The Last Bunch, Bloom and All

The market was half asleep this morning — the rain had come and gone early and left everything damp and mild, so the few stallholders who bothered had their hands in their pockets and weren’t in the mood to argue. I’d only gone out for bread and a piece of cheese, and then I saw them at the end of the table: the last grapes of the year, small and dark, in a shallow crate with the leaves still tangled into the bunch. I took a small one, because a large one would have been showing off.

I ate them slowly at the table in the afternoon, which is not how I usually eat grapes. These had seeds, and seeds make you pay attention — you can’t do anything else while you’re dealing with them, so I put the book down and just sat there, taking the skin off with my teeth and dropping the pips into a saucer. I’d meant to keep a handful back for the neighbour, and then I looked up and the bunch was a stem and a few stragglers. I laughed at myself instead of being cross, which is the better way to discover you’ve been greedy.

Here’s the small thing worth knowing, since I’ve been asked before why grapes go furry in the fridge: the dusty white film on the skin isn’t dirt and it isn’t mold — it’s wild yeast, and it’s the reason a grape can ferment itself if you leave it long enough. It also rubs off the moment you handle them. So buy them on the stem, keep them cold and unwashed, and wash only the ones you’re about to eat. Rinse the whole bunch in advance and you’ve rinsed off their armour.

The stragglers went across the road after all, in a little bowl, along with the cheese that didn’t get eaten either. The rain is back on the window now, and the house smells faintly of grapes, which is a smell I’d forgotten I liked.