I received an email earlier this month accusing me of vast and glaring inaccuracies in my “article” about jackfruit:

I just read your article on the jackfruit.I must say that as someone who is very familiar with the fruit, I must disagree with almost all of what is written for public information. I am of the opinion that you never saw a tree, or even a fruit…. It would be nice if your article on this wonderful fruit be redone by someone who has thorough knowledge of the fruit.

It’s not a lack of knowledge, trusty readers. It’s an utter hatred. Jackfruit, in all its sticky, slimy, rotten-tasting foulness, made such an impression on me the first time I tasted it that I have dedicated this blog to its censure. Which is why I was horrified to read this, from an article forwarded to me by no fewer than five “friends”:

Last summer, on her first day in Bangalore, India, Annemarie Ryu ’13 fell in love. The object of her rapt attention was green, spiky, and the size of a beach ball.

What Ryu fell for was jackfruit. Her first taste of the vitamin-rich food was from a sidewalk vendor: a handful of slippery yellow slices, served up on a sheet of newspaper.

“I had the first piece, and I thought it was something out of wonderland,” said Ryu. “I thought: My word, amazing. I had this magical feeling.”

Shudder.

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