‘Why you don’t like papaya?’

‘Why you don’t like papaya?’

He places the plate of fruit salad on the table on my terrace and waits for a reasonable response. I realise I can give none. I shrug apologetically and say I just don’t like the taste very much. (But already I am doubting myself; really, it’s just a bit nothing-y.)

He tilts his head to consider things for a while, then gestures at the watermelon and pineapple I have allowed to remain in my salad; ‘I think maybe you like crispy.’

‘Crispy? The texture?’

‘Yes. You know, like… potato.’ Continue reading