This past weekend Mother Nature attempted to set me on fire, scorching the entire country in a desperate attempt to stop me from turning my critical snackologist eye on what many consider one of her greatest creations. Whatâs the matter, Mother Nature? You nervous girl?
Well you should be.
Mother Nature and I have never quite seen eye-to-eye on the subject of things outside the confines of whatever man-made shelter Iâve managed to weasel my way into over the years. You see, she likes to populate that expansive space with things that crawl, things that make me itch and things that donât smell or taste what they look like theyâd smell and taste, such as horses and shiny rocks. She also lets the sun shine right down on me at least 60 percent of the time. Her inherent functions have spawned a bitter rivalry between us.
Also we dated in high school and I caught her making out with Jeremy Rains under the bleachers during the homecoming game, that harlot.
And thus whenever I evaluate the products of Mother Nature (or Jeremy Rains, for that matter) I start in the negative. I put my journalist integrity in the little box on my dresser where my childhood innocence and trust have been attempting to recuperate for more than three decades now. Iâd like to think they cuddle.
So, without further ado, itâs time for me to relentlessly savage Mother Natureâs crimson heart: The Strawberry.
Development
The strawberries you cut up in your Cheerios every morning arenât technically the product of Mother Nature.
*dodges lightning*
Missed!
Thatâs right, the garden strawberry plant that produces upwards of four million tons of fruit a year is actually a hybrid of two different species of wild strawberry. The Fragaria virginiana from eastern North America and Fragaria chiloensis from Chile just werenât good enough, Mother Nature, so agriculturalists in 1750s France combined the two, creating the pretty heart-shaped ovary transport device you unknowingly dip in chocolate.
You see, those seeds on the outside of the fruit? They arenât technically seeds. Theyâre the plantâs ovaries, which contain the seeds. Let that sink in.
Mmmmm, ovaries.
Graphics
Iâve got to give Mother Nature her due when it comes to strawberry aesthetics. Ovaries aside, these are some of the most attractive things youâll find sprouting up out of the dirt. That gorgeous ruby color, the heart-like shape, the briiliant green leaves; the strawberry is the pinnacle of floral fashion.
Wrestle a strawberry onto a plate and slice open its still-screaming corpse and it only gets better. White phillopian tubes (what, it fits) pierce the red meat, feeding into the pleasantly pink heart. Itâs the color of love, of passion, of hunger; I dare you to slice open another living thing (like Jeremy Rains) and find as much beauty.
This is a fruit so striking that itâs as much a cultural icon on the island nation of Japan as Hello Kitty, Naruto or Brian Ashcraft. Thatâs a powerful profile.
Gameplay
When I mentioned I was reviewing strawberries to my friends and colleagues, I was flooded with suggestions on what to add to the strawberries or, conversely, what to add them to. Cut them up in cereal, my stepfather told me. Roll them in sugar, said my mother. Both Kotakuâs Tina Amini and Kotakuâs Kate Cox suggested I dip them in Nutella, but to be fair, theyâd be happier if the entire world were covered in Nutella.
Yes, even dirty toilet seats and corpses â they wouldnât eat them but agreed theyâd be better.
This outpouring of suggestions brought to light an important fact about the strawberry: itâs better as component.
During the course of this review I consumed an entire pound of naked strawberries. I sliced them in half. I bit into them ruthlessly. I scalped them and popped them into my mouth whole.
I did not wrap them in bacon. I didnât make a puree and mix them into melted white chocolate. I did not slather them with peanut butter, or blend them into a shake. I did not strap them to my cat and attempt to bite them while he ran howling about the living room.
But they would have been better if I had done any of those things.
A perfect strawberry, eaten at the very peak of ripeness, is mildly strawberry-flavored at best; slightly sweet with just a tinge of floral flavor. Remember earlier, when I cursed Mother Nature for creating things that donât taste how they look? I give you exhibit S.
The Verdict
The strawberry is a fine fruit. Itâs gorgeous, full of vitamins, and its calories-to-size ratio makes them perfect for someone that consumes an entire pound in one sitting (136 calories). I might even go as far as naming it one of the finest fruits, surpassed only by oranges and certain apples.
But this isnât Fruitaku. Itâs Snacktaku, and strawberries arenât a satisfying snack.
Mother Nature just didnât follow through with this potent bundle of plant cells and ovaries. Like a sneeze that never comes, the strawberry brings you to the very edge of the perfect experience, but requires manâs gentle hand to finish the job. Dip them in chocolate and the dark sweetness brings out the best in the berry. Sprinkle them with sugar and they sing a song as pure and pleasing as first love. Extract their essence into a small, flat rectangle of chewy wax and youâve got the second-best flavor of Starburst.
But alone? Alone youâve got an idea that needs humankind to be fully realized.
How you like me now, Mother Nature?
