Grapefruit Done Right

Okay, preparing grapefruit isn't a big mystery, although I do know someone who peels and eats grapefruit like an orange, which seems wrong to me.

Wes, Dad and Mom

When I was a little boy, my mom would cut a Texas Ruby Red Grapefruit in half, and then run her knife between the rind and the edible part.  For many people, including chefs at diners and in cruise ship buffet lines, that is the end of the prep work, and most start with an inferior grapefruit variety, so it isn't at all surprising to me that little kids don't generally like grapefruit. 

Kids put their spoons into that fruit and sting their eyes when citrus juice inevitably squirts upwards.  They lean back, turn away and put the spoon in again, squirting juice onto the kitchen table.

Depending on how persistent they are, they can make quite a mess, which m uoms are unlikely to reward as a good efforts.  And what's the payoff if they manage to dislodge a mouthful and taste it?

A sour piece of fruit that's only a half step above eating a lemon.  Yeah, the comedic value of the expression at first taste entertains everyone else, but those kids may never try that healthy fruit again.

There is a better way.

The other day, I walked over to the farmer's market to buy some veggies.  With my asparagus and squash in the bag, I was heading for the exit, when I saw...could it be?...a bin of ripe, Texas Ruby Red Grapefruit.

I had been conditioned for several years to avoid grapefruit, because a sky-high triglycerides count had resulted in me being put on statins by a doctor at one point, and the one specific directive was to never eat grapefruit. I don't think it would have killed me, so I assume grapefruit must interfere with the helpful properties of the drug.

After a couple of years substituting low-carb meals for boxes of oatmeal cookies and Nutty Bars, I was able to stop taking the statins, or at least that's what I told myself, and just recently a new blood test confirmed that, which means I can now eat grapefruit again.

I picked one blushed redder than an Iowan librarian in the Caribbean, and yesterday I finally cut it open (the grapefruit, not the Iowan librarian).

Perhaps I should mention that there's a navel on top through which the grapefruit received nutrients from the tree before being picked.  Consider that navel as its north pole, and cut it in half along its equator.  That is as hard to describe clearly as it is obvious to anyone who has ever eaten a grapefruit (except that guy who eats it like an orange).  Put one half in a soup bowl and cut around the inside of the rind. 

To take it to the next level like my Mom, cut along the white radius lines you'll see in the fruit.  That way, you can easily scoop out a bite-sized triangles with a spoon. 

For some reason, I remember one day when my mom forgot to cut one line, making a double piece, and I chided her for missing it.  When I was little, I must have taken the fact that she did so much for me to mean that she was my personal servant.  That's another apology I owe Mom, and it's a tribute to what a great job she did that missing one cut on a piece of grapefruit was her most egregious error in my childhood.

When I tasted my grapefruit, it was unusually sweet, so I ate the first half, and then quickly followed by preparing and eating the other half. 

Sometimes, however, no matter how carefully you select your grapefruit, it might not be sweet enough.  Mom used to sprinkle sugar on for me, and she usually put a Maraschino Cherry in the middle. 

These days, Splenda is a great choice that won't spike your triglycerides, but now that I think of it, maybe I should keep a jar of Maraschino Cherries around to dress up food and drinks.

Grapefruit is an easy breakfast in every way, although if you're like me you might want to follow it up with some toast or bacon and eggs.  Grabbing a dozen Dunkin Donuts instead on the way to the office will most likely result in being banned from grapefruit eventually, and you don't want that.