It wasn’t on purpose.
Well, I mean, it wasn’t intentional.
What I’m trying to say is, I didn’t ferment fruit with the goal of eating it.
I made a giant fruit salad last week (possibly the best one ever), and even though I took some to work every day and a big container to the beach over the weekend, there was still some left yesterday. Just a little bit, and while maybe I should have guessed over-a-week-old fruit probably isn’t the best, I still thought it would be okay.
When I tried the first bite, it tasted like someone had poured Sprite or 7-Up over the fruit. Tangy, sort of fizzy.
I ate it anyway. Mostly because I just couldn’t bring myself to waste the last portion of such a (once) good fruit salad, and a little because I was curious about the effect fermented fruit might have on me.
The result? Nothing. Except when I told my co-workers about it, they looked at me like I was crazy.
That’s nothing new.