After a late lunch of salad and pasta at one of my favourite neighbourhood restaurants, the shift manager stopped by to chat. At one point we both joked that we were totally sick of watching the news, that politics in this country is like a soap opera script that repeats itself all the time and we just wanted to stick our heads in the sand again. Then I asked him if there were any light desserts.
Creme brulee? Tiramisu? he suggested. I wrinkled my nose and said, "Nah, too heavy. I'll just have coffee - make it iced, please."

So he brought me the iced coffee - and with it a bowl of cherries on a bed of ice cubes and a cup of thick sour cream for dipping.

"I think you'll like these," he smiled.

"Wow," I said. "They're absolutely delicious! Where are they from?"

"From the Golan!" he laughed. "You see, even cherries are political around here."