I don’t quite recall when I first experienced passionfruit. More than likely, it was at one of the two Brazilian restaurants we frequented in DC. “Brazil Tropical” was on the way to Georgetown, on Pennsylvania Ave (I think), while “Dona Flor” was on upper Wisconsin Avenue across from the movie theater where I paid to see Return of the Jedi. Even today, I regret spending money on that movie.
It was my custom to have a cocktail before dinner, and the one I settled on was the Batida de Maracuja, typically made with passionfruit juice and Cachaça (and sometimes with coconut milk). These went with the feijoada I loved. Caipirinhas, made with cachaça, lime, and sugar, proved too potent for dinner out—all the lime did was add a bit of opacity. Passionfruit has a flavor that tastes as if one is drinking flowers; very fragrant with a distinct tartness. If I were given to lapsing into runs of adjectives, as some overdo with wine, I would say it has a light, floral nose reminiscent of bubblegum, pineapple, and peaches with a coquettish tanginess. But, out of respect for you and the need to look at myself in the mirror, I refrain.
Fortunately, I have lived in cities with diverse populations, making authentic topical juices easy to find. So, I’ve been known to drop rum into a few juices in my day. Yet, despite my love for passionfruit, I had never seen one in real life. Then, one day a few years ago, in Publix of all places, I was picking over limes and lemons when a lady tapped me on the shoulder and pointed to a basket of wrinkled, purple-ish pods. “What is that?” she asked. Answering confidently, I said, “Passionfruit,” and turned to walk away. Then she hit me with, “How do you eat it?”
I stood there for at least 10-15 seconds until it dawned on me that I had no idea. For some reason, she felt a quick follow-up question would somehow yield more useful information, “Is it ripe?”
I picked one up, gave it a slight squeeze, and realized I had best go buy some milk. Putting the fruit down and walking away, I said sheepishly, “I have no idea.” Right then, I decided to buy one and try it (but not while she was looking).
A few weeks ago, for some reason, I remembered the grocery store incident as my wife was planning a shopping trip to the farmer’s market. She brought home three fruits, which sat in the sun until they became slightly wrinkled, which is how they look when ripe. (I did my own research; no, not that kind)
Once sufficiently wrinkled by the sun, I cut them open. I had seen pictures of cut passionfruit, so its appearance was no surprise. Still, they were more slimy than I expected. Also, there was very little juice. I took one blogger’s advice, put them in a container with water, and used a hand blender to break the seed pods. The result was a tangy liquid that was delicious with sugar added. Since I can buy passionfruit juice, I won’t bother buying the fruit again. Even better, passionfruit liqueur is quite tasty in orange juice, so we always have a few bottles on hand. I can make a Batida-ish drink in a few seconds, and it saves me the price of Cachaça—no slime, no mess.
Life is good, and if one must succumb to passion, this is the safest way. The next time I’m at the store and passionfruit is on display, I may hang around just in case someone has questions.
