For breakfast this morning, I am having cold cereal with a banana.
That is hardly a news flash. I have cold cereal with a banana almost every morning.
What makes today different is that I grew the banana. Or, more accurately, the banana grew on the property where I live.
On the west side of the house, in almost full shade, a banana tree has been growing as long as I have been here. When I arrived in April, it had already set its single stalk of bananas. And just like salmon, bananas get one shot at procreating.
And even then, scientists have played a trick on the poor banana tree because every banana tree is a sterile clone of her sister banana trees. Almost as if The X-Files had hired Chiquita Banana as a front.
So, my banana tree has been putting all she has into producing what she thought would be the next generation of bananas, but what will end up simply dressing up Special K each morning.
Marta took a look at the stalk and announced that the bananas were ready for harvest.
That surprised me because they are still green. But she gave me a piece to eat. And it was ripe. Maybe overly-ripe.
She started a mini-harvest. Several went upstairs for me. Even more went home with her.
I ate one yesterday afternoon.
I would like to say it was "the kindest, bravest, warmest, most wonderful banana I've ever known in my life" -- or, at least, the best, freshest banana I have ever eaten.
But, it wasn't.
It was soft. Not very fragrant. Rather starchy. I could have bought the same Cavendish-cloned fruit at Safeway in Salem.
Maybe the fruit was on the stalk too long. Maybe the tree did not get enough sunlight. Maybe it is simply not a very tasty variety of banana.
But it does prove the old adage that just because it is home-grown does not mean that it is good.
Overall, it goes into the adventure category. I have never eaten a banana that I have had a hand in growing. I have now.
And as Chiquita Banana came to say: "Bananas have to ripen in a certain way."
Apparently, mine don't.
That is hardly a news flash. I have cold cereal with a banana almost every morning.
What makes today different is that I grew the banana. Or, more accurately, the banana grew on the property where I live.
On the west side of the house, in almost full shade, a banana tree has been growing as long as I have been here. When I arrived in April, it had already set its single stalk of bananas. And just like salmon, bananas get one shot at procreating.
And even then, scientists have played a trick on the poor banana tree because every banana tree is a sterile clone of her sister banana trees. Almost as if The X-Files had hired Chiquita Banana as a front.
So, my banana tree has been putting all she has into producing what she thought would be the next generation of bananas, but what will end up simply dressing up Special K each morning.
Marta took a look at the stalk and announced that the bananas were ready for harvest.
That surprised me because they are still green. But she gave me a piece to eat. And it was ripe. Maybe overly-ripe.
She started a mini-harvest. Several went upstairs for me. Even more went home with her.
I ate one yesterday afternoon.
I would like to say it was "the kindest, bravest, warmest, most wonderful banana I've ever known in my life" -- or, at least, the best, freshest banana I have ever eaten.
But, it wasn't.
It was soft. Not very fragrant. Rather starchy. I could have bought the same Cavendish-cloned fruit at Safeway in Salem.
Maybe the fruit was on the stalk too long. Maybe the tree did not get enough sunlight. Maybe it is simply not a very tasty variety of banana.
But it does prove the old adage that just because it is home-grown does not mean that it is good.
Overall, it goes into the adventure category. I have never eaten a banana that I have had a hand in growing. I have now.
And as Chiquita Banana came to say: "Bananas have to ripen in a certain way."
Apparently, mine don't.
