In Praise of the Prune

I like a good prune. I mean, when it’s soft and sweaty like a candy bar on a hot day. When it’s a sinister Disney-villain shade of brownish purple, and it tastes of nothing but honey and caramel, what’s not to like? It’s the word that no one likes, the word that indicates, to so many Americans, constipated octogenarians praying on spoonfuls of paste. Read more…