Tonight is a night for a mouthful of rubies.

Food writing: Pomegranates

 

Tonight is a night for a mouthful of rubies.

 

It makes sense in some light that my favourite fruit would be something as complex and difficult as I am. Labyrinthine and multi-tiered, it takes a careful hand to extract each morsel without destroying it, and once accessed it is certainly an acquired taste: too tart for many to develop an affinity for, or too painstaking to be worth the time and effort needed… much like myself, I imagine.

 

Still, there is nothing quite like holding one of these perfect little gems in one’s hand to admire the way it gleams and shimmers in the light: Multifaceted, sleek, the same gorgeous crimson as drops of blood on fresh-fallen snow.

 

These are only available for a season�"that short time between harvest and midwinter as the air crisps and leaves turn to gold-red splendor. (Persephone then gathers the world’s stores down with her to ensure that her own stocks remain high, no doubt). By the time Aquarius dawns, their time has passed and I’ll have to wait another year for their return.

 

They must then be enjoyed while they can, transported to these Northern climes by boat and truck, to those who appreciate them for the most superficial of reasons; not capable of understanding the complexity of these precious globes. Only the fig has a history and reputation to rival it, and yet this one’s glory is barely acknowledged, let alone celebrated.

 

I happen to be one of few in my circle who adores this fruit so very, very much. My Spanish blood may not have asserted itself in my colouring or features, but in my love for grenada, it rises up and lays claim with fervour. Yes, the juices are available year-round, but they’re small substitute for rolling the luscious seeds around in one’s mouth until they’ve warmed through, and then bursting them open between teeth and tongue.

 

Its round fullness weighing heavily in my palm, I hesitate to delve into this treasure ...after all, it must be destroyed in order to be appreciated wholly…  but if said destruction is conscious and uncruel, with full appreciation and as much care as is possible for such an act, it must be seen as something positive. At the very least, it’s how I shall view it.

 

This will not be torn apart and devoured with any haste or greed.

This will not be sullied by nonchalant tearing, rending, gnawing, biting.

No.

This will be gently pried apart and enjoyed jewel by jewel in slow, sybaritic delight… and once it is spent, I will sit here with lips and fingertips stained to vermilion, and just smile.

 

Do take advantage of the pomegranate while you can, dear ones. Her favours are fleeting, and you haven’t the time to dawdle with your affections.