Is bell hooks the reason for every artist writing their name in lower capitalization? That thought isn’t particularly related to grapefruits, but it did make me think about how I wanted to capitalize the words of this post.
I tried a brown sugar grapefruit for the first time today. I’ve been wanting to try it for years, 7 years, probably. I had “brown sugar grapefruit” written down on a few of my thousand checklists of things I MUST do. I MUST eat this grapefruit and try the cashew cheese. During the pandemic, novelty foods were my source of pleasure. Finally, I indulged in one of Sonia’s at-the-cusp-of-going-bad grapefruits I hurriedly put in the fridge before they were left to fend themselves against the fruitflies. Grapefruit is the topic.
I learned about brown sugar grapefruits from my high school best friend. I remember him telling me that you should sprinkle brown sugar onto the grapefruit, and put it in the oven until it’s caramelized. I imagined it to have a crisp top, the way creme brûlée would have. You would crack it open and juice would burst at the skins’ seams.
It’s strange we’re not in touch now, yet we still have each other’s locations. Yet, we might still know everything about each other. Who knows. Social media fills in the pieces. There is no room for imagining. The iPhoneverse is strange like that. How do I have 14 locations of people I haven’t spoken to in years? 14 is my guestimate. I think there might be more.
I placed the grapefruits in the air fryer with a soft layer of brown sugar at 350 degrees for 10 minutes, give or take. I touch it at its surface, soft, not hard. Maybe I needed a torch if I wanted a hard shell. Maybe I would need more sugar if I wanted a complete coating. I plated the grapefruit on a ceramic plate that resembled lettuce. I feel special whenever I eat on this plate. I wouldn’t say the bite is underwhelming, but it is fine. It is a hot, sweetened grapefruit. I wish I had more descriptive language for my encounter with this grapefruit, but I do not. It tastes good, and I finished both halves. It is warm in the way spiked cider is in the fall. It made me think of the coming seasons.
I am feeling melancholic about the last days of summer. I feel most like myself in the summer. I believe that the first day of the year should begin with the first day of summer. Every year of my 20s, I’ve repeated the words, “I am at a crossroads”. It seems like I am always at a crossroads, an intersection, a transitory period, a passing time. It’s not exactly the same as last year, or last last year, or the year before, but it is also another fork in the road. I watch as people pass by me, and I scathe past them, just narrowly, relieving myself of some shameful past but carrying on newer burdens. As my frontal lobe forms (and I do believe affirming myself of that fact makes it form even better), I’ve swallowed the quiet acceptance of everything constantly changing, ever so slightly that you might not even notice, but in the larger context, it seems like everything has become different. It’s not bad though, because nothing is bad. It is fine.
I am happy I finally tried brown sugar grapefruit. I’ve wanted to since I was a teenager. It is nice to fulfill one small dream of mine, so I can eat bigger dreams tomorrow.
Note: When I use dramatic words, I probably don’t mean it that dramatically. I just like being dramatic. Take it whatever way you will.
shari wei 