In advance of going to the grocery store, I’ll often make a list of things I want to pick up, which can seem like a futile enterprise since I usually leave the hand-written list, scrawled on the back of a return envelope I won’t use, on my kitchen counter.

I suppose I could view this as wasted energy but just asking myself what I want and letting thoughts surface has a generally positive effect.

I perform much of my grocery shopping at a small neighborhood place. I like to support local businesses. I’ll go to a more traditional supermarket when I want to re-stock staples, like cases of LaCroix or a gallon tin of olive oil.

I was at a large market this past week and decided to check out their produce department, something I rarely do, especially during summer months when I enjoy going to farmers markets.

Just past the avocadoes and rainbow assortment of bell peppers, I spotted a collection of large prickly melons. Most were whole. There was one dissected in what approximated a half. It was wrapped in clear plastic so you could see the flesh and seeds.

Lighter in color than a cantaloupe and denser, I contemplated that I had never seen, let alone consumed, such a melon before.

The sign said “Jackfruit — .79/lb.”

I had to study the imperfect hemisphere. Its outer rind was green. It wasn’t prickly like a porcupine or cactus, but, between definite fingers that stuck out from its surface and its weight, I immediately understood that it could be painful to carry.

There were several different shades and textures within the rind. The inner rind seemed to be pale yellow. There was a more delicate web of textures further in, a light core and a moist velvety casing of peach colored flesh around the seeds.

Was the whole thing edible?  I wasn’t even sure….I went home curious.

Three days later, I returned to the store. I wanted to know what jackfruit tasted like.

There were still a few left, but they wanted to sell them whole. I asked one of the clerks in produce to cut me a chunk. I ended up paying quite a premium per pound. I couldn’t help it.

Jackfruit must be incredibly delicious, I surmised. It has such a protective covering. It so infrequently appears in the store.  It’s so expensive.

Knowing that it had a sharp, outer surface, I carried it in cloth tote, from the check-out to my car, then up my back stairs to my kitchen.

I looked for my largest cutting board and sharpest knife. I held the fruit with a towel against the bamboo surface so I wouldn’t pierce my skin as I started to make cuts.

Cutting the first slice was hard. Not only was the outer rind tough. The light yellow ring just inside the rind was also hard. Eventually, I pulled a slice away from the whole. Large, almond shaped seeds in the imperfectly round cross-section seemed to stare at me like the curious eyes of a six year-old. I cut the slice into smaller pieces.

This inner section was chewy, not especially flavorful. I might have thought I was eating the inside of a tree if I had not cut the damn thing myself. I wondered if I was even supposed to eat this part.

The fruit had a faint tropical scent. The darker sections, around the seeds, were sort of sweet. Other sections tasted like over-chewed gum. After a few bites, I didn’t have any desire to cut any more slices.

I started laughing. (Okay, I put the knife down first and then started laughing.)

The way I figured it, I didn’t know Jack shit about jackfruit, but the only way to find out what it tasted like was to try it.

I didn’t talk myself out of the experience. I could think of this as a lesson for so many areas of my life. Rather than refuse sampling something because it might not end up suiting me, I decided to be open to try. I decided that learning about what I don’t like is a valuable experience.

Bringing an open mind to trying something new is no small thing.