The Daily EO: June 12th, 2012

The Independent (“Promising you low prices”) recently tricked me into purchasing a bag of sweet cherries.  They put the cherries in their flyer – with no price – and then put the cherries on the end of a row – with no price.  Both of these actions made me believe the cherries were on sale.  But they were not.  The cherries cost me $8.99.  Gasp.

I’ve been telling people this story and pretending that I didn’t notice the cost until I was at home.  But that is not true.  I noticed when they were rung in.  And for some reason – be it social pressure, fear of looking cheap or a pulsing desire for cherries – I didn’t say “No, Thank You”.   Shame.

This bag of cherries was the same size that I previous purchased at Fresh Co. the week before for $3.99.  So, with the trickery and memory of the previous purchase, I ended up with another bag.  I told Emile the cost, but he did not seem to like the $8.99 any more than the $3.99.

I sat down with a book, the bottom half of the pricey cherries and a pit bowl.  My fingers skimmed across each cherry – looking for the smoothest, firmest and sweetest cherry to savour.  To often, my fingers skipped to the next one.  And I found myself staring into a bag of fruit that while edible, had lost its peakness.  I’ll be damned if I don’t enjoy every single one of these cherries, so I started considering options – jam or baking.  Not enough for jam, so baking it is.

I found a great recipe and started off.

When I was a kid, I grew up near the Okanogan Valley and Creston, BC.  These two places were – and still are presumably – is where you got your fruit.  Strawberries, peaches, cherries, nectarines, grapes, apples, raspberries.  Every year we’d have fresh fruit so sweet and warm and often delivered by my grandfather.  I remember my little brother eating cherries until his face was purple and he couldn’t spend too much time away from the bathroom. I remember BC MacIntosh apples in the fall – that we kept on the porch.  So sweet, so small, so crunchy.  No matter where I get apples now, none compares.

I’d make jams with my mom.  And I loved using her strawberry huller and cherry pitter.  Vintage now, they were simple metal tools that easily did what you needed them to.  And I missed that hand-held cherry pitter today.

I sliced each cherry with a knife and then picked out the pit with my thumb nail.  Over and over again.  My determination did not waver.  Every single one of these cherries would be used.

I made three little cherry crumble ramekins – one for me, one for Emile and one for our guest Jefferson.

June 12, 2012 Extra-Ordinary:  Perfect Cherry Crumbles.  Purple fingers.