You can’t help feeling when eating up pomegranate seeds that these must be good for you. The two books cooks I am using this summer seem to have pomegranate either on or in every other recipe.

If the seeds have not been mixed up with beetroot or tomatoes or cucumber they will have scattered over some spiced lamb or chicken with tahini yogurt or a plate of sliced beef. And the juice is in every salad mixed up with oil and herbs and some pomegranate molasses for extra intensity.

I have got so now I cannot leave the greengrocers without having at least one in my bag just in case I might need it. I took two of them home with me this morning.

Half of the seeds have gone on top of some cooked beetroot that has been mixed up with feta and dill and the rest of the seeds are going into the salad. We are eating the beetroot and salad with piri-piri chicken cooked on the barberque and a spinach and fennel pie from the Morito cookbook and fried potatoes.

When we were in Spain at Christmas some of the trees still had old and withered pomegranate fruit hanging from their branches. There is something obscene about them. Especially when you open them out and prise out the seeds, each one caught in a thin membrane holding together the sweet tannic juice.

We spent a large part of the day in Liverpool, admiring the graffiti and looking at art out of car boots. We had lunch in the Kazimer Garden drinking Liverpool organic Summer Wheat Beer in the sun before going to look at more graffiti in the Baltic triangle and picking up two bottles of very good beer (just drunk – should have saved them) from The mad hatter Brewing Company.


All of a sudden Liverpool is looking pretty good in the sun.

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