I've had two giant things of strawberries sitting in my fridge ever since I had a barbecue/breakfast get together with some of my friends. The two trays were at least two pounds, probably more, I don't remember and filled with average, perhaps a little overripe strawberries. They had pock marks and some were smooshed up against the plastic in a goopy mess. The bottoms were puckered with multiple seeds and were pale. I finished off the last of them a day ago, blending them into a smoothie to hide the mushiness.
Given that, you can imagine my excitement when I came home yesterday to discover a gift from the strawberry gods sitting in my fridge. It is a small pound of the most beautiful strawberries I have ever seen. Each one is flawless and the most sumptuous shade of cardinal red. They are not ginormously oversized, but petite and perfect for popping in your mouth. They're shiny and begging to be photographed for a food magazine. As Old Joe said in the movie Waitress they're "the way strawberry was always supposed to taste, but never knew how." They're so fresh and ripe and sweet but tangy. Absolutely heavenly. Without a doubt, they will be gone by tomorrow, if not today.
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