About an hour later, the gurgling begins. It’s a gentle rumble at first, like a distant thunderstorm. Then it escalates into a full-blown jazz improvisation in my gut.
Suddenly, I become a walking balloon. My jeans feel tighter. I have to unbutton them in the produce aisle. Trust me, it’s not a good look.
I’ve googled this. Apparently, cherries contain sorbitol, a sugar alcohol that ferments in our gut. Basically, my intestines throw a fermentation party, and I’m the unwitting DJ. Fun fact: The DJ is always a fart.
The Science of the Fizz
Cherries are also packed with fiber. That’s great for your health, but imagine a fiber-optic cable made of gas. That’s what’s happening in there. Every cherry is a tiny, delicious bomb ready to detonate.
I remember a picnic last July. I ate an entire pint. Bad move. I became a human whoopee cushion. My friends pretended not to notice the car windows rolling down.
I tried to blame the beans from lunch. Nobody bought it. Cherry breath is a dead giveaway. You can’t lie to a nose that smells pit and treachery.
