Have a date

Dates. The kind you eat. Or at least I eat them. I like dates and bought a container of Medjool dates at Costco this week. They were grown in the Coachella Valley of California. I liked that. I've been to Coachella. It's desert, which seems right. Folks have been growing dates there for more than 100 years.

Medjool dates are large, larger than the kind I grew up eating. I just went online to find out about kinds of dates and found 22 varieties. I think--but how can I ever know for sure?--the dates we ate were Sari dates.  Dates are good for you. Full of potassium and naturally sweet, they have been designated by the USDA as a Super Food.

My mother and father loved dates. I believe I can say that. Or else my mother knew my dad loved them and so we had dates in the house.

At Christmastime, my mother would make fondant, pit dates, and stuff them with her fondant. She would put a pecan half on some and leave it off of some. This is a fond memory for me, my mother's stuffed dates. I certainly ate them, but I liked dates just as much without fondant. I love that I can remember that time and what my mother would make at Christmastime. Stuffed dates, divinity, fudge, spiced cider, carrot pudding boiled in a Crisco can. And so on.

By the way, I took about half of the Medjool dates over to my daughter's house. The two boys who were there only hesitated a moment before trying one. The older boy--he's 18--asked if they were plums or prunes. No, I said. Were they some kind of raisin? No. They are dates. They grow on palm trees.

So it is clear I have given him his first date. Don't know if my daughter has tried one yet. No matter.