Andy Young: Thank you, class!

By Andy Young

When it comes to inherent rewards, for a teacher nothing tops getting a smile or a verbal “thank you” from an appreciative young person at the end of class. I’ll never get tired of that, no matter how often it occurs.

Another thing I can’t get enough of: students really sinking their teeth into a creative writing assignment. Recently I asked the soon-to-be-graduating seniors in my five Grade 12 classes for 150 or more words on any food item that, given the choice, they would NEVER eat again.

The list of nominal comestibles young people dread and/or despise includes many of the usual suspects (mushrooms, hard boiled eggs, seafood, brussels sprouts, and Spam, among others), several desserts (macaroons, pink frosted sugar cookies and pumpkin pie), some wild game (squirrel and rabbit), and a couple of things I had to look up: durian, a foul-smelling fruit native to Borneo and Sumatra, and Marmite, a sticky British food spread made from the byproducts of beer brewing.

The vividness with which these aspiring writers described the depths of their revulsion ranged from inspiring to breathtaking to worrisome. Some examples:

The putrid smell of an orange makes me ill.

A radish is a spicy root that’s bitter and ruins anything you could put with it. Radishes should just stay in the ground.

Beets are by far the worst food I have ever experienced. They simply taste like dirt.

Even before I dug into the liver pate, I was suspicious. It looked like cat food, and thus was unfit for human consumption.

I can’t imagine how some people choose to eat celery willingly. It’s like opting to feast on soggy tree bark.

Pork chops cooked on a George Foreman grill come out super dry. It’s like you’re killing the same animal twice!

Yes, it’s nutritious, but at what cost? No one should have to go through the trauma of eating bok choy.

If the repulsive texture of olives doesn’t get you, their disgusting taste will send you over the edge. How can a single food be sour, bitter, slimy, and wet all at the same time?

But here’s the most shocking result of my little unscientific survey: by an overwhelming margin, the most detested victual amongst the youthful respondents is one many people couldn’t live without.

Below are some of the milder commentaries concerning a food I personally consider to be delicious.

Tomatoes should cease to exist. I hate the taste of the juice, the smell, the texture, and everything about them. I'm scared that if I ever eat tomatoes again, I will get sick again.

The fear of throwing up again torments me so much, I will never eat any kind of tomatoes again.

The slimy texture of the tomato overshadows everything else. Beef and beans can’t save this disaster, and onions don’t help, either. What could have been a perfectly good spoonful of chili is ruined by the mere presence of a chunky tomato.

The day I first consumed tomatoes was the last day of my childhood innocence. I never thought this world could be so vile until the day I was introduced to tomatoes by parents I had previously thought cared about me. There’s a reason why people throw tomatoes at bad actors, prisoners, and politicians.

Food preferences aside, there’s still nothing like getting spoken affirmation from someone who truly appreciates something you’ve done. And on the theory that others feel the same way I do, thank you Liz, Shawn, Andrew, Sophie, Dakota, Mitch, Henry, Quinn, Seamus, Alex, Maya, Jameson, Sarah, and Emma, for writing better than half this essay for me! <

Andy Young: Picking a favorite

By Andy Young

Special to The Windham Eagle

Recently someone asked me if I had a favorite fruit. I thought long and hard about it, assuming she had inquired because she actually wanted a response.

Sometimes the simplest questions are the hardest ones to answer. 

My first paying job was at an orchard, which probably explains my longtime affinity for apples. But that begs another question: what’s the best type? Contemporary varieties like MacIntosh, Golden Delicious, Macoun, and Pink Lady are all worthy candidates, but Northern Spy, Russet, York Imperial, and Ida Red should all be in the conversation as well. 

Just thinking about apples conjures up the alluring scent that filled our house when one of my mother’s incomparable apple pies was in the oven. I also love apple cider, despite knowing exactly how nasty the specific apples (none of which grade out as “fancy,” or even as “utility”) used to produce it actually are. The only apple I’d ever decline is the deceptively named Red Delicious, a variety that looks like attractive wax fruit, but has the drawback of tasting like it, too. 

Pears were another fruit harvested where I worked. Boscs, Seckels, and D’Anjous all grew there, along with my personal favorite member of the pear family, the Bartlett.

There was also fuzzy fruit at that orchard. As far as I know nothing’s tastier than a freshly plucked, ripe, juicy peach, though preferably one untainted by pesticides. 

But citrus fruits are awfully good, too. Around here the store-bought kind has to suffice but trust me: nothing beats a freshly picked orange. Some years ago, I lived in a Florida house that had an orange tree in the backyard. I’d select a little gem each morning, then drink the sweet juice that gushed out of it with just a slice of its thin outer covering. I’m also quite fond of the orange’s easier-to-peel cousin, the tangerine.

Watermelons are literally and figuratively in a fruit class by themselves. Nothing is more enticing on a hot summer day. The only disappointing thing about this gigantic green treat: modern-day watermelons no longer contain an average of 482 seeds per 10-pound melon, as they did in my boyhood. I sometimes spontaneously weep for the generations of kids who’ve grown up since the advent of seedless watermelon, and thus never knew the joy of participating in a good old-fashioned (albeit spectacularly unsanitary) seed fight.

Fresh pineapple is another delight. The only drawback (for those wishing to purchase their produce from nearby growers) is that it’s hard to imagine, even with global temperatures rising, that Maine-grown pineapple will be available any time in the near future.

Many civilized people dismiss canned fruit, and I’ll admit it’s more than a little unnerving to see a sealed container with an expiration date printed on it that’s clearly five or more years after when the items inside it were harvested.   But I confess: I enjoy sampling canned pears, peaches, apricots, and pineapple every so often. Such products, particularly when chilled or suspended in gelatin, are just a different type of heavenly.

But I haven't even mentioned bananas. Or grapes. Or cherries, plums, nectarines, and cantaloupe. Or berries, be they black, blue, straw, or rasp. Then there are exotic treats like kiwi, pomegranate, and mango. And desiccated fruit is a whole separate sub-category. Dried apricots, dried apples, and dried peaches are all delicacies. As for too-often-ridiculed dried plums, AKA prunes: don’t knock ‘em until you’ve tried ‘em. In moderation, that is.

How does a fruit aficionado like me best answer that seemingly simple question? Maybe the best response is a direct, succinct, and literal one. 

So do I have a favorite fruit? 

No. <