We have an extremely productive grape vine winding its way around our back deck. In theory, this thrills me. The idea of any kind of fresh edible product growing in my own little home bubble makes me giddy with joy. The issue here is that I really don’t like the grapes. They’re ickishly sweet (Concord, perhaps?), and when you bite into them, you initially break through the skin and into a blast of fresh sweet grape juice, but then into this slimy orb of seed cover that just feels like chewing something you’d get out of a kids’ quarters-only toy machine, and then you encounter that whole seed problem. Okay, I admit I have issues with texture. But why can’t this grape vine produce something I like? I will never make grape jelly; I do not like grape jelly.
Luckily, in Seattle, it’s totally acceptable to pile a crate full of grapes and set it out on your lawn with a pile of grocery bags and a little sign saying “fresh grapes.” People actually take them.
But I still might cut the thing down.