Andrews Farm Market

Andrews Farm Market west of St. Thomas, PA doesn't really look like a fruit store, more a warehouse or barn...but between you and me and the walnut tree they put out some of the sweetest juiciest local fruits I've ever eaten, and believe me I've had a few.


Take their peaches f'rinstance--no really, take em. They're at their best now--eaten fresh, or sliced into a dish of Trickling Spring vanilla bean ice cream.
 

The peaches are very fine (tried cooking them with pork chops?) but we wondered: what was the best fruit available here at the moment? Market manager/cashier/salesgirl/all-around supermom Amy to the rescue, and she pointed these out, the exotic-sounding Indian Blood Plums.

Don't look like much but inside is red red flesh, soaked in unbelievable juice--you can see how Luz's finger is stained.

On the way home we were something like this: 

"Feed me a plum."

"Here."

"All over my shirt! Sticky too."

"Don't bite so hard."

"Can you believe the taste? Like a brandy cordial, or honey syrup."

"You look like you killed someone."

"Skin's a little tangy."

"You look like you fed off of someone's neck."

"I'll clean up at home. Give me another."

 "Stop sucking like that! Sounds so...dirty."

"Can't help it, it's either suck or spray. Don't think the juice comes off easy either. Try one."

"Mm."

"You okay?"

"Yeah."

"Don't moan like that, you're distracting."

"Can't help it."

"We might crash."

"Stop the car."

"Do you have to try another? Wait till we get home!"

"Can't wait."

"At least give me another one!"

Five rather hairy miles later: "We home?"

"Yes. No thanks to you."

"Can we wait? The neighbors are staring."

"Sitting here'll make things worse."

"I'm so embarrassed!"

"You're kind of hot embarrassed. And stained. And dripping."

"Get out first and open the front door, I'll take the box inside."

"And our shirts? Our faces?"

"You explain tomorrow."

Indian blood plums and driving, folks? Not advisable. Do it in the privacy of your own home.