Dates

For me, it all begins with the dates. I love dates. Soft, squishy, brown gems with papery coverings, they are lovingly tucked into boxes in desert lands and shipped around the world, to be munched off as snacks or as a sweet way to end a meal.

When I first wandered into Damas Supermarket, shortly after moving to Carling Avenue, the first thing I encountered was dates. Lots and lots of dates. Syrian dates, Iranian dates, Saudi Arabian dates, Turkish dates...fresh yellow dates, pressed dates, cooking dates, medjool dates, and the always alluring "dattes deglet nour" (what does that name mean?).

Growing up, the only dates I encountered were dry, waxy dates with the pits removed. I know now that these are disparagingly labelled "cooking dates", and are hardly meant for snacking purposes.

No, my first lip smacking date experience came when I was in my twenties and had moved to Rideau Street, another busy street in Ottawa. Near my apartment was an Indian-Pakistani grocery store. I often mooned around it, looking at all the exotic spices and feeling I should know what they were meant for (I am Indian, after all), but not having a clue what to do with them, apart from the jars of mango pickle and tins of chick peas. One thing I could understand, however, was the large box of dates that were sold by the cash register. The shopkeeper offered me a sample, and I was hooked. Squishy, soft, fragrant...now these were dates!

Even then, though, I never knew what varieties dates came in until I stepped into the Damas grocery store in September. There they had all kinds of dates, partly because it was the season for them, and partly because it was Ramadan and dates are a traditional way to break the fast. Dates to break the fast - who knew? On this first foray, wanting to try something new, I bought some fresh red dates on a styrofoam tray. Also, craving cake (I am a sweets fiend) I bought a "Crispy pound cake". I thought "Crispy" was the brand name, but after biting into the stale, dried out cake, I realised that it was actually meant to be...crispy! I was not impressed. The fresh dates also disappointed me. They were astringent and crunchy. Very odd - that's not how dates are supposed to taste.

I didn't return either of the items, but on my next trip to Damas I complained about the fresh dates.

"They taste strange", I said.

"I know," the hijab-clad shopgirl said, sympathetically. "I thought so too, the first time I tried them. But now I'm addicted to them! You get used to the taste. They're like apples!"

Hmm, I wouldn't have said that, but then perhaps it is an acquired taste. I still wanted to taste some proper (dried) dates, so I bought a box of Iranian dates and took them home. The very first bite was ecstasy - soft pillowy darlings, squishy and hyper-sweet. Just right to accompany a bowl of cereal or a cup of mint tea after dinner. At a mere $2.99 a box, they are a taste of the exotic desert here on busy Carling Avenue.

I shall leave you with this pithy thought: everybody remembers their first date - but how many people remember their first apricot? Or their first raisin? Ha ha! That is a hoary old joke - and I mean that - I first saw it in a newspaper when I was ten!

Keep on munching!