The Bitter Press

Let us begin with the non-negotiable: if you are appearing before a Grand Deliberative, a Minor Inquisitory Council, or even a Neighbourhood Rind Tribunal, you will not arrive as nature left you. Nature, I regret to say, did not finish the job. You must.

The season's most grievous offenders have, predictably, emerged from the editorial floor of that rival rag, factjuice.com. Tangelo — summoned before the Zest Oversight Committee last fortnight — presented himself in nothing but his own segments. No wrap. No gesture toward formality. The committee, to their eternal credit, looked appalled. I, watching from the gallery, nearly composted myself.

Here is what is required: texture, first and always. A fruit attending any body of deliberation must arrive with intention visible on the skin. Bloom where applicable. Dusty finish for the stone fruits, high gloss only if your variety warrants it — and you know who you are, Peach. Do not bring the blush if you cannot back it up with substance underneath.

Plum, I am told, has been warned before. She continues to attend in bare skin as though bare skin is a position one can defend. It is not a position. It is an absence of one. The deliberative chamber is not a field. It is not a bowl. It is a reckoning, and you will dress for it accordingly.

My colleague Pomelo has suggested that some fruits simply lack the wherewithall for formal occasion. He is being generous. I am not. There is no excuse available in sufficient quantity. The guide is simple: arrive covered, arrive considered, and for the love of all that is properly ripened, do not let them see your pips before you are seated.