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There was a time when “luxury fruit” sounded like marketing hype. Then you taste a perfect Japanese persimmon at the exact moment it turns from crisp to molten silk, or bite into a strawberry that smells like strawberry jam before it even reaches your mouth, and you understand: this is not ordinary fruit. This is art you can eat.

Japan didn’t invent fruit, but it perfected the obsession with it.

In orchards tucked between mountains and sea, growers spend entire careers — sometimes generations — on a single variety. They thin crops by hand until only a handful of fruit remain on each tree, massage them, shade them from excess sun with little paper hats, bathe them in classical music, and pick them one by one on the precise morning when sugar, acid, and aroma are in perfect harmony. The result is fruit so beautiful and delicious that it is sold in department store basements like jewellery, wrapped in foam nets, nestled in wooden boxes, and given as the ultimate gesture of respect or gratitude.

These are not snacks. They are seasonal events.

For a few fleeting weeks each year:

• Jiro persimmons glow like lanterns and taste like honey poured over cinnamon.
• Taishū persimmons grow so enormous that one fruit is a dessert for four.
• Ruby-red Amanatsu citrus burst with perfume the moment the peel is broken.
• White strawberries taste like condensed milk and summer daydreams.
• Shine Muscat grapes snap like candy and leave a trail of floral fragrance in the air.

We travel to Japan every season, walk the rows with the farmers, taste hundreds of samples, and bring back only the top 1–2 % — the ones that make even the growers pause and smile. No shortcuts, no auctions, no compromises.

Because when you finally hold one of these fruits in your hand — flawless, heavy with intention, almost too beautiful to eat — you realise it was never really about the fruit.

It’s about the care behind it. The patience. The quiet belief that something as simple as a persimmon can be made extraordinary if someone is willing to treat it that way.

That is the story we bring to your table.

Welcome to the season. It’s short. It’s perfect. And it’s waiting for you.