When I was a kid, Mum used to buy custard apple every so often when they were in season. I don’t know how she did it but we’d always eat them at just the right time and they were a really tasty treat.
Ever since I moved out and have been buying my own food, I’ve never been able to a) pick a nice custard apple and/or b) eat it at the right time. Until tonight.
I’ve spent the last couple of hours (still) cleaning the house and just realised I’ve done all I can reasonably do without staying up all night. How clean can a crappy rental house be anyway?
I was going to have a cup of tea or take a shower to unwind a bit before I go to bed, but when I opened the fridge to get the milk for my tea I realised the custard apple I bought (I get a couple of sneaky treats when Burfit’s away) was still in the fridge and it was getting a bit soft. So I broke it in two and scooped out some fleshy goodness and Oh. My. Stars. did I pick the right time. It was perfect.
What a tasty, tasty fluke.