very important reminder that Buddha’s Hand is the name of a real citrus fruit that looks like this
it is also called the Fingered Citron. hope you enjoy this knowledge!!!
fun fact! there’s no actual flesh/pulp/juice inside this fruit
so what’s the point of a fruit that doesn’t produce, well, fruit? easy. Buddha’s hands are widely used for their zest/peel, which serves pretty much the same purpose as lemon zest.
To use a Buddah’s hand, just break off one of Buddha’s fingers, and grate or peel the yellow zest (avoiding the white pith). the pith doesn’t always go wasted though: unlike lemons, it isn’t bitter, and can be prepared a number of ways–including candied!
*materializes behind you & silently drags a singly pointy Buddha’s Hand finger softly down your neck*
You guys left out the best part.
the best part
of a Buddha’s Hand Citrus
is that
citrus trees interbreed like mad
whether you want them to or not
So in many neighborhoods
out of seemingly nowhere
someone’s Perfectly Suburban Lemon Tree
…starts sprouting fiiiiiiiiinnnnngerrrrrs….
*hums twilight zone theme*
So since both lemons and the satsuma look like they’re going to make it through the winter, and Husbeast is beginning to agree that having plants in the house to curculate and freshen air is nice when you have to seal it to avoid freezing your ass off, I am going to acquire some figs (we’ve got wasps and ants that will do the job here. If you don’t know what I’m talking about and want to peer into the deep, uncomfortable corners of sybiotic relationships in nature, look up how figs reproduce.) and a nice Buddha’s Hand for my Increasingly Cursed Crops Collection.
Fig trees are awesome despite their freaky, freaky reproduction habits. If they like the place you put them in they’ll grow like weeds and give you Too Many Figs (if such a thing exists).
Though do be careful about the sap and rubbing on the leaves while getting those dead wasp filled, delicious figs, as I’ve seen it causing mild rashes on people with sensitive skin.
This might be a bit TMI, but: unfortunately, the sap can inflict worse than mild rashes.
My family had fig trees growing up; the fruit was delicious. My dad had the minor reaction and avoided it by wearing long sleeves when he picked fruit or trimmed the trees, then taking a shower immediately afterwards. I listened to his warnings and only played on the trees in winter, when they were leafless and dry.
Eventually my parents decided to get rid of one of the trees—its roots were getting to the point of messing up nearby brickwork. I was old enough that I wanted to be helpful! I helped by digging up a root. This was a mistake.
I did not get a mild rash like my dad. I got the rash from hell.
(Cut just in case, for description of the rash/blister from hell.)
I’m unfortunately not surprised, lots of plant sap of the milky variety tend to cause burns or rashes of some kind if they’re strong enough or stay in contact too long.
So yeah, people, do be careful with the figs even if they’re delicious !
It’s been so long now that I can’t remember—I don’t think the painful stage lasted all that long, although for a few months I thought it had scarred. And I’ve been super careful of milky sap plants since then!
(The figs themselves are fine! It’s just the sap and leaves you’ve got to be careful of.)
very important reminder that Buddha’s Hand is the name of a real citrus fruit that looks like this
it is also called the Fingered Citron. hope you enjoy this knowledge!!!
fun fact! there’s no actual flesh/pulp/juice inside this fruit
so what’s the point of a fruit that doesn’t produce, well, fruit? easy. Buddha’s hands are widely used for their zest/peel, which serves pretty much the same purpose as lemon zest.
To use a Buddah’s hand, just break off one of Buddha’s fingers, and grate or peel the yellow zest (avoiding the white pith). the pith doesn’t always go wasted though: unlike lemons, it isn’t bitter, and can be prepared a number of ways–including candied!
*materializes behind you & silently drags a singly pointy Buddha’s Hand finger softly down your neck*
You guys left out the best part.
the best part
of a Buddha’s Hand Citrus
is that
citrus trees interbreed like mad
whether you want them to or not
So in many neighborhoods
out of seemingly nowhere
someone’s Perfectly Suburban Lemon Tree
…starts sprouting fiiiiiiiiinnnnngerrrrrs….
*hums twilight zone theme*
So since both lemons and the satsuma look like they’re going to make it through the winter, and Husbeast is beginning to agree that having plants in the house to curculate and freshen air is nice when you have to seal it to avoid freezing your ass off, I am going to acquire some figs (we’ve got wasps and ants that will do the job here. If you don’t know what I’m talking about and want to peer into the deep, uncomfortable corners of sybiotic relationships in nature, look up how figs reproduce.) and a nice Buddha’s Hand for my Increasingly Cursed Crops Collection.
Fig trees are awesome despite their freaky, freaky reproduction habits. If they like the place you put them in they’ll grow like weeds and give you Too Many Figs (if such a thing exists).
Though do be careful about the sap and rubbing on the leaves while getting those dead wasp filled, delicious figs, as I’ve seen it causing mild rashes on people with sensitive skin.
This might be a bit TMI, but: unfortunately, the sap can inflict worse than mild rashes.
My family had fig trees growing up; the fruit was delicious. My dad had the minor reaction and avoided it by wearing long sleeves when he picked fruit or trimmed the trees, then taking a shower immediately afterwards. I listened to his warnings and only played on the trees in winter, when they were leafless and dry.
Eventually my parents decided to get rid of one of the trees—its roots were getting to the point of messing up nearby brickwork. I was old enough that I wanted to be helpful! I helped by digging up a root. This was a mistake.
I did not get a mild rash like my dad. I got the rash from hell.
(Cut just in case, for description of the rash/blister from hell.)
I only got the root sap on a small patch of one arm, thank goodness. I then wasted my good luck by trying to scrub it off, which was a mistake, because I think I ended up rubbing the stuff deeper. I ended up getting a large, irregularly shaped raised blister (a few inches long, more like several blisters bleeding together), hot to the touch, and also excruciatingly painful to the touch. Worst pain I’ve ever been in, though to be fair I’ve led a sheltered life.
I have avoided fig trees since then. If I ever have to interact with one again I’m wearing a goddamn hazmat suit.
The fruit’s still great, though.
(For years afterwards, I couldn’t find anything on reactions like mine from fig sap. I did eventually come across one article on the subject:
“Fig Juggling as an hommage to Sylvia Plath’s The Bell Jar, done by Eve Mansell at Bloom St Tattoo, Manchester UK “
“I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story. From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked. One fig was a husband and a happy home and children, and another fig was a famous poet and another fig was a brilliant professor, and another fig was Ee Gee, the amazing editor, and another fig was Europe and Africa and South America, and another fig was Constantin and Socrates and Attila and a pack of other lovers with queer names and offbeat professions, and another fig was an Olympic lady crew champion, and beyond and above these figs were many more figs I couldn’t quite make out. I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn’t make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet.”
Sylvia Plath inspired fig tattoo by @sheilamarcello of Electric Tattoo in Asbury Park, NJ
“I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story. From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked. One fig was a husband and a happy home and children, and another fig was a famous poet and another fig was a brilliant professor, and another fig was Ee Gee, the amazing editor, and another fig was Europe and Africa and South America, and another fig was Constantin and Socrates and Attila and a pack of other lovers with queer names and offbeat professions, and another fig was an Olympic lady crew champion, and beyond and above these figs were many more figs I couldn’t quite make out. I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn’t make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet.”
“I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story. From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked. One fig was a husband and a happy home and children, and another fig was a famous poet and another fig was a brilliant professor, and another fig was Ee Gee, the amazing editor, and another fig was Europe and Africa and South America, and another fig was Constantin and Socrates and Attila and a pack of other lovers with queer names and offbeat professions, and another fig was an Olympic lady crew champion, and beyond and above these figs were many more figs I couldn’t quite make out. I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn’t make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet.”
