Asa kid, I often got nosebleeds. My parents blamed all the fruits I ate that gav-组卷网

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As a kid, I often got nosebleeds. My parents blamed all the fruits I ate that gave me “excessive heat”— especially the mangoes, my favorite. It didn’t stop me from wolfing them down by the dozens.

As I’ve grown older, my fixation on exotic (奇异的) fruit has intensified — the weirder, the better. The disadvantage of being an armchair pomologist (果树栽培学家) in Canada is that most of our fresh fruit is imported. The silver lining is that almost everything in my local stores qualifies as exotic and interesting. Trying a new fruit expands my understanding of the world and enriches my experience within it. “What lasted is what the soul ate,” Jack Gilbert once wrote, “The way a child knows the world by putting part by part into his mouth.” I think of these lines when I prepare to eat a new fruit. Each tasting is a chance to be reunited with my inner child, to be wide-eyed and wordless as I get to know it.

Those tasked with naming these fruits appear to be equally under a spell, producing names as simplistic as they are charming. Cotton candy grapes. Ice cream bean. Dragonfruit.

Most fruits I try only a couple of times, but there’s one I keep returning to: the soursop. At ideal ripeness, the soursop tastes like the ideal tropical fruit. Wait just a day, though, and it smells more like feet than fruit. This rapid rot comforts me, incredibly. Watching a beloved fruit transform from unripe one to sticky flesh feels like witnessing an act of living. The plant sacrifices fruit in hopes of spreading its seed; life was always the point. An approaching expiration date is only encouragement to enjoy these accessible joys as they come. We, too, will soon find our bodies softened and bruised. Will we have let our sweetest days go to waste?

【小题1】Why does the author like exotic fruit?