FORT LAUDERDALE - It was
counterintuitive — a lime with no pucker.
"Tastes like candy, doesn't it?" says Curtis Mozie,
his eyes wide as a mad scientist's.
Wowzers.
Suck a while on one of Mozie's homegrown red
berries, which are nicknamed "miracle fruit," and
everything sour that follows turns sweet.
"Wait, you've got to try one more thing," the
64-year-old says as he gets a jug of vinegar.
Mozie pours the pungent liquid into two small cups.
He hands them out like shots at a bar.
"Cheers," he says. Like Tang with a kick.
It's the sweet taste of success.
Starting with one tree in his backyard more than 12
years ago, Mozie today has an orchard of more than a
thousand that has let him carve out a successful
niche market catering mainly to people intrigued by
the berry's taste magic. The red berry is mostly
seed, but the scant amount of slightly sweet pulp
changes taste for up to two hours.
He says he ships 3,000 berries a week, mostly to
distributors and other customers in New York but
also to Finland, France and Montreal.
Cancer treatment centers have contacted him,
wondering if the fruit might help induce appetite in
chemotherapy patients, Mozie says. Picky eaters and
diabetics are also possible beneficiaries, he adds.
Last month, The
New York Times mentioned Mozie's business
in an article on taste-tripping parties where
attendants munch berries and then see how different
foods taste. Two days after the article's
publication, the former postal and Broward elections
worker says he received $60,000 worth of orders —
four times his profit from last year.
It's a lot of attention for what was once considered
an obscure novelty fruit.
The berry, whose scientific name is Synsepalum
dulcificum, has a glycoprotein called miraculin that
changes taste, scientists say. The bush or tree
grows up to 5 feet tall and is native to West
Africa.
Billy Hopkins, whose Tropical Fruit Nursery in Davie
sold Mozie his first miracle fruit tree more than a
decade ago, said he has seen no negative health
effects from eating the berries, except for a few
people who experienced slight nausea or an allergic
reaction. Chugging a gallon of vinegar is not a good
idea, no matter how sweet. "Demand is rising for the
trees. We've probably sold 10 times more miracle
fruit plants this year than in years past," Hopkins
said.
Business has been so good for Mozie that he had to
suspend orders after demand grew too quickly. He's
contacted a grower in Ghana to ship him 50,000
frozen berries.
Mozie sells his berries for $3 each. More than a
year ago, he charged only a dollar. Today, prices
can reach $5 on
eBay.
Locally, unless you have your own tree or know
someone who does, there's only one way to get the
fruit: Mozie's Web site,
www.miraclefruit man.com.
Hopkins, 44, said the fruit has been available in
the country for more than three decades but bounded
into the spotlight last February when Martha Stewart
featured it on one of her shows.
A month later, The Wall Street Journal
highlighted Mozie in a front-page article.
Hopkins
and other nurseries across the
country now face a shortage of
miracle fruit plants, which sell for
$40 to $75.
"There's been a run on them, and it
takes a good while for them to grow,
four-five years," said Adam Shafran,
a miracle fruit seller in Orlando.
A single full-grown tree can yield
1,000 berries each time it blooms,
which occurs twice a year in Africa
but three times a year in Florida.
Federal and state agriculture
officials don't keep statistics on
how many miracle fruit growers there
are. The
Florida Department of Agriculture
and Consumer Services says there
are no restrictions on the growing
and selling of the fruit.
Mozie
grows his berries at a farm at an
undisclosed location west of
Fort Lauderdale.
"He's been at this for so long, he
saw this coming," said Shafran, 27.
"He's got the world; he is the
biggest supplier out there."
Mozie's success has bewildered his
wife, Pearl.
Pearl Mozie said she shook her head
when she saw her husband come home
with another tree more than a decade
ago.
"Just another tree he was going to
obsess over," she recalled.
But one miracle fruit tree turned
into hundreds, and the plants took
over the Mozie backyard.
One day, worried about expenses, she
asked her husband why he didn't sell
a few of the trees.
He told her it would be like a dairy
farmer selling his calves.
"I'm glad he stuck with it," she
said.
Andrew Ba Tran can be reached at
atran@sun-sentinel.com or
954-356-4543.