Shopping at Fairway Market the other day, I came upon a pomelo. No, a pomelo is not Romeo’s lost cousin nor is it an Oompa Loompa. If you are unfamiliar with this citrus fruit, it looks a lot like a big grapefruit. Only when peeled open, the very thick shell reveals slices of vesicles filled with juice. The taste is unlike the bitterness of a grapefruit. Rather, it is sweet with only a tinge of the grapefruit flavor; a measure that enhances its rich palette. Did I mention I like it a lot?
At any rate, when I saw the pomelo’s price tag, my jaw literally dropped. At $4.99 a piece, a pomelo in New York is an expensive delicacy. After a short inner debate, I picked one up. You know – you live only once and all that.
Back home I held to my costly citrus for a couple of days before deciding it’s time to enjoy it. All this reminded me of how one of my daughters treats her treats. When she gets a cookie, or some other sweet she particularly favors, the delicatessen can be found taking residency by her place at the dinner table, where it may be displayed for several days. Occasionally, if this happens to be a baked good, the treat may end up going stale before she finally decides to have it. It is a curious approach for which some may raise an eyebrow. But for her, the knowledge that the delicatessen is there for her, whenever she so desires, is a reward all by itself. There is a promise in a cake you can have but do not need to eat; a joy in the waiting, the expectation, the ownership over the decision when it is the right time.
All this, I must admit, used to bother me, i.e. seeing treats go stale like that. But by now, I have come to accept it. If this makes her happy, so be it. Maybe my earlier displeasure has to do with a recollection I have of myself, possibly being a little like her, when I was her age (15 y.o.) Yet now, 35 years later, I rather eat my sweet pomelo rather than have it too.
Learned from: a pricey pomelo.