The other day I tried a few fruits I had never seen before. The first is called a k’aralioki. It looks, tastes, and feels like a small, dense, sweet tomato, and it grows on trees.
The second, the k’omshi, looks like a messed up apple, has the flesh of a pear, and tastes like a Now and Later. It grows on trees and is initially covered in a weird layer of fuzz that must be brushed off before eating.
The botanically-minded reader will, of course, recognize the first of these as the persimmon and the second as a quince. Although I had heard of both of these before, I never knew what they were, and only realized the connection after eating and then googling them. So in a sense I learned the Georgian words before the English ones. This case is of interest for the philosophy of language. And if you’ve never tried a quince before, I recommend doing so. The persimmon was forgettable.
But these are just the tip of the fruit iceberg around here. Fruit grows everywhere. Every house has grapes at least, and many of them (including mine) also have apples, tomatoes, and pomegranates. I love fruit, so this is good.
(You may have noticed that there are apostrophes in “k’aralioki” and “k’omshi.” I’ll explain the meaning of this later.)