So I spoke about all the free food that I got from work. (By the way, I haven't seen any of said free food dropped off in the past couple weeks.) One of them was a small pear cup. It was swimming in pear water (which, according to the ingredients, actually is water and white grape juice concentrate). I took it (amongst other things) because you don't want fruit to just sit out in room temperature ... right?
That was at least a few weeks ago. I had sort-of forgotten I took it and took it home. But I've done that with all the other free food I took home from work. Finally, some time earlier this week I was wondering where all my free food went; as Mother went by the refrigerator, she pointed out that all of that free food (protein bars, applesauce and animal crackers as well as that pear cup) Father put into a plastic bag. Well, last night (Friday night/Saturday morning) I remembered that the pear cup was spoiling, and since I have nowhere to go tomorrow and I was hungry, I decided to eat the pear cup (as well as a protein bar, the latter of which I decided to wash down with milk I poured half-full into my coffee cup).
It's been some time since I ate pears, and mmmmmmm, boy, do I miss them. I liked how the cut-piece form of pears, soaked in juice, was soft to bite into but still had a distinctive, uh, bite to it. It may be the white grape juice concentrate (which, by the way, I drank after I finished all the pears, and that tasted suh-weet!), but there is something about pears, and eating pears, that I sort-of, well, fell back in love with.
I inevitably compare apples to pears, which might be like comparing apples and oranges (see what I did there?), and eating that pear cup awakened past memories. I preferred, and probably still prefer, pears to apples. For one thing, I do not ever remember getting citric allergies when eating pears, whereby my lips swelled up. Man, I remember the first time my lips did that when I was a kid after I was given an apple to eat and I lost my damn mind. From that point on, when my parents handed me an apple and told me to eat it, I rebelled because the apple was, well, hurting me and doing things to my body I didn't understand. The pear didn't do that. Also, I love the taste of pears. There is a tartness to apples that is dialed down in pears. It was ... milder, modest, more humble.
It is weird to not think of something you like, and then have the memories of why you like that rushing back to you so fast and so intensely that you are ready to tell the world you believe it, like it's a moral value to you. But I love pears, dammit! And I don't know why I haven't eaten pears in so long ... while I eat the occasional apple (and by the way, it looks as if the citric allergies are gone, like it was a childhood thing). I should eat more pears. Why can't I eat more pears?
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