For my inaugural blog post, I’ve decided to refer you, my almost certainly nonexistent readers, to my latest column, "Pomegra-Nation," in which I explain how it is that the pomegranate, very recently a fruit celebrated almost exclusively by swarthy people and hippies, has become the hippest fruit in the land. A taste of my pomegranatine brilliance:
As to why Starbucks, Nantucket Nectars and others are hopping on board the pomegranate choo choo, the answer is obvious. Fancy schamncy sells. So does exotic. And so does healthy. The Pomegranate brand has got all three going for it, and in the end it doesn’t matter too much what the actual fruit tastes like when you can hire a team of expensive flavorologists to cut it with the right blend of tea, nectar or ‘ppucino.
It’s an interesting story — way, way better than that lychee story I told at a dinner party last week that had everyone wondering how it was possible that someone who could tell such a tedious story could possibly make a living telling stories.
