Two Fruits of Concidental Name

[Therin]

Grapefruit. I hate the stuff, myself, think it's too bitter and sour to possibly be good alone. I was talking about this with a customer today at work, and I stumbled, metaphorically, of course, across a sudden realization, or maybe more of a sudden question.

For sitting there on the coveyor belt in front of me were two fruits that were completely unrelated in every way, and yet they had similarity of name.

Two large grapefruits, and a bunch of grapes.

And I got to wondering, out loud mind you, which, I suppose, is why I have so few repeat customers, how this strange nomenclatural coincidence came about. The first thought that came to mind was that two guys, in completely different parts of the world, say Greece and Florida, just for the sake of example, came across two completely different fruits, grapes in Greece and -fruits in Florida, picked them, simultaneously, and took a bite, and, immediately in Greece and after a few minutes of deliberation and experimentation with regard to peel removal in Florida, came up with *exactly the same name.* Grape, thought the Grecian(or possibly not) guide. Grape, thought the Floridian (or, again, possibly not) farmer. And each went straight away to England, hub of the fashion world at the time, to attempt to sell his "Large, Yellow, Floridian Taste Explosion," and his "Small, Purple Greek Cherry of Joy." Each set foot on English soil within days, or possibly hours, of eachother. Each booked lodgings for the week in a hotel near the castle. And each rented a stall directly across the street from the other and began to hawk his wares. The exchange, in simultaneous voice, might have gone somewhat like this:

Both: "Brand new fruit/berries imported from far off lands! A magnificent taste sensation! Soon to be the most fashionable treat around! Come and get your Grapes! Hey, you're not selling grapes, *I'm* selling grapes! I discovered them in Greece/Floridia, while I was off expanding home territory! No you bloody well didn't, *I* did! You bloody wretch, you stole my name!"

From this point on, of course, what was once the exchange and has degenerated into a shouting match in the street will now be spoken in a different language. This language is known to every male of the human species, on one base level or another. It's what we call a good old down home street brawl.

It will not be finished either, for coming down the street at a regal pace, resplendent in his most regal robes, and holding his head in the properly regal fasion, is the King. This meant that he was staring so exclusively up at the traditional English overcast sky that he could not see what was less than fifty feet in front of him, and never took notice of *that* anyway, instead relying on his subjects to get out of his way and keep him on his feet for him. This worked damnedly well for the most part, and this was the first time the King had ever encountered such a hindrance as the one that was now rolling over and over toward him, unseen, through the muddy street. Suddenly, a great outcry is heard, and the crowds lining the streets fall hushed. Or, now that I think about it, they stay hushed, for they had fallen hush as soon as the King became visible. The King, beet red from top to toe, picks himself out of the mud, pulls the two bickerants up in front of him with his great arms, and demands, in loud, manly, royally eloquent tones, "WHAT THE DEVIL DO YOU SLIME BAGS THINK YOU'RE DOING!"

Both, pointing: "This man stole the name of my fruit! No I didn't, you did, you bloody great git!"
King: "SILENCE!"
Both, still pointing, but only because they haven't thought to drop their fingers: [silence]
King: "SHOW ME THE FRUITS."
Both, now pointing at their respective stalls: "T-T-Those are me grapes, your highness..."
King: "BUT THOSE ARE CLEARLY *BERRIES*, ARE THEY NOT?"
Grecian Guide: "Well, y-y-yes, your highness, but they're still grapes all the same."
Both, ignoring the king entirely again: [bicker bicker bicker]
King: "SILENCE!"
Both:"..."
King: "SINCE THOSE ARE BERRIES, WHILE *THESE* ARE SURELY OF THE LARGER FRUIT NATURE, I DECREE THAT *THESE* SHALL FROM THIS POINT FORTH BE KNOWN AS THE GRAPE *FRUIT.*"
Both: "Y-Y-Yes your majesy!"
King: "I FURTHER DECREE THAT THESE TWO MISCREANTS BE CONFINED TO MY DUNGEON FOR THE NEXT TWENTY YEARS."
Both: "But!"
King: [RAISED EYEBROW], for every movement the king makes is, of course, utterly manly and royal.
Both: [hang heads]
And thus it is done. From that point forth, all grapefruits were known as grapefruits and all grapes were known as grapes. And so it continues to this day...

However, that is only one possible scenario. Since I'm all created out for the moment, I'm going to leave the rest up to you. Feel free to post them, but don't, if you know, tell us what really happened. That would take all the fun out of speculation!

[GAAZ]

I just think that in greece Grapes weren't as sweet as they are today since they didn't have genetic enginerring and such...I mean Boysenberries are kinda sour and bitter till you put sugar on them and stick em in the fridge.

And Since Grapefruits are sour bitter pieces of crap I'm sure at one time rapes tasted kinda like them and ummm yeah.

But I like to think this was all caused by Bill and Ted corrupting the space-time continumn.

[Minosheep]

Sayeth a website uponst which I did look:

Grapefruit apparently originated as a natural mutation of the shaddock or pummelo somewhere in the West Indies. It was first described in 1750 in Barbados, while the first record of the term grapefruit occurred in 1814 in Jamaica. Credit for its introduction to the United States in accorded to Count Odette Phillipe, a Spanish don, who planted it in Pinellas County, FL, about 1823. That grapefruit originated as mutation from pummelo seems more likely when one considers the number of grapefruit varieties today, most of which originated as mutations from existing grapefruit varieties.

[Therin]

Yeah...I never claimed to know everything about where things grew in the 18th and 19th centuries. So there.

[Minosheep]

Hehe. Neither did I, and that information still says nothing about the name of the fruit.

Nomenclature can kiss me arse, man. Kiss it all up.

Me Nomenclature.