Tom and I headed out to the farm yesterday, as is our wont during CSA season, and among the pickable portion of our share were a pint of these red plums.
I remember not liking plums when I was a kid, and even last year, when we got little yellow Shiro plums in our share last year, I remained only “enh” on the concept of plums in general.
And then I ate these. The skin is tangy and sour. The flesh is velvety and perfectly sweet, and then immediately around the pit it gets sour again. The best part is that the plums are just about bite-sized, so you get all of this happening in your mouth at once.
Oh, how did I not know about the existence of this deliciousness before? If I eat one, I end up eating three more before I can even manage to walk away from the bowl. Which I refuse to feel bad about, because they are fruit.
We are keeping the three pints we ended up with in the fridge, certain that THESE are the plums William Carlos Williams wrote the poem about:
This Is Just To Say
I have eaten
the plums
that were in
the icebox
and which
you were probably
saving
for breakfast
Forgive me
they were delicious
so sweet
and so cold
