There’s this thing that my mom does sometimes.
We’ll be eating fruit, and she’ll say something like, “This is okay, but in Japan, this tastes better.”
It was a refrain my sister and I heard throughout our childhood whenever we would eat almost any produce: tomatoes, melons, even cucumbers.
It’s a bit annoying, but understandable. In the U.S., you can walk into a supermarket and find basically any produce you want anytime of the year. In Japan, what you’re buying is there because it’s in season. That means you’re getting the cream of the literal crop.
But there’s one fruit that never had these allegations leveled against it: the strawberry.
And that’s because strawberries are one of North Carolina’s natural gems.
Growing up, my mom would take my sister and me to a local farm to pick our own berries. We would carry giant empty plastic buckets and saunter down the rows, mostly eating the fruit while my mom worked hard to fill them.
“Tabenai no!” she would chastise—“Don’t eat that!—as my sister and I slacked off.
But when you’re there, huddled between the leaves under the beaming sun, picking fruits so beautiful they look like jewels, it’s hard not to be tempted.
This past weekend, temptation called again.
While our go-to strawberry vendor is Rudd Farm, they don’t do U-pick. So my mom, my sister, her boyfriend, my husband, and I made the trip to Ingram’s Strawberry Farm on Saturday. We made sure to check their Facebook ahead of time because the chillier temperatures have been messing with yields.
Despite the wonky weather, the berries at Ingram’s were at peak performance. Bright ruby red and glistening in the sun, they burst with sweetness at first bite. Of course, I tried a few while picking. How could you not? And I was instantly transported to the days when I would pick as a kid.
Honestly, it’s the perfect fruit. And thus, my favorite.
When picked at its prime ripeness, strawberries taste like magic. I can only imagine the first person who ventured to try one and had their mind blown. It must have been a transformative experience. And we’re so lucky to have not one, not two, but three strawberry farms in and around Greensboro.
By the time an hour passed, we had filled up about two gallons worth, more than enough for the five of us to split.
Then it was time for the desserts. We headed back to the farm store, where there’s a dessert shack offering all kinds of strawberry-related treats. We opted for a few strawberry milkshakes, a strawberry soda, and a strawberry ice cream. I think if I believed in heaven, this is what it would look like.
The only sad thing about buying freshly picked strawberries is the shelf life. They’re really meant to be eaten in the next 48-72 hours max. Because they’re so fresh, they’re sweet, juicy, and spoil easily. I don’t like to put mine in the fridge right away because it messes with the texture and sweetness. Leaving them out on the counter fills the entire house with a sugary tang that’s better than any air freshener.
A few days later, our batch is almost gone. Like many of life’s greatest joys, their window of perfection is fleeting. But the good news? There’s still several weeks left in the season. And I definitely plan on getting more. Maybe I’ll see you there. Just don’t rat me out if you see me eating rather than picking.
