My 52 Weeks With Christie

The Book of Difficult Fruit: Arguments for the Tart, Tender, and Unruly (with Recipes) by Kate Lebo

Unsurprisingly, as a kid, I got sick – a lot. The ailment of choice? Bronchitis or, as I called it, ‘The Arc-Arcs’. Since the uncontrollable coughing fits, which routinely left my lungs feeling raw, reminded me of the barking calls of seals. This illness ruined many a Halloween, Christmas, and the seven hours of respite my daily attendance of elementary school afforded my mom.

Although I cannot recall which of the world’s pinnipeds owns the dubious distinction of inspiring this phlegm based nickname, I suspect it’s more exotic than Phoca vitulina — also known as the common harbor seal. Mainly because I can’t recall spotting one of these bespeckled mammals swimming in the sea or lounging on a rock in the Puget Sound as a kid.

Please don’t get the wrong idea; my family and I spent tons of time on various beaches along the coast. However, like many families, we had our own traditions. Meaning: Whenever we visited Birch Bay, Deceptions Pass, Ocean Shores, and other sandy shores, we didn’t go for mindful beach strolls. 

We hunted for agates. 

An activity mom said wasn’t a competition, but it totally was and left little time for gazing past the waves stretching towards my toes.    

So, in all probability, my nickname for bronchitis came by way of a fever dream. Inspired by either an episode of Mutual of Omaha’s Wild Kingdom or a bit during a Looney Tunes cartoon I listened to whilst curled up on the living room couch, hovering in the liminal space between wakefulness and sleep. 

Although I cannot recall the origin story of ‘The Arc-Arcs,’ its cure remains indelibly stamped in my memory. 

Stored on the top shelf of my folks’ old mustard yellow refrigerator, as instructed by the label neatly affixed to the tall brown plastic bottle, the antibiotic necessary to cure what ailed me came in the form of a thick pink liquid optimistically described as cherry-flavored. 

And it tasted about as close to real cherries — as you are on the family tree to that third cousin twice removed on your father’s side that always shows up to family reunions smelling like blue cheese that’s sat out on the kitchen counter for three days in August. You might share the same surname, hair color, and distant relative, but that’s about it.

Despite the fact it’s been a solid thirty-five years since I’ve needed to choke down that medicine every four hours until the bottle was empty, the memory of this mixture has rendered cherry fillings, liqueurs, jams, spreads, ice creams, trifles, and smoothies pretty much inedible. The only cherries I’ve managed to eat over the past few years come from a neighborhood tree that I’ve picked myself (with permission, of course).

It’s these oddly interconnected memories that make Cherries a difficult fruit for me.

In The Book of Difficult Fruit, Kate Lebo layers her perspective, history, knowledge, and experience to build insightful essays on what makes her alphabetical list of 26 fruits difficult for her and/or the world at large. (Witten in, obviously, far more eloquent prose than my own.) At the end of each chapter, Lebo includes two recipes that serve as a safety net if you’ve always wondered what to do with aronia, elderberry, faceclock, or durian. 

You can’t have a book on difficult fruit without durian.

Some of the other fruit Lebo chose for her book, including durian. Thanks to Unsplash for these images.

Mind you, The Book of Difficult Fruit isn’t always a light read. From discussing why she walked out on someone she shared her life with for several years to trying to figure out the reason her grandparents disowned her two aunts — there are some heavy memories associated with these fruits. But through practiced skill, Lebo manages to make these heavy memories accessible by showing you the weight she carries without making it yours.

Admittedly, The Book of Difficult Fruit isn’t a mystery. However, Lebo did solve the conundrum as to why almond extract never set off my nut allergy the way the raw fruit can (generally because almonds are often processed near peanuts). She also discussed the cyanide found in bitter almonds, the dangers of eating rhubarb leaves, the complicated history of gin, and the destructive power of wheat amongst other fascinating topics.

Honestly, I cannot say enough nice things about this book. I would’ve gobbled it down whole if I had not traveled to Colorado for a few days and then misplaced it for a week upon returning home. I would highly recommend these essays revolving around fruit and life to anyone who enjoys reading books about food sprinkled with interesting facts or catching a glimpse of how someone else dealt with life’s difficulties. 

My 52 Weeks with Christie: A.Miner©2025