An Ode to Cherries

I love cherries. Fresh cherries that is. And ONLY fresh cherries. Nothing except fresh cherries.



I loathe anything else cherry flavored, maraschino cherries (the only person I know who likes them is my Grandmother), cherries marinated in brandy, anything that has cherry in its name except for fresh cherries. Not that I tasted any. A friend brought over a pineapple and maraschino cherry concoction once for a birthday. To her outrage, I refused to try. Despite the fact that I will willingly put pig's snout, lamb brains and chicken butt, I refused the single vivid red, toxic looking cherry.


Yes, shame on me. I was scarred a long, long time ago by something called "fluoride treatment". Shout out to all those who went to school in the 80's. Cherry flavored fluoride treatment. Trust me, I did all I could not to vomit and the ungrateful dental assistant still had the gall to be angry about all the red spit which decorated the front of her pristine white shift.


In any case, I decided after that that I did not like anything cherry except for fresh, crunchy cherries.


A point of view I admitted to Umami, a lover of all things cherry. Well, not ALL things cherry but lets just say the girl loves her Griottes. Cherry jam, cherries macerated in liquor, the girl has got a thing for them.


"Ewww", I thought sadly, "We don't have the same tastes at all!"


Well, as it turns out (as in most cases), she's right and I'm wrong.


First of all it was Susan, mistress of all things yummy, who encouraged me to try Berthillon's cherry sorbet, which I have since become hooked on.


Then it was Jaden's Persian Sour Cherry Saffron rice, which so freaking delicious I gave myself a bellyache eating the whole thing in two days.


Then it was my beloved dish at Louis Philippe, duck breast with cherries and stewed apples.


So now, when offered a cherry at a food fair, I will no longer turn up my nose and instead, guided by food gurus Susan and Umami, I will be brave, take my stomach with both hands (trust me, it takes both hands to carry that thing), and open my mouth.


As my Dad always used to chant at my picky brother, "Never try, never know"