An inquiry into bananas

The other day I had to go for a ride with my parents (whom I’m visiting) to see my grandfather. It was sort of sudden, and we were leaving at about the time I usually eat lunch. Unable to prepare a genuine meal, I grabbed a few bites of snacks and leftovers, and then I searched for something to take with me on the road. I grabbed a banana, and began eating it as we pulled out of the driveway.

It was a singularly disappointing experience. 

The problem with bananas is, quite simply, that they suck. They are the most low-rent, low-class, low-character fruit known to man, yet out of all the fruits in existence I have probably, in my life, eaten more bananas than any other. 

Bananas suck, but they’re ubiquitous. In homes, in school lunchrooms, in continental breakfasts, in fruity fruit salads—bananas. Whenever a junk-food emporium gas station decides to throw a sop to healthy eating, you can be sure they’ll do it with a wicker basket full of bananas (and a few withered oranges and waxy Red Delicious apples). 

We live in a very bananocentric culture. There’s no escaping the tropical yellow phallus. 

When I ate the banana the other day, I had to sit back for a little while and just look at the thing, wondering what the hell I or anyone else could possibly be thinking when we make the decision to eat one. The thing is, I’ve never cared for bananas that much, and yet I used to buy a full bunch every week, as if it were my duty to eat them. I would walk through the produce section and say, “Duh, better get da bananas,” and then spend the rest of the week forcing myself to choke them down. 

This went on for years. I lost the habit a while back, I guess, though it happened without any deliberate decision on my part. This recent experience, however, only confirmed the distance that had grown between the banana and me.

After all, the banana is really just the donut of the fruit world. It turns into a starchy, sickly sweet, mucusy mess in the mouth, like pureed squash mixed with honey and snot. Where other fruits leave my stomach feeling cleansed and refreshed, a banana in my body feels like a chemically reactive marshmallow ballooning up to the size of a small pillow. I spend at least ten minutes feeling bloated and unhappy, and my entire olfactory cavity remains stained with the scent of bananas for the better part of an hour. 

I’m sick of banana apologists. I’ve heard all the reasons for the banana’s supposed greatness: it’s cheap, it doesn’t need to be washed, it comes with a built-in handle. Whatever. These are not excuses for a shitty fruit. It’s time for the banana to go back where it came from.