How do you expect food from another world to taste? Like something you’ve had before? Of course, it doesn’t.

I remember the first time I was offered a ya’anmi’il—I wasn’t even sure it was food. It’s about the size and shape of a walnut shell but a bright, winter-sky blue. Although it looks rubbery, it’s hard and smooth, like a river-washed stone. It has no smell at all, which is why it’s hard to tell it’s edible. The flavor, on your tongue, is like old peaches—except that makes it sound bad, and it’s delicious—sweet and earthy.

The consistency will surprise you. When you bite into a ya’anmi’il, it shatters like glass, but every tiny jagged shard is soft and warm in your mouth, a warmth that quickly spreads throughout your body. It isn’t like drinking alcohol; it’s more like the feeling you get when your very own baby grabs and holds onto your finger for the first time. A tingling warmth of love and awe. A ya’anmi’il doesn’t just feed your body, it feeds your soul.

Well, not exactly.

I’m not describing it well. I wish I had a ya’anmi’il right now, so I could give it to you. Then you’d know.

Unfortunately, it doesn’t grow on earth and doesn’t survive interstellar transport. If you want to taste one, you’ll have to travel.

This is from a writing exercise I did a few years ago and held on to.  I liked it and wasn’t sure what to do with it.  Thank goodness for blogs!

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