"Ima, do you know how I feel when I eat this wonderful ruby pomegranate? I feel like a great princess who gets to dine on fine delicacies every day. I feel beautiful with the beauty of this queen of pomegranates."
That was J waxing lyrical about this evening's dessert. She got through one and a half whole pomegranates by herself, the kind that look ugly and beat up and dried out on the outside to the extent that you are almost tempted to discard them as past their prime but when you open them you find them a delightful juicy ruby on the inside and so full of flavour, so perfect that they are gobbled up in minutes.
It's funny to me to see the current fad in the world for pomegranates, as though they are something new, just discovered rather than a key fruit central to the cultures of some of the world's most ancient civilisations.
It's funny to me to see the current fad in the world for pomegranates, as though they are something new, just discovered rather than a key fruit central to the cultures of some of the world's most ancient civilisations.
Of course we have grown up with pomegranates, a lifelong favourite of mine be they tart, sweet or somewhere in between. As my one of my mother's English friends used to call them "those funny red things that Jews and Iranians eat". Quite.
