An elephant's heart

When you go looking for a plum in the summer, occasionally you may come upon an elephant's heart. Then again, you could stumble on a methley. If you're like me you may never know for sure, though this is one of those instances when uncertainty feels like a good place to stop. Like many a myth, this story is so good I don't much care if it's true or not.

This much is certainly true. A man named Luther Burbank was born in Massachusetts in 1849, died in California in 1926, and in between he created more than 800 strains of plants. That freestone peach you like so much is all cause of Luther. Craving McDonald's fries? Tip your hat to the Burbank russet, cultivated by our gene-splicing hero. If you're trying to get a patent on that two-headed squash you've invented, thank the Luther-inspired plant patent act as you count your millions. And if daisies are your favorite flower, a fuzzy yellow center tipped with whiter-than-white spokes, smile and think of Luther.

At some point, apparently, he went to Japan. Or maybe not. I'm leaning toward not, as Japanese plum trees arrived in America in the 1870s, about the same time Luther went west after selling his secrets of the potato in exchange for train fare. By 1875 he had settled in Santa Rosa where he went to work on quinces, asparagus, almonds, grass, figs and hundreds of other things that now make us smile.

Then, with a little voodoo, three years after his death the elephant heart was born. Perhaps his wife had a hand in it, maybe the Stark Brothers can claim title. I'm not sure I care. What I do care about is that amazing plum I bit into a few weeks ago, and I'm almost certain it's an elephant heart. Though, at second glance, it could be a metheny. It's a tough call, given that I'm trying to deduce the answer from the infinite contradictions of the internet and a Japanese label that is beyond me.

So I've decided to flip a romantic coin and call it an elephant's heart. It seems to meet the description. It starts with a ruddy purple skin with shades of green and gold, almost bruise-like, not terribly appealing. But take the lesson from the blind men describing the elephant. One man's trunk is another man's leg, and this plum in its entirety has much more to offer. Inside is flesh, rosy red and sweet, almost cartoonish in the way it glows. It tastes plummier than anything I've ever had.

Luther died after complications of a heart attack. His flowers and fruits and French fries live on. Somehow an elephant doesn't seem big enough.