Poroporo dreaming

I am congratulating myself on the good fortune of selecting such a quick-growing [some would say weedy] plant to work with. The first five poroporo were kindly donated by a local bird, and I have carefully transplanted them from underneath the trampoline to a narrow garden bed running the entire length of the back fence. The first poroporo is in bud already, only five months after being transplanted, and I am patiently awaiting the purple blooms. At this rate, thirty generations of selective breeding in poroporo is going to take thirty years.

Happily the tray of poroporo seeds have germinated too, and so far there looks to be more than forty wee plants. They look almost identical to tomato seedlings, of course, being in the same family - Solanaceae.

Imagine that until just a few hundred years ago, tomatoes were not part of the cultural cuisine of Italy! They originated in the New World and were not immediately accepted in Europe when they were first introduced. Probably because they looked similar to local poisonous members of the same family, the deadly nightshades*. Another Solanum, potatoes, were similarly regarded with fear and superstition in Europe. Under the 'Doctrine of Signatures', the swollen potato tubers were thought to cause leprosy!  These superstitions and prejudices against the Solanaceae family have been generally abandoned, but where does poroporo fit into this picture - seeing as it actually is a poisonous plant, and all parts are poisonous except the very ripe fruits?

I had a dream about poroporo this morning! In my dream the poroporo berries were ripened to the point of being over-ripe, yet I hesitated to eat one ... I couldn't really fancy it. The fruit had turned slightly brown, not as firm as it had been the week before, the skin was slightly wrinkled, the smell was floral. I wasn't afraid of being poisoned, but I was afraid I wouldn't enjoy the taste sensation. Back in the light of day I find it remarkable my experiment has reached through to my subconcious mind! And what is all the fuss about? Tomatoes don't taste better now than they did two hundred years ago in Italy - the difference is perception.


* My father, in his best sense of humour, used to refer to deadly nightshade as "deadly lampshade". Bon mot!