To be honest, I forgot this fruit existed. It wasn't until my mom showed up with this baby's bracelet that a bunch of memories resurfaced. We can't really remember its name, but google searches lead me to either kuru, curu, awarra, awara. I am not sure whether those words are Spanish, English, Warao, Arrowak or Carib, but they are a fruit I have never again eaten since leaving Venezuela. This is a fruit for the patient. It tastes delicious-a nutty, fibrous, cashew-ish flavor, but there is little flesh to it, so you have to peel it very delicately, lest you accidentally peel off all of the flesh. It was a fruit that frustrated my instant-gratification self, so only the elders had the patience to feed me this fruit. It was rarely sold in the markets, so the only time I would have it was when we visited our elders in the more rural/jungle-ish regions outside of the city. I can't even tell you in which direction we went, but the grand aunts and uncles always had lands with
These are the meandering thoughts of a smart and competent woman.