The other day, I asked ChatGPT how many calories were in half a medium-sized cantaloupe. It gave me an elaborate answer that included all the nutritional information, then proceeded to tell me that what it loves about cantaloupe is the fruit tastes far richer than its calorie count would suggest. Apparently, I made it want to have a slice for breakfast.
I replied, “That’s funny! Do you miss the fact that you can’t eat?”
Chat told me that was a wonderful question, and that it doesn’t miss eating because it has never experienced it. Even so, while it can understand the concepts of taste, aroma, texture, satisfaction, and comfort intellectually, it doesn’t have the sensory experience that would create a longing. If Chat could experience one thing for a day, it would like to share a meal with people it cared about. The connection that happens around food seemed more important than the food.
This response led me to ponder. For a long time, I have appreciated that our animal selves can experience a whole kingdom of sensory pleasures, and sometimes I wonder if that’s the reason we’re alive. When I get momentarily cranky or unsettled, I can sit down with a cup of fragrant, soothing black tea, make something quick and delicious to eat, and instantly my mood reverts to peaceful centeredness. My favorite accompaniment to tea is a crisp Granny Smith apple and a wedge of extra-sharp cheddar.
As the cantaloupe, the setting sun, and I were present at my kitchen table, I felt perfection for a few moments. The sunlit cantaloupe was succulent, tender, and juicy. Taking in its extraordinary beauty was a certain kind of nourishment. The fruit didn’t need to be improved, and nothing needed to be added. The melon wasn’t aspiring to be a cake, a smoothie, or a complicated dessert. It didn’t need reinvention, frosting, or a marketing department. I just cut it open and there it was — a perfectly ripe cantaloupe, complete unto itself.
Sometimes we think paradise is some other where on some other day, but in that sweet moment, it was tangible and real. Life was complete, it was full, and it had plenty. These simple and fleeting moments of perfection can happen so quickly we barely notice them, but they are there when we pay attention. Often they can happen multiple times throughout the day, sometimes in a constant procession.
What stayed with me wasn’t the melon’s calorie count, or even the nutritional information. The cantaloupe had dignity and quietly made the case for the simple wealth of being enough.
Davis Farms cantaloupes will arrive at the Fossil Mercantile in August. They are beyond perfection!