Would you not believe the NYT? Tsk.
Late on an uncomfortably hot Sunday afternoon after spending way too much time at IKEA once again, it was time to seek out Cho’s in Palo Alto. The only other dinner option was leftovers, which I didn’t want to face. Something about the stale, vaguely cinnamon-infused, overused air amongst the endless sofas and tables put me off food in general and teeming masses in particular.
But what was this? Outside Cho’s humble establishment were some bowls filled with persimmons and pears. Rock hard and with price tags of $1.00 at each bowl. We placed our order for potstickers and egg rolls. Then I noticed the big cardboard box of fruit with a pair of pruning shears alongside. I picked out a few pears, and Cho sprang to life.
If you’ve been to his place, you know that Cho is seldom rattled. He presents the same bland, noncommittal face to everyone, whether you order 600 pork buns or his version of a value meal, he’s Cho in the perennially stained paper cap.
But he got animated, bringing out a plastic bag for the pears. I asked how much, being more familiar with exorbitant rates at local farmer’s markets. A dollar for the pears. His wife appeared, and said they were picked just that morning. I got some persimmons too. It’s all about the fresh leaves attached.