braeburn and Gala. When Fuji and Jazz showed up, it seemed a statement of intent. What better stealth to exploit/export, than such a proven seduction.
Keen Spidey-sense engaged, it fell to me to flesh out this exposè.

Opportunity presented itself on my weekly supermarket mission. There before me, was a motherlode of evidence. Intuition aided the selection of four specimens from the smörgåsbord, then home to conduct a random taste-test, aimed at the core of the matter.

It's fair game to begin at original sin. Which I'll suggest, makes a more evocative moniker for the obviously named "Eve," a classic apple-shaped fruit. Deep ruby skin, firm, tempting ... tart.

You get the general idea - a bite built to chew on for an eternity.

The crunchy, super-sweet-an'-dandy "Smitten" had me at hello. Yet, mindful. "Must-not-succumb, to the Succubus of this fruit."

Weakness could mean rehab. A.A. ... Appleholics Anonymous.

I hadn't bargained on "Envy." When mind-games are deployed, subordination is complete. This is a subtler, can't-eat-just-one, crisp-biscuit. With these apples hanging from his tree, this lucky grower must be in huge demand. Haters will hate ... hence, envy.

 

My image of New Zealand benefits from a single Auckland trip. Muriwai Beach, Rotorua, Kauri Wood, lambchops, honeybees. These are romantic indicators, and clearly the Apple lobby has

co-opted the power of Kiwi Love as aggressive market strategy.

 

Those pesky plastic stickers are the slippery slope to PLU porn.

 

Preferences do differ of course, but "Divine" proved to be merely that by comparison. Still, I won't let it dilute my due-diligence.

Waiting in the wings is "Ambrosia," promising sex by suggestion. And from there it's onto the "Southern Slap," which will require a proper re-think in the wake of the Paula Deen snafu Stateside. 

 

Those of us living in up-the-way Ontario, facing this invasion, can choose to be a cultivar-collaborator or join the resistance.

 

I'll reveal how I lean after I've studied the entire seasonal tease.

One Man's Trash is Another Man's Treasure.

Diggin' deep in the personal archives is the quickest way to maintain a presence on a blog when there's no time to write.

When I was much younger my family had a cottage in the hills of the Parish of St. Catherine. It's cool up there. We had expansive views to the North, received radio signals fron Cuba, grew coffee bushes and enjoyed the uncommon fruit of the Rose Apple trees.

The nearest town is Sligoville, said to be the first village peopled by freed slaves in mid-1830's Jamaica. History here is very close to the surface of contemporary observation and one can feel colonialism in the mists that regularly cosset this mountaintop.

The verdant vegetation was/is tropical and lush, with ferns of various description growing like weeds in the fertile soil.

 

One day, and several days thereafter, while fulfilling my gardening chores cutting back an encroaching fern thicket adjacent to our stony driveway, I happened upon what probably used to be someone's refuse heap. Whoever it was had a predilection for European preserves and Irish beverages, judging by containers I found clustered just below the surface of the dark earth.

 

My interest in archaeology was nascent at the time, but rooted enough in my sensibilities for me to cherish the finds to this day. I share them here without too much verbal embellishment for they speak loudly by themselves, as tangible vestiges of the colonial yesteryear I frequently reflect on in my musings.

 

Worthy of note is the prone, round-bottomed bottle embossed with the "Medicated Aerated Waters, Belfast, Ireland" assertion, and the salt-glazed crockware jar which simply proclaims that it once held I. C. Hoffmann's "Rassberry Jam."(sic.).

 

I often wonder if that early spelling of Raspberry influenced the development of  well known, colorful Jamaican expressions.

 

Ackeelover Chronicles will continue ...  

Ugli. Produce of Jamaica.

In Canada it's mid-winter. Wild berry season is faint memory. Nothing succulent will bear on bush or tree for months to come. For those of us raised on the perpetual bounty of the tropics, finding familiar fruity favorites can feel like a Survivor quest.

Just as the spice trade of yore seduced European tastes, so too does NAFTA's econo-facilitation of exotic imports, from unfrozen parts, keep mouths drooling when farms and farmers freeze up north.

Enterprising brokerage, serving Canadian multi-cult reality, augments produce shelves in supermarkets. The ubiquity of Jerk condiments simply isn't the whole food story, so I, for one, choose to head for the fruit displays. My new Bodum juicer has been working overtime since Christmas, and it's kept me in a citrus frame of mind.

I target various types of Orange, Grapefruit, Honey Tangerines, even Tangelos. This time the scavenger hunt yielded Ugli.

No surprise, this fruit is named for its appearance. The somewhat scrotal crumple of the external rind may be visually unbecoming, but it's an easy peel, and, nectar within is touted as being more sweet than tangy.

Ugli is a unique hybrid of Grapefruit, Orange and Tangerine. I'm told it's now grown Down Under, but this is another of those Jamaican originations the world has taken to, and a Jamaican company remains the primary patented producer.

Clearly I'm not one to ignore analogy. I find it difficult to resist extrapolation - beyond reproductive innuendo, into the realm of cultural association itself. As Jamaican in metaphor as it is in genesis, perhaps there is philosophy bred into this fruit.

Out Of Many, One People is Jamaica's motto, mirroring the composite chromosomal makeup of Ugli. Similarly, aspects of Jamaica's socio-schizoid geneology can give one impression while being something else entirely.

Fortunately, stripping away superficial layers ultimately reveals a thing of beauty. The smaller of my two fruit, suitably splayed to expose a suggestion of proto-labial fecundity, cried out to be instagrammed atop Uncle Rick's hand-crafted cake-stand. The larger one I juiced and guzzled, despite finding it not quite as sweet as propaganda promised.

Citrus lends itself easily to grafting, to wit, it's not unusual to pick Oranges and Lemons from the same tree. Come to think of it, this does beg comparison to certain complexities of the contemporary Jamaican zeitgeist.

The good. The bad. And ... the Ugli.

... happy Halloween, sweetcup ...

... here-a-pumpkin, there-a-pumpkin, everywhere-a-pumpkin-pumpkin ... folks in Canada really do get into some Halloween, so much so, to go along with vicious vampires, greedy goblins, wicked witches and bulk-buy bon-bons, Canadian avenues, streets and lanes seem positively paved with pumpkins ...

... hyper-excitable children, dressed like embryonic cosplay conventioneers, race around sub-divisions - the more dense the habitats the better, with yawning sacks spilling sugary treats - woe betide the neighbourly soul who attempts to dole out ... fruit ...

... apples, bananas, mandarin oranges, raisins, nuts? - "nuh-uh, trick or treat buster, what else can ya show me?" ...

... well, ask me that question and I'll tell you of a worthy fruit that grows on the tropical passiflora maliformis vine, which also yields passion fruit, granadillas and a hard-shelled, green delectable called sweetcup ... 

... contemporary Halloween festoonery comes to mind however, when I picture the marble-sized wild varietal, also known as sweetcup ... sought out in the wild, and coveted by kids (big and little) in Jamaica, the soft orange shell, exposed from its unearthly-looking protective nest, has a markedly pumpkin-like appearance, and the edible grey, flesh-covered, slippery seeds inside even look like brain-matter too ...

... slurp clean with the tongue, no need to chew ...

... a sweet-slimy swallow, mmmm ... BOO! ...

... you say papaya ...

... but hey, let's talk pawpaw for a minute ... call it papaya if ya wanna, but I'll go with how I was raised to sow it, grow it and know it ... pawpaw trees grow easily, given fertile conditions, and they can present a positive practicum, educating people on raising a fruit-bearing plant, a metaphor for life's cycle itself ...

... this one was grown by someone else and came to me ready for consumption ... a couple of judicious morning incisions and I had cut open the most promising pawpaw of the year so faw ...

... I mean, far ...

... the fragrance hit me in the nose, which doesn't always happen ... pawpaws vary from plant to plant, ranging from watery and delicate to spicy and pungent, with a wide spread of sweet and delightful in-between ... hmm ...

 ... some of these succulent, fleshy, smooth-skinned delicacies come flush with seeds, which resemble tadpole-sized spermatozoa or uterine ovum depending on your ... ahh ... perspective ...

... jus' sayin' ...

... those womb-like visuals bring the words ovarian and fallopian to fore, making it fitting that the first wedge be cubed to nurture in a schooler's snackbox ... but further parsing, to provide breakfast for three adult couples, is a figurative reflection of fecundity and an underappreciated manifestation of papaya aphrodisia ...

... remind me to canvas for feedback ...

... a guinep by any other name ...

... mamoncillo ... limoncillo ... quenepa ... chenet ... kinnip ... genip ... somehow Barbados got it very wrong calling it ackee ... to further confuse matters it's called Spanish Lime in Florida and what's Surinam thinkin' when they call it sensiboom? ...

... menuhcarewha'yuwaacaallit, it'll always be guinep to me ... it's a seasonal fruit, enjoyed throughout Central America and The Caribbean, and, if you've been paying attention to Ackeelover Chronicles, you know I take fruit very seriously ...

... I have a child-like affection for this summer-bearing delight which I may have taken for granted until I came to live outside my native Jamaica ... in Canada and elsewhere I sometimes catch myself rhapsodising my way through conversations where the other party hasn't had the pleasure ... often eliciting bemused response as I romanticise this delectable drupe ...
















... y'see ... botanically, guineps classify in the drupe group ...

... "what's it similar to?", comes the standard question, and even though I understand the lychee or longan comparison, it's a stretch ... when properly ripe they are a sweet, succulent, satisfying snack, inexpensively available at practically every four-way-stop intersection ... winter travellers miss the season and the opportunity to raid actual trees, which tend to grow randomly and can be fair-game if you beat local kids to the bounty ...

... the easily-cracked, removed and discarded green shell exposes a smooth flesh-covered seed, which, when sucked clean and commonly spat any-which-way, creates inoffensive, low-impact bio-litter ... tastes and textures will vary from tree to tree but you can't eat just one unless early picking leaves them too tart ...

... a quick web-search for other guinep anecdotes turns up several references to the coveted-for-its-size, twin-guinep ... a comparatively rare fruit with a double semi-ovoid seed ... but nowhere in my research did I see mention of an example with a triple seed! ... now, understand this, I've voraciously consumed these things since boyhood and never come across such a specimen ... nor has anyone I've asked ... I didn't know they even existed, yet my pickin' tree this year yielded three such examples! ... there must be profound meaning in this omen ...














... the male tree will not produce fruit ... giving rise to the term man guinep, a Jamaican jibe at men with no offspring ... and, if there is a more indelible stainer of clothing than guinep juice I'd like to be warned ... eating too many under-ripe guineps can interfere with intestinal regularity and the smooth gullet-sized seed has been known to cause accidental asphyxiation ... so ... mindfulness is required while ... um ... sucking the seed ...

... at time of writing, guinep season is winding down and I'm happy to report I feasted every chance I got, as if preparing for the inevitable day when I am back in Canada unable to procure the produce ... I even learned a thing or two which I hadn't known, despite a lifetime of experience with these things ... older folk tell me it's a great source of iron ... who knew? ...

... I'm advised now too that a certain care is required in cross-culturally referencing this fruit ... shortening mamoncillo can offend in some Latin contexts, as mamon translates to "arrogant asshole" or the more pointed "cocksucker" ... and to a Filipina, the Spanish-derived word mamon can also refer to pendulous breasts ... which, when I think about it, actually makes more sense considering the full Latin assignation ... melicoccus bijugatus ...

... I love me some bijug-at-us, but guineps will sate for now ...

... mango walk an' talk ...

... "in Antigua ev'ryt'ing come wit' de rain"... so said my bredrin as he led me off the beaten track into the bush where his friend lives amid bountiful surroundings ... cosseted and sustained by fruit bearing foliage of myriad description ...

... leaving the road ... well past the point where pavement becomes dirt and stone ... diving into underbrush at the threadbare tamarind tree ... sweeping aside tall sharp Guinea grasses suitable for feeding livestock or medicinal teas (we have no ailments or cattle) ... ignoring ripening Noni fruit (too labour-intensive) ... and avoiding the prickly pineapple slips underfoot ... our mission is straightforward ... the objective is mango ...













... the ascendant Jamaican country-bwoy in me should not have been surprised at the variety of types of mango I found in this one location ... but perhaps for that very reason I pulsated with craven excitement as I climbed tree after tree to sample and choose specifically targeted fruit ...

... shape and size ... colour and smell ... texture and degree of ripeness ... not to mention taste ... all mangoes are not created equal ... and when the season arrives in The Caribbean the connoisseur can afford to be fussy ... with hundreds of extant varietals (e.g. Nevis alone boasts over forty) there's plenty to choose from ... these three are even called Choice ...












... I invariably measure each mango against my all-time favourites ... Uncle Stan's incomparable East Indian mango, the ever-popular St. Julian (Julie), the little-known Tringram hybrid planted at my childhood home ... a curiously shaped Thai import with a flat seed that I paid an arm-and-a-leg for in Vancouver's Chinatown some time ago ... and top of the heap I rate the rounded, Indian-derived, Jamaican Bombay ... the one with the distinctively nubile looking, nipple-ish-tip ...

... but ... I'm further afield now and already this season I've enjoyed several new (to me) locally grown mango types ... I'm currently fanning on a Bombay aspirant called Sensation, which lives up to its name ...

... it mek me waa' write a poetry I a tell yu ...

... soft to the touch, must take a taste ...

... when fruits ripe ain't no time to waste ...

I'll have one of each and more of the best ... tasty, tart, j-j-juicy and sweet ... firm, sufficient flesh, at once eaten and drank ...

from under beguilingly hued, smooth cheekskin flank ...

irresistable, fragrant and sticky...

... and I'm still just talking about mangoes ...