Competition #3 Between Leopoldo and the Man With Whom I'm Cheating on Him

...and there there's fennel. It's clear I'm obsessed with this vegetable, and as disappointed as I've been with my fruit guy, Leopoldo, the last few times I've bought it, I decided it was time to try again. But the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results. Some people call this empirical science, but no, it's insanity.

So, I chose to go with my second fruit guy and hope his fennel was different...and that I was not crazy. That's important.

I got the same deal on 3 fennel bulbs (for $5) at Tania Fruits - my new fruit guy. I'd been advised by someone which much more kitchen experience than myself to blanch the fennel before roasting them, but that only seemed to make it roast a little faster. It didn't make it any less watery. At least it didn't char as much, but it all kind of melted to fennel mush. Apparently the blanching also keeps it from discolouring, but it was just me eating it, so what did I care about colour?

I did everything else the same: coated the blanched fennel in oil from my pickled Indian jalapenos (amazing! salt, oil, heat) and roasted at 400-ish for 15 minutes, turned the fennel, and roasted another few minutes until they were tender. The elusive "tender-crisp" never appeared. Now I'm blaming my baking sheets. I've tried different sheets and casserole dishes and still nothing is working. I sprinkled the fennel with lemon once it had roasted, and that was lovely, at least, but it was basically chewy soup.

Alas, fennel and I are still working things out. Much like my fruit men. Except they don't know about my tests. I swear I don't usually play games, but choosing the right fruit guy is important in my life.

One more test to go before I stop being such a floozy: Dates, ironically.

Fruit Vendor Throwdown: Dancing, My First Persimmon and Knowing That Something's Missing

Have you ever had an experience where it ends and all you think is "Huh...That's it?"

Yeah, that's kind of how I felt with persimmons, except, well, it wasn't really a disappointed "that's it". Some people can take things so seriously. Sometimes all you're saying is simply, "that's it?" and it doesn't mean that what you just experienced was bad, just that there could be more (quantity) or it just could have been better (quality). With persimmons, even though it was my first time, I knew this was not the ultimate persimmon flavour. Call it fruit intuition. It wasn't fresh off the tree. It wasn't local. It'd been picked in advance to ripen during transport. Its skin was tough to make it through the long drive. It was just sweet and mild, but I wanted intoxication. I wanted to feel as though the world had slid itself out from under my foot and I'd gone tumbling into a gravity-less void. I wanted sharp acidity mixed with honey-like (not sugar-like) sweetness.

The one thing that was perfect was the texture. There were two kinds of persimmons at my fruit shop and there were three ways I was instructed to eat them:

I follow directions well. Where fruit vendors lead, I will follow. Like a dance. So Leopoldo (whose name is not Leopoldo) told me to eat the smaller ones like an apple, I could eat them right away, and they'd be just a little crunchy. Then let a few more of them ripen a few days on the counter and they'd be soft and mushier, more like a mini-explosion of juice. The larger ones, he said, needed 2-3 days on my counter before they were ready. They should become soft and seem like a single puncture wound would be the end of them. Then I could bite into them and all the juices would seep out. Well I waited 2 days and I tried one. It was still a bit tough, but the very bottom was heaven. The top created a strange starchy coating around my gums and seemed under-ripe, so I figured the trick would be to wait another day or so. The next day the next persimmon was better and the fruit was half mushy and half thicker, soft pieces. These sections of fruit stayed together inside the mush and made for exquisite chewing. One persimmon was perfect with cereal because the juice gave the liquid the cereal needed, and the fruit sections gave the soft chew, so it was like two fruit in one (kind of like milk and strawberries - not taste-wise, just combination-wise).

I bought another 8 persimmons from my second fruit guy to compare. The grapes had been better, so maybe the persimmons would be too. Nope, they were exactly the same.

But then I ran out of soft ones and it got so cold that nothing was ripening in my kitchen, so I'm sitting around waiting for them to ripen and they never will. I've just been told that I should stir-fry them up with green beans, spinach or some other vegetable and since they're kind of tough like I apples I think this might work. My two fruit vendors are locked in a tie, for now.

Next trial: fennel.

Cheating on My Fruit Guy

The world is letting me down. First my "free Gazette man" and now my fruit guy. Good thing I still have Guillaume. Loyal Guillaume with his incredible sourdough and his yeast that smells like strawberry jam-filled donuts. I swear.

This is not about Guillaume. This is about Leopoldo. Leopoldo even caught me cheating on him, but I would never cheat on Guillaume. I'm a little scared to go back and face up to my indescretion. I don't think he'll ever offer me his best fruit again. Or make me a deal on mangoes. Good thing it'll be awhile before he gets good mangoes in, I guess...

The worst part is I cheated on Leopoldo with his neighbour whose name I don't even know. Shameful. The two men seemed to be offering me the same things: consistency, comfort, and persimmons.

Oh, and moscato grapes, fennel and dates (medjool. Not the most fun kind, but pretty exciting sometimes).

Then I realized I don't even know the guy from Leopoldo's actual name, since he isn't even Leopoldo himself! Leopoldo is like 60 or 70 or something and rarely even enters his own fruit shop anymore. My crudgety yet lovable salesman must have a different name, and he never told me what it was. So much for trust.

I'd like to say I was drunk and can't be held responsible for my actions, but all I had in my system at the time was one moscato Italian wine grape. Before fermentation.

So why'd I cheat? Leopoldo's neighbour offered me a grape. I didn't pay much attention because I'd had one at Leopoldo's before, but this was completely different. It tasted like wine - sweet without the acidity. I've never had a grape like this before. All the flavour without the alcohol! To some this is a good thing, to others it's less so.

What makes the grapes special is that they're grown on hills and the elevation is what gives them their flavour (along with the added sweetness from the lateness of the season and the concentration of the sugars. Late harvest wines often taste like quasi-dessert wines from sweetening on the vines).

I bought three bunches and my new beau asked if I was going to share with friends. I lied and said yes. A great way to start a relationship. Instead, I ate a bunch and froze the rest, as Josée di Stasio taught me. This concentrates the sugars even more. It was hard to put these beautiful grapes in the freezer, but leaving them in the fridge wasn't making them any more delicious. Eating fruit fresh when it's perfectly ripe is divine...

...which brings me back to persimmons...