A short time ago, a friend of mine stopped over to drop off a pineapple for me. And, this isn't just ANY pineapple, mind you. This is a pineapple she dragged home after a two-month vacation in Hawaii, and right now it's hanging out in the kitchen making the whole house smell pretty damn nice.
Normally, much of the pineapple we get here in the Midwest comes from somewhere in South America that they grow when coffee and cocaine are out of season. And, unfortunately, it tastes nothing like the fruit from Hawaii. I think the Hawaiian variety has about three-billion times the sugar. It's freakishly yummy, and a completely different beast from its South American cousin.
Now, the only thing I need is some Kona coffee, a tuna to grill, a hammock, and a nice, cool, breezy trade-wind blowing.
Who am I kidding? Ditch the coffee and make me a bucket of mai tais. Now I've just got to see if I can remember how to dismantle the damn thing.