Growing up, we ate a lot of canned fruit. My grandpa had a strange, post-retirement hobby of making the rounds at all the local grocery stores, talking up the workers, and buying large amounts of damaged merchandise. That meant lots of dented cans. Happily we never got salmonella or lead poisoning. This was the old days, before the era of peanut allergies and anti-bacterial everything. So a little dent in a can seemed pretty innocent. And I loved a little bowl of fruit cocktail. You can't front on a nice memory of mom opening up a can of fruit cocktail, giving you half, and tupperwaring the other half away in the fridge. Delicious.
Which brings me to yesterday. Nicole was cooking a couple things for a planning-dinner with friends and went to the grocery store. She came home with, among other things, miscelaneous cans of peaches, pears, and, yes, fruit cocktail. We rarely buy canned stuff aside from beans and tuna so my first thought was: "Why?" I'm not snooty about it, fresh stuff is, well, fresher. Tastes better. Healthier. No need for salt and whatever else gets added during the process. But you know what? I ate a bowl of fruit cocktail yesterday. Not bad. Not bad at all. And the can wasn't even dented.
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