Until the next fix.
Originally from Persia, the desert dry weather tends to wrinkle the dark skin. Once devoured, vitality is restored, stress relieved, nothing else is needed other than the memory it leaves knowing full well, that the next encounter will be as satisfying as today.
The prized possession of Moroccan royalty; I will steal beg and borrow to consume one every night.
Carrifi is who I have to thank for.
Like honey, the juicy, luscious body sends serotonin to the brain and sufficiently makes me satisfied. It can and sometimes replaces a man.
In ancient times, Medjool, the date palm fruit was considered God’s fruit; it so captivated Morrocan royalty that they hoarded it and only they and their families knew of its delicate, but satisfying taste. At the turn of the century, a rare disease killed the beautiful palms of Morocco and only one Medjool producing oasis survived the attack.
Carrifi, defied his countrymen by relocating eleven healthy palms, and thus the Medjool escaped total extinction.
Biting through the paper-thin skin of a Medjool to the juicy sweetness of the flesh beneath, it seems impossible that anyone could not appreciate the wonders of dates. One of the "fruits of paradise" in Islamic tradition, mentioned in many Persian and Arabic tales; it was used to seduce men to capitulation with each bite.
Dried dates appeared in the medieval diet often in surprising dishes. From 1660’s, dates were turning up in sauces for meat and even fish, similar to tagines. The model was the Islamic school of cookery and Arab, Persian and Byzantine cookery had a huge impact on the cookery in the royal court.
So while Belgian chocolates do the trick in some areas of life – a little Persian delight emits a trailblazer of wanton imagination. By way of igniting a super nuclear explosion, find a Morrocan to feed the first bite.
