On my trip to pseudo-gourmet grocery store the other night, I picked up a Cherimoya. I asked the produce stocker what it was and he returned with directions to let it soften, then 'eat it with a spoon like custard.'
Well, thanks to the omniscient Wikipedia, I now know that Mark Twain thought that the cherimoya rose above all other fruits and foods to sate his cravings.
I also learned that the cherimoya, when ripened, tastes 'like commercial bubblegum'.
I should have stopped there and then launched the cherimoya on any of my starving graduate student friends or perhaps fed it to one of the seventeen cats that lives next door. But, no. For you, my faithful readers, I tried the cherimoya.
I swear, I made a diligent effort. I got about five spoonfuls down and then the somewhat putrid smell of semi-sweet bubblegum combined with the texture of an overripe watermelon overwhelmed my senses and I fainted, but only temporarily. Sorry, Mr. Twain. I still like your novels.
By far the most delightful experience was the photography of this fine dish and the realization that I had sliced two expressive faces in to the two halves.