Usually I tend to be a rather shy person, quiet until I really get to know a person. But take me to a grocery store, and I get positively verbose. I love to chat with strangers in the check-out line about what they are buying. It is very voyeuristic. For those moments you get a glimpse as to what type of person they are. Do they have pets, children? Are they health nuts, junk food junkies? And occasionally someone has something in their cart with which I am unfamiliar. In those cases I have to ask them what it is they’re buying; and what they plan on doing with it.

Last week I was waiting in an endless line at Berkeley Bowl (a ginormous grocery store with an unbelievable ethnic and produce section). I noticed the woman ahead of me in line with a large bag of tightly clustered, tiny, grape-like bunches. I was immediately intrigued, and asked her what they were. Her reply was sour grapes. She explained they were tart, underripe fruit, that are available for only a short amount of time each year. She buys them in bulk when she can, freezes them, then simmers the clusters whole in vegetable dishes, especially acidic ones. I had been waiting in my endless line too long to get out and retrieve some, but I knew this was a fruit I definitely needed to try.

The next week, with lines much shorter at the Bowl, I purchased a small bundle of sour grapes, and went right home to do some research. The research itself wasn’t too fruitful (pardon the pun). But I did discover that sour grape extract, a highly concentrated version of the juice, is typically used in Iranian vegetable dishes, imparting a subtle, yet tart flavor. I popped one of these chartreuse orbs into my mouth to taste them raw. They weren’t kidding when they called these things sour grapes– they are T-A-R-T! But simmered quickly in vegetables, they were delicious.

The closest I can come to describing the flavor of cooking with sour grapes is– more. More acidic, more tart, more tasty. I had simmered the cluster with summer squash and freshly diced tomatoes. Seasoned very simply with a bit of salt and pepper, and a touch of chili flake, I added the cluster as the tomatoes broke down to create a sauce. I then simmered the whole concoction until the heat from the mixture began to burst the individual grapes. The grapes lost there beautiful vibrancy, and deflated a bit, but they imparted a wonderful mix of acid and savory to an otherwise plain vegetable medley. The tomatoes were an ideal antidote to the sour grapes, the two flavors playing off one another magnificently.

And a funny thing happened at the market that week. While I was in line buying my sour grapes, a woman in line with me turned and asked me what I was buying, and how I cooked the grapes. I told her the little bit that I knew, so hopefully she will buy some sour grapes at the grocery soon. Let the chain continue.