When I grew up we had a beautiful pomegranate tree in our garden. Although my mother didn’t cook jam often from the fruit, I still remember how my uncle and father broke the fruit open and showed us kids the rows of pips inside. They used to spit the pips like “bokdrolletjies” which usually ended in a lot of laughter and hysteria. I will always cherish those lazy Sundays and the joy of being together as a family in the shade of that beautiful pomegranate tree. Although I couldn’t find any pomegranate trees in my neighbourhood, I went ahead and bought it from a local market – my début collection of jams just wouldn’t be complete without the sinfully sweet pomegranate and the memories encased in these pips.