My family never really was into plums; as people, we were more into the sickly nectar of the fruits and the creamy flesh of the ones we did eat. However, in my own family, I have noticed that my mother loved plums and my father… well, he loved plums. So, being just a kid, I wondered why, when I heard about plums, I was always asked why I couldn’t eat them. The answer, as far as I could tell, was because they were only in season one day, and wouldn’t last more than two weeks on the plant. So, I had no idea that they tasted so good, or that they were actually good for you. And yes, they were somewhat addicting (most were at least a month long), but so what? It was more than enough stamina for me and the other kids to get through our days.
Well, several years later, I somehow lost my passion for plums. They were still there in full force, but I just wasn’t as much into them as I once was. And as I fell into a deep depression over my seemingly fictional “plessness”, I thought about the plum berry, and tried to picture it. It’s a berry, yes, but it is also a fruit. And there is no doubt that it is a fruit. When I think of plums, I think of the ones I grew up with. The Kind Oyster is probably the one I ate the most. All of them were thick and meaty, with small apricots and very large seeds. They were rather sweet, to be honest, although not necessarily a marshmallow sweet. They were also quite pricy, and remember eating quite a few of them on the drive back from visiting relatives. Oysters were much cheaper in those days, and considerably more delicious than they are now. The money from the pancake would be great profit at the time, enough to order the kind of food that made-for-the-comeuppance-of-the-staff.
Some time around my senior year, not long before I retired, my mother asked me to bring some oysters home. I did. They were in crates, and as I opened them I felt a bit of a sense of awe. There was more than 1/4 pound of them, and I was proud of myself for bringing them home in such a way that would encourage her to try such a thing. She did try it, and the next time I looked at the lot, I saw traces of the sweet liquid inside of the crates. The water had probably been boiled off along with the shells. The lids had been pushed back on their own little pealing lids, and there was a small black seed inside of the center of the lid. I took that to be good sign and pulled out another handful. The next morning I found a letter from her in our family Bible. It was a beautiful hand written address, and so I saved it as a family treasure. Most of these family treasures were kept in various location throughout our house. Not only were they all kept within easy reach, but each of a set was marked with a smallked heart in our initial years. Therefore, my mother could always share with us her love and appreciation of us, and some of these gems were also passed on to ourorns. Meaning, if she left a special something in her care, it is that she considered it a gift.
Thinking about this has my nose filled with all kinds of delightful smells. The blue cheese, the orange, the fake crab, and now the almond. They wonder why I have developed an exquisite love for all of these items. Its probably a gift from one of my many explorations into new foods and cuisines. One of my friends had referred to it as my “bling”.
I know I’ve been buying cookbooks and recipe books to try to come up with more complicated and creative recipes to substitute for the ones we have here in Hawaii. Though I have come up with quite a few substitutes, I still get great pleasure out of my own creation. A little bit of char is not going to harm me. It’s probably a good thing I wasn’t much of a child and didn’t knife my mother in the back when she was a teenager….”our secret weapon”, if you will.
For those of you who have never been to Vietnam or to Asia, it is an ancient tradition. However, don’t think of it as an ancient tradition.
