I hate winter. I hate it with a passion. Being cold is one of the worst sensations to me in the world. I also don't really like fruit. I just don't eat it. I will go through a week here or there where I will have the random granny smith apple or two, but in general, I am more of a vegetable girl.
However, with winter does come a bounty of beautiful, juicy, tart and crazy citrus fruits, my favorite of which is the pomegranate.
Now, I did not just jump on the pomegranate bandwagon with the advent of the inclusion of the pomegranate in the "superfood" category or the proliferation of pomegranate flavored beverages in the natural foods juice section of the grocery store.
I have eaten pomegranates since I was a child. Every winter I have cleaned up the fine mist of red juice which decorates my kitchen after delving into the glorious fruit to free its lvoely arils, no matter how carefully and how well I have honed my practice of opening the forbidden fruit over the years.
A forbidden and mythical fruit, just ask Persephone.