First Taste of Yangmei Berries

It's early June in Shanghai, and you know what that means. It means that the short, bronzed waidi ren from the provinces who live in Shanghai start selling cherries and yangmei. They carry them on their shoulders on a bamboo pole, two baskets swinging beneath, one with cherries and one with yangmei. You can find them on street corners or on the sidewalk your way to take the subway.

What is yangmei, you ask? Well, in my opinion, yangmei (also called red bayberry in English) is the most beautiful of fruits (although you have to admit, most fruits are beautiful, aren't they?). They're deep wine red-purple, a berry, a little larger than a cherry, with a textured surface like some exotic sea creature.

For a few weeks after they appeared on the streets of Shanghai in late May, I got curious about them, and then one day, while walking on Yan An Road, I saw one of those hardy waidiren selling them. "How much?" I ask. "Ten kuai for a jin (about a dollar and change for a pound)," he says. "I'll take a jin," I say.

He pours a basket into a bag and hands it to me, charging me for two jin. I can't tell you how Shanghai this is, but I am used to it, so I just say to him, calmly, "I'll take a jin." He's obviously disappointed, and he pours out half the bag. I put my yangmei in the basket of my bike. It's a beautiful summer day in Shanghai and I get to ride through the tree-lined streets of the French Concession, anticipating my first bite of yangmei.

I finally get home twenty minutes later, wash them, and taste. They are wonderful. Sweet, juicy, and just a little tart. For the next day, I eat my yangmei. I give one to a friend and she says, "You got some good yangmei."

A few days pass and I want to get more before the season passes and they're no longer available. So, while shopping in the upscale grocery store near my house, I pick up some more. Once again, I take them home, wash them, and then take a bite of the new batch.

They're all too sour and not sweet at all. I eat a few, hoping that there will be a sweet one in there, but they're all disappointing. I throw them away.

Today, while waiting for the light to turn green on Huang Pi Road, I notice another yangmei/cherry vendor. "How much is a jin?" I ask. I can see him thinking for a second, wondering how much his markup should be because I am a foreigner. "Thirteen kuai," he finally spits out. This is at least seven kuai more than I would pay in a typical fruit stand. In a generous mood, I tell him ten and he gives them to me.

I lovingly take the bag of yangmei with me on the subway, get off at my stop, and walk them home. I wash them and take a bite. They're better than those sour berries from the frufru supermarket, but they still aren't close to my first bite.

I'm thankful for those first berries and I figure, with any luck, perhaps next year, I'll taste them again. In the meantime, I still have a few more to eat of this last bag of yangmei.