Archive for September, 2009

Pomegranate + Sunday


I woke up to an immediate impulse to cut open my pomegranate on Sunday. I had craved pomegranates for months and finally found them sold at the Farmer’s Market last week. Selecting a good pomegranate was one training I never prepared myself with. Cluelessly, I picked up a few pomegranates and gave one by one a good squeeze to check for plumpness. What was I thinking. Pomegranate is a hard shelled fruit and I tested its plumpness like I would buying an avocado or an apricot. Idiot. I didn’t bother to check its color because I had once purchased a huge burgundy one that tasted sour in comparison to a pale pink one supplied by another vendor that tasted deliciously sweet. I tried to give one fruit a sniff for aroma, nothing. I didn’t sniff a second one, it could be another one of those plumpness test that doesn’t apply. I refused to make a second idiotic attempt in case there’s someone nearby who was knowledgeable in picking out pomegranates, and with the content inside my basket resembling a somewhat an advanced vegan’s basket, the inadequacy was unacceptable. Mini-mini-mi-nimo I went and threw one in the basket.


Turns out. You determine the goodness of pomegranates by its weight (at least I was right not to choose one by colour). The heavier it is, the more juice it carries. One I bought was a great example of exactly the opposite. I knew it the moment my knife scored through the membrane squirting hardly any juice. Normally I’d have to be appropriately clothed in preparation for the staining pomegranate juice flooding out like it’s wet monsoon season. Great. Three dollars spent to eat plain seeds. I took out my Odwalla pomegranate juice from the fridge and soaked the arils (the fleshed seeds) in a bowl like a cereal. Pomegranate seeds in Pomegranate juice. Ate it. Heavy heartedly. Still tasted like mostly seeds. Oh well. Lesson learned.


Preparing a pomegranate to consumption state from fruit is a fairly lengthy process; but, with Pink Martini’s Aspettami playing in the background, a personal song choice fully appropriate in escorting my Sunday awakening, the task became intensely therapeutic. I leisurely loosened the arils into a bowl at the tempo of the music. Life is good. Apart from the poor selection of a juiceless fruit. 


I found an instructional illustration from POM Wonderful on opening pomegranates, here.