The Fruit Stand on Calle Ocho

On my first visit to Miami, I stopped at a little fruit stand on Calle Ocho run by an older Cuban man named Ernesto. He had mamey, guava, sapote and fruits I had never even heard of.

I asked what he recommended. He looked at me, looked at the sky, then cut open a mamey right there, scooped out a spoonful of the orange flesh and handed it to me. It tasted like sweet potato and pumpkin pie and something I couldn't name.

I came back every day of the trip. He'd have something new waiting: a soursop smoothie, a slice of guava paste with white cheese, a tiny banana he called "manzano." He told me about growing up in Camagüey and how his mother made guava jam every summer.

On my last day, he gave me a small bag of mamey seeds to "plant somewhere warm." I live in Michigan. They're in a pot on my windowsill. One has sprouted.