First, choose a beautiful pomelo that feels a little heavy for its size. If it’s heavy, it’s juicy, and your fingers, chin, and the corners of your mouth will be dripping with its sticky-sweet acid dew.
Next, cut the cupola off the top of the fruit, being careful not to pierce the flesh too much. Use the pomelo top as a cat yarmulka, or your dog’s bark mitzvah. Alternatively, put it on your own damn head if you don’t have a pet, or prefer not to be clawed and bloody before gorging on citrus.
Now, score the pomelo. Ten! Ten! Tens across the board!
With a knife, doofus. A small paring knife. Score it at the halfway mark, as if you’re about to cut it in half, but think better of it. Then score it the other way, so you have quarters.
Pry the peel off the fruit by shoving your fingers greedily into the thick white pith and pull. Use the scores in the peel to guide you in each section. When that’s off, you can yank the segments apart in large chunks. Focus on exposing the citrusy flesh of each segment, ripping off as much membrane as you can. The membrane is bitter as hell. If you pull the flesh out in just the right way, the corpuscles detach from the membrane just so.
I like to rip out small handfuls of fleshy citrus and toss them into a bowl, like some sort of brutal citrus fruit serial killer. I’ll eat you, my little pretty, and your little dog too!
When you’ve extracted every corpuscle of pomelo goodness, grab a spoon, or use your hands, and sit your ass down on your sofa and get very comfortable.
Try to eat perhaps half the fruit, so as not to spike your blood sugar. Then fail miserably. Twenty minutes later, regard the carnage left behind, and marvel at your stamina and gluttony.
