Until last year, I had never tasted kumquat. I'd heard the name and had a sense of the fruit's appearance being bonsai-like, akin to Mandarin oranges.

Last October, my father-in-law placed a bowl of the glowing-orange, oblong fruit on the kitchen table. He was keen for me to taste them. They were from our terrace garden. I took a saucer from the cupboard and a knife and began to peel an inch-long kumquat, finally arriving at the flesh. I placed it on my tongue and was assaulted by its tartness. My father-in-law looked on. At some point, he came towards me, and he put the fruit directly into my mouth; in the same way that my father often does, either with fruit, or with something delicious that he has made himself, in which he takes pride, like guava cheese or dodol.