I believe in truth in materials—I’ve argued for it over and over again here on eve’s apple and in my work collecting props in the theatre industry. Truth yes, authenticity yes, perfection no. Very, very no. My theatre friends often accuse me—with affection—of being hyper-detailed, but that’s not the same thing as perfection. I’ll argue against perfection until my voice, or fingers in this case, give out. Then I’ll Throat-Coat my vocal chords and Ben-Gay my hands until I can argue against it again. Stay tuned.
The reason is this: It’s impossible to hit perfection. Also this: perfection is bloody boring. It doesn’t taste like anything.
For years I’ve noticed that the orchard fruit I pick tastes the sweetest if it’s scarred. That sounds like a cliche, except it’s true. A peach or apple that’s been poked by its branches, pressed up against its brothers so tightly that it’s lopsided, partially striped by its own leaves, hanging from a cracked and windfallen tree—these are your best choices, I’m telling you. No way would an average retailer try to sell them to the average American consumer, because they’re not perfect, and the average American consumer demands perfect. But now you have it on my good word what and where real is: at local farms, farmers markets, orchards, abandoned fields.
And you know where Little Miss English Major is going with this, and we’re already waist-deep in a metaphor. So let’s dunk.
My own scars are what make me—well, let’s call it unique.* For sure there are some I would mail back to the universe third-class if I could, and settle for being somewhat less unique. I could live with that. But other scars are cool by me. For everyone who has been scarred—and by that I mean everyone—we’ve earned flavor.
Here then, the formula for peaches, apples, and humans to live a scarred and flavorful life:
1) Take a living creature.
2) Expose it to sun, gentle breezes, and blue skies.
3) Expose it to sleet, snow, hail, lightning, and damaging winds.
4) Let other creatures gnaw on it, with teeth or with harsh words.
5) Deprive it, from time to time, of rain, so it has to send roots more deeply into the earth to find water.
6) Deprive it, from time to time, of sun, so it has to make the most of the nourishment it has stored.
7) On sunny days, let it soak it in with especial gratitude.
8) On rainy days, let every drop feel like a baptism.
9) On days in which other creatures nestle in it or beneath it, let it be charmed.
10) When it’s finally ripe, let it look around at—or look inside at—its scars, and know it tastes good.
*Today I went to see the Lego movie with a friend just because I wanted to see it. Then I went to a party store to see if they had ‘screaming balloons’, because I need to find a fart noise for the Moliere farce I am working on. The afternoon was spent sewing burlap into bags that will hold costumes. My lunch was a half a raspberry Chocolove candy bar, and my dinner was a salad full of tofu, and I loved both. And this was an average day. You can’t buy this kind of uniqueness.
Hey Maris …
Being a Colorado peach putter-upper …
I can say oh how correct you are! After buying a big box.. I sort through it making two groups… The scarred, bruised and “not pretty” peaches… And the nice, round lovely ones …
The lovely ones become peach halves and are drowned in quart jars full of simple syrup… While the less attractive bruisers are made into jam …
Funny … The peach jam disappears long before the peach halves…
Guess those bruises are more delicious and thus more attractive!
I believe as you.. My life’s bruises have made me a little sweeter and hopefully more delicious when it comes to being spread across the daily toast of life…
‘the daily toast of life…’–well put!
Americans don’t have the exclusive on trying to make things look perfect for the consumer. Japanese folk do similar things like throwing away daikon that’s had its leaves (not its fruit!) eaten by bugs. Cucumbers that are forced to grow inside of a small bamboo cage so it grows straight instead of all twisted and curved. Putting dye into Japanese tarako (cod roe) so that it reddish pink instead of off white to make it more visually appealing…
It’s more wasteful, it’s more costly, and yet people do it. Why? Because there is an inherent judgmental side to some consumers who don’t look beyond the surface. People who don’t realize that underneath the blemishes, the scrapes, etc, is something that is “perfectly” good.
Like in the case of the cucumber…a straightened one grows up in a cage, forced to live a certain way, all for the sake of appearances, but the one without grows freely, gains character, and internally is no different than the one forced to be so. Maybe there’s a parenting message in there?
Great post, ‘Ris.
Yikes! This must be less an American thing than it is a human thing. Throwing away a daikon bc its leaves are eaten, while the daikon is fine? I’m not sure the judgmental side is inherent; I think we’re culturally trained to demand perfection. But if we’ve been trained into it, we can be trained out of it, too. Hoping my two cents educates even a teeny bit. Thanks, Case.
Perfection is, by definition, unattainable.. .It’s the striving and good nature with which we accept our shortfall and the determination to get a centimeter closer next time that defines us as artists and human beings.
Could not agree more about scars. On fruit or people. .whether from physical trauma, emotional carnage or simply carved by the wind in our faces as we rush through time, they mark us as having risked, loved and LIVED.
While the sweetest fruit may have imperfection, I know the best people embrace it. . .and what Casey does with his cucumber to keep it straight is his business. . .
Hahahahaha
Ladies and gentlemen, my friend and theatre colleague, Tom. He’s also one of the ones who razzes me about my detailed nature 🙂
Not so detailed here Marisa, but I finally got out of the apartment and to the grocery. Today I went again with no impulse buying, and the funny thing is, I got a cucumber. It was called organic, but straight as a fat stick, and definitely not what I call organic. My co-op deliveries start the first of May, so I’m counting down the days til I have the real food again, bruises, scars and all. And my weather forecaster shoulder is forecasting a change in the weather in the next few days. OUCH!
Angie
Hi Angie, I know what you mean. Craving local veggies myself! Today in Central NJ they say we’re hitting 60 degrees. Your shoulder called it 🙂 Take care of yourself…
Marissa, I’ve nominated you for a bundle of 7 awards. Check out my blog at Kentucky Angel’s Train Wrecks to find the awards and the rules for accepting. Angie
I am definitely on board with you, Marissa (and grateful this didn’t involve personal scars from knives or burns from the oven!). One day, I took a friend who is “all about organic” to our farmers market. She pooh-pooed every fruit and vegetable as flawed. I was so disappointed in her reaction – she really had no clue. And the taste? So much better. So. Much. Better.
Also. loved your Lego Movie day – cherish that! ~ David
Hi David–So glad you liked the piece 🙂 I suspect your friend is used to organic produce that’s shipped in from afar; I’ve noticed it’s prettified, and might well go through the same rigorous selection process as conventionally grown produce. Silliness, all of it. Farm fresh produce is something most of us haven’t ever seen. And yeah–in my experience (yours too, the flavor can’t be beat).