Pickling ume looks time consuming. I once watched my mom’s biǎo jiě (cousin)(specifically, older female cousin on the maternal side) and her husband massage and brine the sour green apricots for a long time. We’d plucked them earlier that day at a family farm deep in the woods.
The Japanese turn ume into soft poetic balls (Pantone 702 U-ish) that pair well with rice. The Taiwanese turn ume into dark, sweet, tart, prune-y things.
Chupa and his friend Jonic spent the evening singing and jamming along to Daniel Caesar’s “Get You,” which requires a lot of falsetto and features the lyric, “everything I need's . . . between . . . those thighs.”