pomegranate

The crisp leaves form an artful little forest on their plate, which pops with garnishes of diced mango and pomegranate seeds and fulfills the mission of a proper chaat.

Then there’s the stuff of historical lore, like figs, pomegranates, and cinnamon.

Crimson pomegranate seeds, shaved Brussels sprouts and crumbled gorgonzola cheese are beautiful and delicious atop a veneer of creamed onions and a sourdough crust that’s soft enough to fold.

For an hour, we cross fields of barley and watermelons, and orchards of figs and pomegranates.

Without speaking a word of Ukrainian, I somehow landed myself a bag of pomegranates harvested from the garden of a fellow passenger.

Gin and white vermouth shaken with salted pomegranate syrup, dappled with rosewater.

The real risk here—the proverbial and theological snake in the grass—is the pomegranate-flavored sports drink.

Persephone snacked on pomegranate seeds in Hades and now our gas bills rocket in January.

Historians hypothesize that the fruit in the Garden of Eden was a pomegranate, not an apple.

This still is from a video called “Pomegranate”, in the new solo show by Ori Gersht at the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston.

Her eyes smile, her mouth is a pomegranate endowed with sensibility, with a sensibility which seems quite fresh.

The earth swallows up the sanguinary ruins of his manhood, and in their place comes up a pomegranate tree in full bearing.

In this legend, we see one son born without a human mother, and a second without any other father than Rimmon, or a pomegranate.

A grand treat was a purple or crimson pomegranate given by a kindly neighbour.

Balaustion—wild pomegranate flower—has in her something of the Greek; but she has also an ineffable touch of our modern time.