Kumquat, hither

Certain experiences in life require that you set aside fear or apprehension completely or risk complete and utter failure. I have never gone sky diving for this reason. As much as I might enjoy the experience of floating through the sky, I am certain that at the moment of “Geronimo!” my fear and vertigo would kick in and I would end up making a fatal mistake that would result in my chute being tangled and an unsightly demise. Speaking foreign languages follows the same rule. If I screen my high school Spanish or my collegiate French through a fear of failure filter, I mangle grammar and lose my vocabulary. If I have a glass of wine or three, or give in to the imperative to communicate, I become fluidly un-fluent, ultimately understood. This same principle is why I have never mastered skiing. The counter-intuitive requirement that you lean forward, instead of backward, to control your speed has always eluded me.

When it comes to food, this rule has wide application. You can’t chew, sip, or nibble an oyster. To enjoy an oyster, you have to suck the whole challenging mess down your gullet in a single motion. A stinky challenging cheese is, well, stinky, unless you dive in with all of your senses and allow your nose and mouth to be taken over by a hearty bite of its salty, rank goodness. Arguably, the best parts of edible crustaceans – shrimp, lobster, crabs, crayfish – are locked in the heads or guts. You can’t discover the sublime pleasure of a shrimp head by dainty measured means. You need to stick the head in your mouth and suck it.

And then there is the kumquat. At first glance, it is a miniature orange. The rind must be bitter. There can’t be much juicy flesh in such a small container. If it has seeds, they must be avoided. Maybe kumquats require cooking in a bath of sugar syrup, like a quince. Maybe they’re like an un-shelled pine nut. Will a tiny morsel of flavor be worth the burdensome effort?

In fact, there is only one way to enjoy a kumquat. Take a solid bite, if not the entire kumquat, and chew the entire contents heartily. The rind is complex. Sweet, tart, and bitter. It’s unexpected. The limited flesh is sweet and juicy, but fleeting. And then come the seeds. Do you spit them out? Or chew them. The seeds are the true revelation of the kumquat. They’re nutty. Slightly bitter. The seeds might even be a little disturbing (what are they going to do to my gullet?) That said, the seeds are an integral, additive, if not vital part of the kumquat experience.

The kumquat offers us important life lessons. Set aside fear. Take a bite. A big bite. Accept the sweet and the bitter. Accept and expect the unexpected. Don’t spit out the seeds. Karpe kumquat.