Monday, November 1, 2010
Pomegranates, Monroe and Halloween
When I was growing up, my dad occasionally brought home a pomegranate. He’d stand over the sink and scoop out the juicy seeds, while we waited nearby, anxious to pop them into our salivating mouths, and my mom fretted about the mess. “Monroe!”
I’ve passed by the apple-sized globes in grocery stores, but aside from flavored juices, yogurt, and those highly-addictive, must-have-retreat-snack chocolate covered pomegranate seeds, I’ve not had fresh pomegranate in all these years. I guess because Halloween was coming up, last week I put one in my cart. I couldn’t remember exactly what dwelled inside, or how to remove the seeds, so I went online to get instructions:
Slice off the end
Score sections on one end without cutting through to the other end
Soak it in a bowl of cold water for 5-10 minutes
Remove the fleshy skin and strain the seeds
I followed the instructions, but the result was a big mess, stained fingers, and scarlet marks dotting a cream blouse I’d neglected to change out of. A lot of work for a tart, crunchy snack.
I’m remembering my dad today because twelve Halloweens ago I got the phone call that he’d died. It’s a weird kind of feeling, thinking how long it’s been, when I can still remember the pomegranate treats, can still see his round stomach jiggling when he laughed, can still hear his, “Thank you kindly,” when the old-time gas attendant pumped our gas. I can still hear his voice encouraging me to write.
Happy Halloween Dad!