Day 50, a white nectarine

Let it be known that I love food and I love to eat — I think that goes without me typing it on this blog. But there exist occasions on which I become lodged in a "food rut" and eat the same things serially. Why does this happen? Well, I know what I like and I often want the same things again and again. For instance, I love apples, so much so that I eat them when they're out of season. Consequently, I eat subpar apples for at least nine months out of the year. But I trick myself into not minding because I enjoy the fruit so much.

But there comes a point in my months of oft-repititious eating when food consumption becomes less of a sensory experience and more of a stop at a decrepit gas station to refuel the body, so to speak. The turkey and spinach sandwich I ate yesterday lacked thought, character and vigor, but did manage to power me through the afternoon. The apple I had alongside it was not the stuff of legend, but provided me with essential vitamins and minerals. But this is not what food is about.

I was feeling a bit down while having another turkey and spinach sandwich for lunch today. Like a schoolboy, I still look forward to lunchtime and whatever mood-lifting concoction it brings; another halfhearted sandwich was not making my day any better. I was also not eating in anticipation of my dessert, a white nectarine. It's still quite early in the season for these nectarines, but I foolishly bought some a few weeks ago because I was so delighted to see them at the fruit stand. Needless to say, the one I tried then was tasteless and mealy and I shamefully disposed of it after two bites, along with the surplus. But this past weekend, like a moth to a flame, I decided to take another chance on the white nectarine. Thinking conservatively this time, I purchased one.

So there I was yesterday, pitifully munching on my anti-sensory sandwich, preparing for disappointment with my first bite of nectarine. I was positive it was going to be a dud.

But I was wrong.

The nectarine was not perfect. It was yet unripe and hard to the touch (you can see why I feared the worst!). But despite this, its taste was absolutely exquisite — sweet, robust, seasonal. Each bite was rife with pleasure. As its nectar dripped on my clothing, my books and my desk, I praised the arrival of the summer fruit, and the return of my active tastebuds.