It’s called a tree tomato.
The Powers that Grow decided to export it and thought “tree tomato” sounded disgusting. They were right: anything + tomato sounds disgusting.
Triple-Chocolate Brownie——> Triple-Chocolate Tomato Brownie
Rice Krispie Treat——————>Rice Krispie Tomato “treats”
Tapioca——————————->Tapioca Tomato Pudding
Ryan Gosling———————->Ryan Gosling Tomato.
So they made a compromise and took the name something lame—the tomato—and crossed it with the name of saying that is so cool it grows its own body armor, namely, the armadillo. Once, an armadillo was captured near the field school and brought to be a resident of some kind. Maybe, it was reasoned, maybe if we convinced it it was a student it would pay tuition, or at least buy us ice cream. We probably should have tried to convince it then and there, for no sooner had we left if alone for the night when it burst its metal cage door asunder and departed without as much as a “PEACE OUT, FOOLS!!!” So uncivilised.
But where were we? Tomato+Armadillo= tamarillo.
It’s rather pretty, but like they say: just because something is beautiful does not mean it is good on the inside. This simple rule explains why society shies away from eating butterflies, or celebrities. If you eat it straight, it tastes like a pasty, mushy thing that doesn’t taste so good. If you slice it up and spoon sugar liberally onto it, it tastes like a pasty, mushy thing that doesn’t taste so good with sugar spooned liberally on top.
I’ve talked to people about it and apparently it makes great juice. Having tried the juice, I am qualified to offer the following public service announcement:
For now, then, why the armadillo tomato—I mean the tamarillo—is consumed remains almost as great of a mystery as why the chilean pepino is even cultivated.
I mean, it doesn’t even look like an armadillo.