When my great
grandfather, Thomas Stansfield, was a boy, in about 1900, he heard about a new
fruit that had recently become available in his Philadelphia neighborhood. Excited, he and his brother Joe saved up
enough money and bought this new “grapefruit.”
They brought it home, cut it open, and ate it eagerly. And were sorely disappointed. Instead of a pleasing, sweet, grape-like
taste, they had a fruit which was bitter and repugnant. So a good lesson that names are sometimes
misleading. *
Why did I start
with a story about grapefruit, you may ask?
Because today I’m talking about a relative, pummelo. In fact, pummelos, crossed with a type of
orange, are thought by scientists to be grapefruit’s parents. Staying with names, it gets more complicated. Throughout the past couple of hundred years,
“pummelo” actually referred to grapefruit.
It’s only been in the past 30-40 years or so that the distinction has
been drawn. Other names for pummelos are
shaddock and lusho fruit. (For the
record, shaddock was the name of the East India Company captain who introduced
the fruit to Jamaica
in 1696. Don’t know the derivation of
lusho, but I’d like to think it’s some snide joke about drunks.)
Thankfully, the
actual pummelo itself is very noticeably different from grapefruit, or anything
else. It’s huge—the diameter of a mature
fruit is between 15-25 centimeters (or about 6-10 inches), and its weight
ranges between 2-4 pounds (or 1-2 kilos).
The skin is yellowish-green, and otherwise is similar looking to that of
its alleged child. It is actually the
biggest citrus fruit, which is why its scientific name is Citrus maxima (which
should definitely be a featured character’s name if they do an all-fruit
version of the HBO series “Rome ”). Like a lot of fruit, pummelos originated in Southeast Asia , but are now grown in various other
tropical areas. They’re usually eaten
plain (sometimes, oddly, sprinkled with salt) or as parts of salads. Their peel is sometimes used for
marmalade. Nutritionally, like the other
citrus fruits they’re loaded with enough Vitamin C to even satisfy Linus
Pauling.
I went into this
one with some reservations. Because I
loathe grapefruit. Intensely. When I was a child I occasionally choked some
down after I’d poured sugar on the pulp, until I realized, why bother? Why bother putting lipstick on this pig, as
it were, when there are plenty of fruits that taste good, all by
themselves? Fruit shouldn’t be
bitter. And don’t bring up lemons as
another example—sour can have its charms.
But grapefruit is, to me, useless.
I’d only eat another if I was stranded on the proverbial deserted isle,
and it was the only thing standing in the way of me and cannibalism. (And even then I’d consider the decision for
a LONG time.)
The pummelo I
chose from my local grocery store was the smallest one. It was “only” about 13-14 centimeters in
diameter, and weighed a little over 2 pounds (or about a kilo). Although it was labeled a red pummelo, its
rind was the standard yellowish-green. When I skinned it I saw why—the pulp was
reddish-pink. The taste was decent. I’d heard that pummelo is like a mild
grapefruit, and I agree with that.
Unlike grapefruit, where the bitterness is overwhelming and nasty,
pummelos just had a hint of it. Also, I
realized even this tinge was mostly from any remaining whitish rind still
sticking to the pulp. Completing the
family circuit, I shared some with my great grandfather’s grandson, and he
agreed with my assessment of it. Pummelo
is okay. Evidently the variant with
whitish colored flesh is even sweeter, too.
Alas, after I’d eaten it, I realized I probably shouldn’t have. Some medication I take warns not to consume
grapefruit while taking it. I can only
assume this also applies to grapefruit’s kin. So I probably won’t have pummelo again, but
only because of this medication interference—otherwise I certainly would.
* In case you were
wondering, the name “grapefruit” came about probably due to the fruits on the
tree looking similar to a bunch of grapes.
I know. Kind of stupid. I would have gone with something more honest,
like “bitter crapfruit.”
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