In a tiny nutty shell

The tart tang sucks the juice dry from my mouth. The small round berry is hard. Its grainy body grinds through my teeth. There is no explosion of flavor and it does not bleed into my mouth to share its decadent lush drink. It drizzles into my mouth, but the tannins burn. The pores in my tongue pucker and shrivel. I spit out its mashed pulp but the sensation lingers. Raw and cold. I wait seven minutes and pluck another from the boiling pot. My teeth sink into its paper thin skin and flavor erupts in a hot juicy wave.