Carol’s Column

Mental quarks about carrots

THINGS are not what they seem. I realised this the other day when two fascinating snippets of information caught my eye.

The first read as follows: “The carrot is not a vegetable. It is a fruit. At least it will be from January 1, when a stroke of the Common Market Commissioner’s pen will change the carrot’s official status for the benefit of European harmony.”

The second was a more lengthy scientific article and it disclosed the fact that the simple proton, long believed to be the most fundamental particle in existence, is actually made up of even smaller particles — quarks.

In other words, a proton is a collection of quarks. Which means that protons are no longer the most fundamental particles around. They have been superseded by quarks.

I mentioned these interesting facts at the bookclub meeting as Agnes Crump poured the camomile tea so excellent for constipation. The tea, not Agnes Crump.

“You’re quite right,” said Bertha Ginkel. “Nothing is what it seems. I paid R12 000 for my plastic surgery, and look at me now. Nobody would say I was 44.”

I looked at the tautly-stretched skin, the newly-styled wide-open eyes, the firmed chin resting proudly on its neckly pedestal of wrinkled crêpe and I could only agree. She looked 70.

“That’s the excitement of life,” said my good friend Betty. “There’s always the unexpected. It’s so boring to be predictable. Now that the carrot has been classified a fruit, it gives it a totally new perspective.

“Today the carrot, tomorrow the brussel sprout or even the minuscule pea. Nothing is what it seems.” Betty has always had a philosophical bent.

I thought of my mate Ameen Akhalwaya who was born an Indian. Naturally, to the authorities, the colour of his skin determined his classification.

Ameen, proud of his golden-brown hue, was astonished to find himself one day inadvertently classified white. That was in 1962, the same year his family were evicted from their home for being black in a white area.

Ameen, an eminent newspaper editor, has since been classified white, black and Indian which irritates him somewhat as he maintains he’s a person, not a colour.

“Yes, there can be disadvantages in incorrect classifications,” I murmured. “I wonder if anyone’s consulted the carrot?”

“I agree,” said Agnes. “One can be misled by appearances. I thought I was marrying a prince who’d turn into a king and instead I married a frog who turned into an older frog.”

We sighed collectively. We knew how she felt.

Nevertheless, I couldn’t get the thought of curious carrots, and protons masquerading as quarks, out of my mind.

That night I prepared a delicious dessert for my family. Cunningly, I carved spanspek shells into flowers, then filled the innards with a mixture of spanspek balls, kiwi fruit and sliced raw carrot. Sprinkled over this ambrosial delight was a delicate sauce of full-strength brandy and brown sugar.

“What’s the occasion,” sniffed my husband with true marital suspicion.

“It’s a treat,” I muttered.

He took a mouthful. “The spanspek’s not ripe,” he said. “It’s hard and inedible.”

“That’s not spanspek, it’s carrot,” I pointed out.

“Which idiot puts carrot into a fruit salad?” he bellowed.

“The carrot has been reclassified a fruit,” I said categorically and showed him the story of the reclassified carrot. “It’s obvious that only the British have regarded the carrot as a vegetable whereas Europeans recognise a fruit when they see one.

“Furthermore,” I added, “you might have thought you were eating spanspek and carrot protons, but in fact, you’re actually enjoying fruit salad quarks.”

“You’re mad,” he said.

He could be right but I prefer to call it a mental quark.

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