Gone to seed

WHEN you cut through the leathery skin of a pomegranate, Punica Granatum, for the first time, you can’t help but be thrilled - all those jewel-like seeds, little ‘rubies’ neatly arranged in a star-shaped pattern.

When I was at hotel school in Cathal Brugha Street in Dublin in the late ’60s, the street traders in Moore Street called them wine apples. They sounded and looked so exotic with their little crown-like calyx, but I had no idea what to do with them.

They’re a bit strange if you just eat them like a fruit - lots of gritty pips if you decide to chew. Pomegranates are at their best at the moment.