When I was a little boy, living on the farm, we had a signle tree of yellow plums in our fruit garden. The plums were larger than any of the other plum trees, which had blue plums. They were also sweeter and juicier. Unfortunately there were fewer of them as well. I loved those plums. But while I was still small, the tree gradually died. (That was probably why there were so few plums on it too.) It would probably have died even if I had not climbed in it, but I did feel kind of guilty. I never ate yellow plums again. Until today.
A few days ago I bought a box of yellow plums. They were more golden, not as blonde as I remember, and I have kept them in the kitchen for some days to see if they would change. But they did not change one way or another, except perhaps to become slightly softer to the touch. So today I bit into one. It tasted almost exactly as I remembered. It is a wonderful taste that is not really similar to any other, in my mind.