Alas, eventually they catch on, and also start to suck. (Much like bands. Remember when kiwi first hit the US, and they were beautiful buttery tart-sweet little things you cut in half and ate with a grapefruit spoon? Now they're sour cardboard. Alas for hybridization and commercial farming.) Anyway, if it's peculiar, I'll try it.)
My experiences with the monstera, or, as I chose to call it, the godzilla penis, are enumerated here and here and here. (jaylake cheese blogs. I fruit blog.)
Well, this week I bought a horned melon. because I like fruit that can do you an injury. (Durian, for example. Although, having eaten durian, I am unlikely to do so again--because while the flavor is indeed quite nice if you hold your nose while it's going down, burping old socks for several hours is not worth a banana milkshake.)
Anyway, when you cut open a horned melon, it starts oozing tadpoles. Okay, green slimy seeds like the white seeds in watermelon wrapped up in gelatin. They're actually kind of neat, and they pop out when you press the pith with a spoon. That's at least fifteen minutes of entertainment right there. POP! POP! POP!
After scraping them off the cutting board, I tasted a few (cucumber with lime) and popped the rest into a small bowl. A certain amount of consideration on how to deal with consuming them left me with the brilliant idea of mixing them with lime seltzer.
This works extraordinarily well. The individual seeds each free-float in a oblong gelatin envelope, and the whole thing has a very faint but inoffensive flavor. The overall sensation is not unlike drinking bubble tea or Thai basil seed drink.
Tadpoles with lime.
...oddly enough, I find this kind of engaging. It makes me feel like a Hutt.
And it is rich in vitamin C.