Beware the tamarillo!

The purpose of this blog is to share with you, dear readers, recipes that I love. If just one person makes a batch of cookies or a bowl of stew from my site that warms them through and through with deliciousness and a sense of accomplishment, then I've done my good deed for the day and I'm happy. I don't do many good deeds otherwise, so I'm banking on this for good karma.

What I'm aiming for here is an edited-down, sugar-coated portrayal of the goings-on in my kitchen. If you've ever seen Oprah off-air, walking her dog in sweats and armed with a pooper scooper, you'll understand where I'm coming from. No one wants to see that Oprah. We want to see polished, waist-cinched, shiny-haired TV Oprah, giving away cars and getting ottoman advice from Nate Berkus.

For that reason, I never write about failed recipes. Trust me, there are many, but you don't want to hear tales of underdone chicken or look at photos of charred curry burned to the bottom of a pot. Those blunders are a dark secret between me and my stovetop, and you should never have to know about them.

I do feel a deep responsibility, however, to protect you from making the same mistakes I do. Because of that, I feel obligated to warn you about a new nemesis of mine:


The tamarillo.

I picked up two tamarillos -- one of the red variety, one of the gold variety -- in the market, knowing nothing about them but feeling bold enough to try them. I did a little research and found out they're relatives of the tomato, but they're to be eaten as a fruit, with ice cream and in salsas.

I cut them open one at a time -- gold first, red second. Such breathtaking beauty! The bright orange fruit of the gold tamarillo is reminiscent of an orange plum tomato -- the skin is thin, and small orange seeds are held in a gooey center, which is surrounded by tender and fleshy fruit. Its scent is something of a cross between a kiwi and a mango, which seems very promising. The red variety is the same, except for the colors -- the seeds are black and the fruit is a brilliant peachy hue. It smells like a passion fruit. So ... I bite into each ...

Not so good. They both taste like a tomato at first, but slightly bitter. The seeds are crunchy and get in the way of the whole "tasting experience." And then comes the big problem: the aftertaste. An overwhelming flavor, vile and pungent, floods over me and a sudden realization hits me:

IT TASTES LIKE SOAP.

Because of the unpleasant memories I now associate with the tamarillo, I wouldn't care to speak of this any further. BUT ... if anyone out there is brilliant enough to have found a recipe or magic spell that can turn the tamarillo into something enjoyable, please, by all means, share your knowledge with the rest of us who have been shunned by this deceiving fruit.