Mom was making me all wistful today on the phone, talking about the 6 (!) stalks of brussels sprouts she nabbed at the farmer's market this weekend (granted, she had to brave slush-snow in the early morning all alone, as my dad didn't want to get out of bed in that weather...I don't blame him). She asked if I ever bought it that way and then corrected herself immediately, "oh wait, really you're supposed to only pick them after a frost, and you don't get those there much" ha. She has the luxury of storing them (those stalks are big!) in the semi-outdoors in the garage--that's Rochester for you. Earlier this morning I stumbled on Mark Bittman's recipe for sauerbraten and saw he says to pickle the meat for the 3 days in the fridge. My parents never did; we just stuck the crocks in the garage or basement and it was so cold it was fine. I don't have the kind of fridge space needed for all the things we made, took for granted could just sit out in the open like that!
It was a cold but clear sunny afternoon and I was plucking pomegranate seeds for a salad, one by one despite knowing there's ways to cheat (float them in water so the pithy stuff comes up, etc.). I loved it, the whole time I kept thinking about the first time I ever encountered a pomegranate. It was on an afternoon a lot like this, cold and clear and wintery, and I had just come in from the cold walking home from middle school. My dad was at the kitchen counter patiently, fastidiously seeding a pomegranate in anticipation of a late afternoon snack. My eyes popped out of my head and I just stood beside him watching intently until he finished. He could've been, I dunno, massaging a live starfish and it'd have been equivalent in terms of how fascinated and shocked I was. I'd never seen anything like it. Come to think of it, I'm not sure where he even acquired one--I never saw my mom put one in the shopping basket or anything. (Huh, I bet he went out especially for one that day after sitting at home alone thinking about it...I'd never considered that until now, ha.) Even later we only ever bought them around Christmastime at the farmer's market, and mostly because by then I'd become obsessed (I get the impression my mom doesn't see the point in fussing with them).
I love seeding them. It takes some time and gentleness and yeah, patience, but you can do it slowly, secure in the knowledge it'll be worth it. It makes me feel like a squirrel, you know, looking at them with an acorn in their paws. They have that patient, careful but eager expression on their face. Those busy happy hands.
It was a cold but clear sunny afternoon and I was plucking pomegranate seeds for a salad, one by one despite knowing there's ways to cheat (float them in water so the pithy stuff comes up, etc.). I loved it, the whole time I kept thinking about the first time I ever encountered a pomegranate. It was on an afternoon a lot like this, cold and clear and wintery, and I had just come in from the cold walking home from middle school. My dad was at the kitchen counter patiently, fastidiously seeding a pomegranate in anticipation of a late afternoon snack. My eyes popped out of my head and I just stood beside him watching intently until he finished. He could've been, I dunno, massaging a live starfish and it'd have been equivalent in terms of how fascinated and shocked I was. I'd never seen anything like it. Come to think of it, I'm not sure where he even acquired one--I never saw my mom put one in the shopping basket or anything. (Huh, I bet he went out especially for one that day after sitting at home alone thinking about it...I'd never considered that until now, ha.) Even later we only ever bought them around Christmastime at the farmer's market, and mostly because by then I'd become obsessed (I get the impression my mom doesn't see the point in fussing with them).
I love seeding them. It takes some time and gentleness and yeah, patience, but you can do it slowly, secure in the knowledge it'll be worth it. It makes me feel like a squirrel, you know, looking at them with an acorn in their paws. They have that patient, careful but eager expression on their face. Those busy happy hands.