The Ingredient That Doesn't Exist Near You: A Three-Store Odyssey for One Tablespoon of Something Unpronounceable

The recipe looked simple. It had a beautiful photograph. The person who wrote it described it as "weeknight-friendly" and "totally approachable," two phrases that should be regulated by the FDA because they are doing serious damage to the American consumer.

The recipe requires pomegranate molasses. One tablespoon. You need one tablespoon of pomegranate molasses for what was supposed to be a casual Tuesday dinner, and you are now in the third grocery store of the evening, standing in an aisle that smells like cardamom and quiet desperation.

That's exactly what happens.

The Recipe Blog Exists in a Parallel Universe

Food bloggers, bless their hearts, live somewhere with a Whole Foods, an international market, a Middle Eastern grocery, and a specialty spice shop all within walking distance. They do not think twice about pomegranate molasses. They have three bottles. One is backup. They are genuinely confused why you'd consider substituting it with anything.

You live near a Kroger, a Walmart, and a gas station that sells beef jerky and lottery tickets. Your culinary infrastructure is not the same. Your culinary infrastructure has never heard of pomegranate molasses and, when you describe it to the stock associate, responds with an expression that suggests you may have made the word up.

The associate checks the system anyway. The system says no. The system is correct.

The First Store Is Optimistic

You go to your regular grocery store first because you are an optimist and also because you haven't accepted what's happening yet. You check the baking aisle, the international foods section — which is one shelf between the pasta and the soy sauce — and the condiment aisle, twice, in case you missed it.

You find regular molasses. You stand in front of it for a long time, reading the label as if it might reveal something. It does not. It is just molasses. It has no pomegranate involvement whatsoever.

You buy it anyway, because somewhere in your brain you have already decided that regular molasses might work and you just need to commit to that decision later, in private, away from the judgment of the internet.

The Second Store Is Where Hope Goes to Get Complicated

The second store is Whole Foods, because of course it is. You walk in, immediately feel underdressed, and head to the section where they keep ingredients that cost eleven dollars for a very small jar. The selection is impressive. There is date syrup. There is black garlic paste. There is something called "golden balsamic" that costs more than your lunch.

There is no pomegranate molasses.

There is, however, pomegranate juice, pomegranate seeds, and a very enthusiastic employee who suggests you could make pomegranate molasses if you reduce the juice long enough. He says this like it's a fun project and not a forty-minute detour from the dinner you were supposed to be eating ninety minutes ago.

You smile. You thank him. You do not make pomegranate molasses.

The Third Store Is a Spiritual Experience

Somebody on a Reddit thread said the international grocery store on the other side of town definitely has it. You drive there. The store is wonderful — it smells incredible, the shelves are packed with things you don't recognize and immediately want to try, and there is a whole section dedicated to products you have never encountered in any American chain store.

You find tamarind paste. You find rose water. You find preserved lemons, dried limes, and a spice blend whose label you photograph to look up later. You find seven things you weren't looking for and will absolutely buy.

You find pomegranate molasses.

It costs four dollars and is exactly where it should have been all along. You hold it like a person who has been on a journey. You have been on a journey. You put three bottles in your basket because you are not coming back.

The Substitution You Made Is Now Part of the Recipe

Here is the twist: by the time you get home, it's 8:45 PM and you have already eaten a granola bar and a handful of crackers and made several important decisions about dinner. The pomegranate molasses is going in the cabinet. The recipe is going on the back burner, literally and metaphorically. Tonight you are making pasta.

The regular molasses sits on the counter. You put it away. You and the regular molasses both know what almost happened.

Next weekend, you will make the original recipe. It will be good. You will use a full teaspoon of pomegranate molasses instead of one tablespoon because the bottle is precious now and you're rationing it like a resource. The dish will be slightly less complex than intended. You will tell everyone it's "your version" of the recipe, as if that was always the plan.

You will find a new recipe on Monday. It calls for sumac.

Oh, that happens.