Good day, dear readers! In a rare moment of magnanimity, we are posting a new review quickly as a belated generic winter holiday gift to you! This experiment involved the gorgeous, scintillating dragonfruit. Here is our specimen, in repose on the Science Table.
Being true scientists, we hypothesized what the inside would look like. I suggested it may have a citrus- or pomegranate-like interior. Sasquatch animatedly declared it would be, “A blood-red kiwi! Open it up, Vitamin Water comes out!!!!!”
Upon closer examination, we discovered the mouth, grinning in smug satisfaction.
Assured that it would eat us if we did not eat it first, we set to work. Lengthwise seemed to be the required cut, so we ordered our robot servants to do so.
First taste was declared bland by Sasquatch, but I thought it was delicate. The texture was similar to a slightly drier, more substantial kiwi, but the flavor was somewhat tart with honey-like tones -- rather delightful! I noticed that the flavor was stronger toward the center. Sasquatch decided to test this.
After sliding the piece, still whole, down into his Sasquatchian gullet, he nodded in solemn approval.
Dragonfruit! Our first unilateral success!
Sasquatch and the Scientician
Thursday, January 5, 2012
Monday, January 2, 2012
...And You.
Hello, dear readers! It is I, the Scientician! Sasquatch and I have eaten more things so you don’t have to! On today’s menu: Kasugai Beans & You!
The package promised an unoffensive snack food, perhaps to be enjoyed while partaking in an afternoon stroll in the park… or maybe SCIENCE! The allergy warning on the back informed us that this product contains wheat and cuttlefish.
Sasquatch: “How do you even know if you have a cuttlefish allergy? I mean, if you're allergic to peanut butter, they give you, like, anti-peanut-butter. 'Sorry, son, you're allergic to cuttlefish. And echidnas'.”
The package was opened with the assistance of one of our robot servants.
The appearance was very much as promised. With a cry of “Kasugai!”, we consumed our puffy, greenish repast.
Sasquatch spoke first, proclaiming, “It’s as if Corn Pops were made of fish butter and cardboard.” The Snowman, intrigued by this proclamation, emerged from his den to sample our Kasugai Beans (and You). His reaction was coarser: “It’s a cock-teasing wasabi pea.”
I felt they definitely had a slightly fishy taste, but they were also reminiscent of wasabi peas… promising a spicy tang that never came. I mentioned that they might be better if they were saltier. Sasquatch disagreed, “I don’t know if another flavor would help it. It’s got a lot going on to be so bland.”
Despite the blandness and peculiarity, I felt compelled to keep eating them. Even now as I sit writing this, I feel the urge to consume more Kasugai Beans… and you. The one thing that still isn’t clear is the “you” bit. Am I tasting myself? Am I tasting you?
Dear reader, what do you taste like?
Post-script: It is the next day and I am still eating the beans. Apparently my error was in eating just one at a time! Eating several produces the wasabi tang I sorely missed.
The package promised an unoffensive snack food, perhaps to be enjoyed while partaking in an afternoon stroll in the park… or maybe SCIENCE! The allergy warning on the back informed us that this product contains wheat and cuttlefish.
Sasquatch: “How do you even know if you have a cuttlefish allergy? I mean, if you're allergic to peanut butter, they give you, like, anti-peanut-butter. 'Sorry, son, you're allergic to cuttlefish. And echidnas'.”
The package was opened with the assistance of one of our robot servants.
The appearance was very much as promised. With a cry of “Kasugai!”, we consumed our puffy, greenish repast.
Sasquatch spoke first, proclaiming, “It’s as if Corn Pops were made of fish butter and cardboard.” The Snowman, intrigued by this proclamation, emerged from his den to sample our Kasugai Beans (and You). His reaction was coarser: “It’s a cock-teasing wasabi pea.”
I felt they definitely had a slightly fishy taste, but they were also reminiscent of wasabi peas… promising a spicy tang that never came. I mentioned that they might be better if they were saltier. Sasquatch disagreed, “I don’t know if another flavor would help it. It’s got a lot going on to be so bland.”
Despite the blandness and peculiarity, I felt compelled to keep eating them. Even now as I sit writing this, I feel the urge to consume more Kasugai Beans… and you. The one thing that still isn’t clear is the “you” bit. Am I tasting myself? Am I tasting you?
Dear reader, what do you taste like?
Post-script: It is the next day and I am still eating the beans. Apparently my error was in eating just one at a time! Eating several produces the wasabi tang I sorely missed.
Friday, December 16, 2011
The King of Fruits
The Scientician writes:
For our inaugural entry, we thought it would behoove us to sample something remarkable. After much deliberation (or, rather, a text message to Sasquatch that read, "I bought a durian"), a durian was purchased. Dubbed the king of fruits, we hoped its weapon-like appearance would yield gustatory pleasures.
Those who love the durian extoll the virtues of its exquisite scent and flavor. A delicacy in much of the world, this, I decided, would be our first foray.
Upon selection, I handed the fruit to my faithful assistant, The Snowman. The villainous fruit pricked him and he experienced a mild allergic reaction! Dedicated to our cause, we soldiered on.
After arriving in our secret laboratory, it was decided that the durian would be enjoyed with supper the next day. The next morning arrived with the scent of durian filling every cubic inch of our laboratory. The odor became overwhelming by evening and it was decided that the time was nigh to begin our work.
We laid the fruit out on our soon-to-be-trademarked Science Table and carefully sliced it open. The sight we beheld made me question for a moment whether this was indeed a vegetable and not an animal. Putrid sacs of fragrant goo greeted us, beckoned to us. I screwed my courage to the sticking point and sampled the flesh. I am proud to say that I completed one revoltingly savory, garlic-flavored mouthful before deferring to my partner. He had to be reminded of the importance of our work before he would sample his portion.
This was not a success. We are willing to accept that we may have chosen a bad durian and are prepared to repeat this experiment at a later date.
Two showers later, my hands still smell like durian. This may be a permanent battle wound.
Sasquatch writes:
She made me cut into this thing. It looked like a mutant hedgehog. It smelled like dead cats.
Didn't taste too bad, though. I'd have eaten more if I wasn't sure it was kind of rotten.
For our inaugural entry, we thought it would behoove us to sample something remarkable. After much deliberation (or, rather, a text message to Sasquatch that read, "I bought a durian"), a durian was purchased. Dubbed the king of fruits, we hoped its weapon-like appearance would yield gustatory pleasures.
Those who love the durian extoll the virtues of its exquisite scent and flavor. A delicacy in much of the world, this, I decided, would be our first foray.
Upon selection, I handed the fruit to my faithful assistant, The Snowman. The villainous fruit pricked him and he experienced a mild allergic reaction! Dedicated to our cause, we soldiered on.
After arriving in our secret laboratory, it was decided that the durian would be enjoyed with supper the next day. The next morning arrived with the scent of durian filling every cubic inch of our laboratory. The odor became overwhelming by evening and it was decided that the time was nigh to begin our work.
We laid the fruit out on our soon-to-be-trademarked Science Table and carefully sliced it open. The sight we beheld made me question for a moment whether this was indeed a vegetable and not an animal. Putrid sacs of fragrant goo greeted us, beckoned to us. I screwed my courage to the sticking point and sampled the flesh. I am proud to say that I completed one revoltingly savory, garlic-flavored mouthful before deferring to my partner. He had to be reminded of the importance of our work before he would sample his portion.
This was not a success. We are willing to accept that we may have chosen a bad durian and are prepared to repeat this experiment at a later date.
Two showers later, my hands still smell like durian. This may be a permanent battle wound.
Sasquatch writes:
She made me cut into this thing. It looked like a mutant hedgehog. It smelled like dead cats.
Didn't taste too bad, though. I'd have eaten more if I wasn't sure it was kind of rotten.
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