blood orange

Sat, January 19, 2008
I have a strange quirk. Ok, I have many, but this one seems to amuse people far more than it should.

I sniff my fruit before I buy it. If I can't smell it, it goes back. It's not just any sniff, but a deep inhale. Having a wonderfully unique nose, which I believe is designed for such a delicate and sensual task, I am sensitive to the scent of fruit and will not buy it if: 1. I cannot smell it and 2. if the smell is disagreeable to me. Such a habit appeals, also, to my sensual nature... everything must be artistic or romantic my heart for me to enjoy life. And I make it so.

So. A few incidences have happened in the local grocery around this odd habit which make me laugh (I am my own favorite clown.)

I walked into the grocery to buy a few things to prepare for my trip to Ohio. I always start in the fruit aisle, so that I can set the mood into food sensuality and obtain that sense of Zen I get when I shop there. (I cook in my head as I walk, that's how I roll). Sadly the pomegranates are gone (a definite seductive favorite of mine) and I moved on to look for something else fabulous to concentrate on.

And then I saw them. Oh! Blood oranges!!!! Inside I squealed like a little girl, a shiver running from my heart (which did, in fact, skip a beat) down to my toes, a blush coming into my cheeks. I know I had a smile of a mad woman, and dashed forward to bury my hands in the pile. Oh, the perfect one, let's start with the perfect one... just a little blush, the best scent, not too ripe, there it is, yes... oh yes... I pick up the fruit, bring it to the nose (just close enough to very nearly touch) and AAAAHHHHH.... gently held in the fingers, nice deep sniff. Then several small sniffs, eyes closed. Oh, I was right. It IS perfect, this is the one. Yes.

I open my eyes and look up, out. Straight into the eyes of a guy who was picking out some broccoli. He had the oddest look on his face, and if I was privy to his thoughts it would go something like this:
"That's fucking weird, man, but somehow sexy and I am confused as hell"
To me, of course, it was all as in a French film, at an outdoor market. Gorgeous.

Another incident was much funnier.
In March, I was beginning my rotations, completely unaccustomed to working at all much less being on my feet for hours and hours. After work one day I went to the grocery. And headed, as usual, for the fruit.

Pears were coming into season. Nothing smells just as extraordinarily like it tastes as a ripe pear. The scent will tell you when it's ripe, when it is ready and begging for your teeth. Oh yes. I went over to the bin and selected a Bartlett, after gently pressing its flesh with my fingers to find it firm but with some give... likely perfect... is it? Bring it to the nose, close the eyes...
Oh, but I am so tired... so tired........ I was falling asleep on my feet as it was and my head hung just a bit too low as I inhaled the fine scent of this likely specimen. My eyes stayed closed perhaps a bit too long and when I opened them I noted a person in my peripheral vision. Startled, I turned my head with a somewhat guilty expression on my face (as one would assume when gently kissing a clandestine lover at a train station, perhaps???) to look into the eyes of the intern on my rotation.
"good pear, is it?"
"heh, uh, yeah, I, uh, sniff fruit. I mean, I like fruit, I sniff it to pick the best ones. Um."

how in the world do you explain that? What a weirdo.