Hot day and a good wife. I found some new juice had migrated into our fridge. I suspected it originated in our local Asia Mart, which is one of our few escapes from the banality of the predominately English food landscape.
The front of the box read Soursop and when I flipped it over I found the equally helpful Sirsak label, neither of which helped me better understand what I was getting into. The ingredients read like a candy; Water, Sugar and Sirsak concentrate. I could feel my teeth starting to hurt.
When combined “Sirsak Soursop” sounds like a Malaysian rapper. A quick look on the internet and I found that it was actually my old friend the “Custard Apple”, which is the far less exciting Western term for the fruit. I prefer the Indonesian term Sweet Meat, which is an equally awesome name for a band. Instantly, it appeared as a cure for cancer, which seems to be the Western take on any fruit or vegetable that isnt readily consumed in the American Food pyramid. Maybe it really is. Maybe our diet is messed up. Maybe I should eat Custard Apples every day, but I didnt have time to contemplate these things, I have a juice box to pilfer.
Elementary school nostalgia set in as I popped the straw into the familiar silver hole. The liquid on the inside was a far cry from raw Sirsak, it was overly sweet and not very palpy. Somehow, the Sirsak chalky-ness remained, which was the only thing I found to be simular to the original.
Sitting the bright sun it was perfect, despite its tooth crumbling ability. “It couldn’t be that bad for me,” I rationalized. “After all, it has a Vitamin C stamp,” I tilt my chair back and smile. I love Vitamin C.