I remember jaca...

Of all the fruits I tried in Brazil, there is a special place reserved for jaca or jackfruit.  Covered with spikes, you dig your fingers into the skin to break it open, and reveal the slime covered seeds.  I wish I could say it was worth the effort, but, unfortunately, I cannot.

I like to describe jaca as rotten-banana-flavored-slime-covered-seeds.  If that makes you anxious to try the fruit, don’t say I didn’t warn you.

We had a deacon and a pastor come down to visit, and had been given a jaca as a gift.  We opened it up so our guests could try it.  The deacon was adventurous and tried a bite, although, admittedly, the sight of the fruit on the plate was almost enough to make him lose his courage.

The pastor refused to let the smallest particle cross his lips.

I had made a special chocolate cookie torte I reserved for special occasions, since it required hours of work.  It was then my sisters and I hit upon a fun idea.  Everyone else would be served chocolate cookie torte, but for the pastor we carefully arranged some rotten-banana-flavored-slime-covered-seeds on his plate.

I carried out the plates and set his before him.  After a promised bribe of torte if he managed to try some jaca, he did manage to force what could only be described as the essence of jaca past his lips, since I don’t believe there was any really substance to the “bite” he took.

In a book, it might be expected, he jumped to his feet an ardent convert to the love of jaca.  Real life wasn’t nearly so dramatic since he remained an ardent opponent of all things jaca.

Not, of course, that I blamed him.