There’s no denying that L.A. is a strange place–juice bars everywhere, Scientology–but sometimes the strangeness manifests itself in grapes.
This wasn’t something I knew about, but the other day I found myself at Gelson’s (my favorite supermarket here) and a man in the produce department said, “Would you like to try a grape?” Now my mom always warned me not to take candy from strangers, but she never said anything about grapes–even grapes that, according to the man, “taste like Cotton Candy.”
“How can a grape taste like Cotton Candy?” I asked.
“Go ahead,” he urged. “Try.”
I took a bite and at first it tasted like a grape, but a split second later my mouth tasted like it does when you eat Cotton Candy.
“Whoah,” I said. “That’s weird!”
What I didn’t say was: “That’s good.” Because, frankly, I didn’t think it was good. I don’t want my grapes to taste like Cotton Candy, I want them to taste like grapes.
“Try one of these,” he said, pointing to a different bag. “They look like fingers!”
Indeed, they did. They’re called “Witch Finger” grapes and I totally get why they’re called that.
I took a bite and was glad that this grape, unlike the last grape, tasted like a grape. However, I didn’t find the shape particularly compelling.
So I thanked the man and slowly tip-toed backwards, towards the onions and garlic. He kept smiling and I kept smiling and when I was far away enough, I ran like hell.
L.A. can be a creepy place.