Arsip Tag: pomegranate
I cannot resist buying pomegranates. When they start start popping up in stores each year, I have to take them home with me and either beg Alex to take them apart in his neat or organized way (show off), or do it myself and splatter the walls and my shirt and stain my fingertips a telltale pink for days (typical). It’s all worth it. They are this seafood-phobic’s caviar.
But aside from, well, you know, eating them straight, which is nothing to complain about, I rarely know what to DO with them. What does one make with pomegranates? Oh, I am sure all of you creative people have 100 ideas. You make pomegranate upside down cakes and delicate custards with whole seeds suspended in them. You freeze them into bubbly sorbets. But me, I just have this salad.
Oh, and I didn’t even eat it. Yeah, that’s right. I’m telling you about a recipe–in fact, encouraging you to make it–that I haven’t even tasted. I have some nerve. But really, I was stuffed. We had too much food at the election night party and I put this out late, when even eating a bite of it would have sent me over the edge. (Or worse, rendered me too full to eat dessert.) Yet everyone loved it, picked at it and eventually left none on the plate for me to eat the next day when I was all “who ate all my food?”
So you should make this. It’s really, really good. I hear.
Two years ago: Homemade Whole Cranberry Sauce, Alex’s Mother’s Cranberry Sauce and Cranberry Sauce with Port and Dried Figs
Fennel, Prosciutto and Pomegranate Salad
Adapted from Bon Appetit, November 2008
Serves 4 to 6
2 cups very thinly sliced fennel bulb
3 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil, divided
1/4 teaspoon coarse kosher salt
6 cups arugula (about 4 ounces)
1 cup thinly sliced green onions
1/4 cup thinly sliced mint leaves
1 1/2 tablespoons balsamic vinegar
6 ounces thinly sliced prosciutto, torn into strips
1/2 cup pomegranate seeds
Toss fennel and 1 tablespoon olive oil in medium bowl. Sprinkle with 1/4 teaspoon salt. (Planning ahead? I did this a day in advance.)
Combine arugula, green onions, mint, vinegar, and 2 tablespoons olive oil in large bowl; toss. Season with salt and pepper.
Divide greens among plates. Top with fennel, then drape with prosciutto. Sprinkle pomegranate seeds over. (We did this totally out of order. We’re fired.)
I know what you’re thinking; you don’t even need to say it: It’s time for a fritter intervention. A frittervention? Here, I’ll go first: My name is Deb Perelman and I have a fritter problem. And I really do. I pretty much want to fritter all the things, all the time — broccoli, zucchini, apples, parsnips, an Indian medley, leeks (here), and potatoes, potatoes, potatoes, I actually have to hold myself back, and try to evenly space my fritter episodes throughout the year, so not to pique your concern about my fritter consumption. It’s not easy because no matter how many times I talk it out in a circle of understanding peers, I fear I will still think that fritters are the answer to most food dilemmas, most of the time.
They’re the ideal toddler vegetable delivery method. Aside a bowl of lightly dressed mixed greens for the lunch I’m supposed to be having (not, cough, leftover pizza), a couple fritters make it all worthwhile. Alone on a plate, dolloped with a creamy yogurt sauce, they’re a happy afternoon snack. And formed intentionally tiny, they belong at a cocktail party. As do you.
In my defense, I hadn’t frittered in nearly six months before I slipped. The last time, it was broccoli and it was angled specifically towards the toddler set. There was parmesan and only a tiny, non-threatening amount of garlic. The goal was not to ruffle any overtaxed young mealtime feathers. So, of course, you know what happened: my sample population, my toddler, refused to eat them. In response, these fritters don’t care. (Sorry, kid.) There’s more garlic, lemon zest, salty, crumbly feta cheese and they’re flecked with kicky Aleppo pepper. That’s a smoky cumin yogurt on top. They’re dotted with tart pomegranate seeds. Once again, you probably already know what happened: “More please!”
Nevertheless, they want to go to a party with you and I think you should let them. In a December that is to the gills with buttery cookies, decadent cheese plates, stiff drinks and rich roasts, they might even be a little island of moderation, as decked out with tiny red bulbs as the nearest windowsill.
One year ago: Dijon-Braised Brussels Sprouts
Two years ago: Sweet Potatoes with Pecans and Goat Cheese, Creamed Onions with Bacon and Chives and Sweet Corn Spoonbread
Three years ago: Raisin-Studded Apple Bread Pudding, Swiss Chard and Sweet Potato Gratin and Sweet Potato Buttermilk Pie
Four years ago: Pepita Brittle, Cottage Cheese Pancakes, How to Max Out Your Tiny Kitchen and Leite’s Connsummate Chocolate Chip Cookies
Five years ago: Black Bean Pumpkin Soup, Apricot and Walnut Vareniki, Chicken with Chanterelles and Pearl Onions and Our Approach To Food Photos
Six years ago: Dreamy Cream Scones and Shrimp Cocktail, Artichoke-Potato Gratin
Cauliflower-Feta Fritters with Smoky Yogurt, Pomegranate
Makes 18 2-inch fritters
I prefer fritters with a lot of vegetable and just the faintest amount of batter, loosely tethering the vegetable chunks to each other. It will seem weird as you put the piles of batter in the pan — “these are going to fall apart!” — but gently nudge any loose pieces back on the pile and I promise, once they’re cooked, they will stay together and their flavor will be crisp and clear, uncluttered by an eggy, soft batter.
1 small head cauliflower (1 pound florets, i.e. stems and leaves removed), cut into generous 1 to 2 inch chunks
1 large egg
1 garlic clove, minced
Few gratings of fresh lemon zest
3 ounces crumbled feta (about 1/2 cup)
1/2 cup all-purpose flour
1/4 teaspoon Aleppo pepper flakes; less if using regular red pepper flakes, which are hotter
3/4 teaspoon table salt or more to taste
1/2 teaspoon baking powder
Olive oil for frying
3/4 cup yogurt
1/2 teaspoon ground cumin
Salt and pepper to taste
Handful pomegranate arils
Cook cauliflower in simmering salted water, uncovered, until tender, about 5 to 6 minutes, until firm but tender. Using a slotted spoon, transfer to a bowl of ice water to stop cooking. Drain well. Spread on towels to dry as much as possible.
In the bottom of a large bowl, whisk together egg, garlic and lemon zest. Add cauliflower florets and mash with a potato masher until they’re crushed into an average of pea-sized pieces (i.e. some will be bigger, some smaller, but most will be little nubs). Sprinkle in feta and stir to combine egg mixture, cauliflower and feta. In a small dish, whisk flour, salt, pepper and baking powder until evenly combined. Sprinkle over cauliflower batter and stir just until combined.
Heat oven to 200 degrees F and place a tray inside. On the stove, heat a large, heavy skillet over moderate heat. Once hot, add a good slick of oil, about 2 to 3 tablespoons. Once the oil is hot (you can test it by flicking a droplet of water into it; it should hiss and sputter), scoop a two tablespoon-size mound of the batter and drop it into the pan, then flatten it slightly with your spoon or spatula. Repeat with additional batter, leaving a couple inches between each. Once brown underneath, about 2 to 3 minutes, flip each fritter and cook on the other side until equally golden, about another 1 to 2 minutes.
Transfer briefly to paper towels to drain, then the tray in the oven to keep them warm until needed. Once all fritters are cooked, mix yogurt with cumin, salt and pepper. Spread fritters on serving platter. Dollop each with cumin yogurt and sprinkle with pomegranate arils.
Do ahead: Fritters both freeze and reheat well. To warm and recrisp them, lay them on a tray and toast them at 400 degrees in the oven until crisp again.
Things I Learned Hosting My First Friendsgiving
• As I realized last week, what makes big meals (we had 16 people) scary isn’t the cooking as much as the sheer volume of it all and the logistics required to manage them. I mean, who here has a kitchen that was built to feed 16? Trust me, it’s not you, it’s your kitchen making things hard.
• Thus the more time you spend plotting things out, the less stressful it will be. Because I’m Team Casserole, i.e. I prefer dishes that are deep and bubbly, can be made well in advance and reheat well, they’re all fairly forgiving of too long or short warming times. Too long, they get a little extra crunchy and toasted on top (yum), too little, they still pack a lot of warmth inside, even if they’re not bubbling hot. I warmed all of the dishes before the turkey went in and then slid in one or two while it roasted. When the turkey came out and we needed 30 minutes to rest and carve it, all the sides went back in to warm.
• Everything that can be done in advance, should be, and as early as possible. You’re doing it for you. When we have a lot of people over, this often leads to me quite over-exhausting myself the night before getting everything prepped that can be, but then I wake up rested and we’re 80% there. It’s not actually a stressful day, which means we’re far more likely to enjoy the party. If I can’t finish prep the night before, I’ll do it in the morning. It’s essential to me that there’s a little window of vegging/non-cooking time between prepping stuff and cooking the stuff that must be done at the last-minute. It’s also a great time to change into something fresh.
• All the pies were made earlier in the week and either went into the fridge (pecan) or freezer (pumpkin) until needed.
• Finally, I think we should all buy each other trivets for Christmukkah. I have… 4? What kind of Thanksgiving has only 4 hot dishes coming out of the kitchen? None we want to be at, thank you very much.
About That Turkey
• Turkeys are amusingly hard to find a week before Thanksgiving.
• Brining is a delicious nightmare. I know a lot of people don’t do it. I know you don’t need to. I know there are less-insane options, like dry-brining. But I am really not hugely into turkey to begin with because I always find it dry and often flavorless. And I don’t want a little overcooking to ruin it. Thus: brining. Oh, but what a comedy it was and by comedy, I mean cry-laugh emoji. It involved a 19.5-pound bird, 1 of these bags and 2.5 gallons of brine, which turned out to create a forceful enough pressure on the bag to pop it open. Mopping was involved. Then I got it into the fridge (40 pounds, no easy feat and yet somehow still easier than that time I had to carry my 20-pounder out of the grocery store sideways with an arced back… life math be crazy) and discovered that the bottom had a tiny hole in it and I don’t know if normal people whose mothers were not microbiologists list salmonella among their greatest fears, but raw turkey juice everywhere in the fridge dripping into the produce drawers required a hazmat-suit level of cleaning until I could stop worrying.
• Where’s the recipe, Deb? We were so happy with the turkey but I cannot in good conscience share with you a recipe for something so epic that I’ve only made once. I mean, what if I missed something major and ruin all of your holidays? So, I promise, it’s coming and it’s going to be worth the wait.
• Ina Garten’s Baked Fontina (I hope to share a more budgeted version of this soon)
• Corn Muffins (brought by a friend)
• A Giant Kale Caesar made with a riff on this dressing. I’d intended to make this salad, however.
• A Roast Turkey Mash-Up That Was About 50% Thomas Keller, 30% Gourmet and 20% Alton Brown
• Cathy Barrow’s Challah Stuffing With Mushroom and Celery with homemade challah, because crazy things happen in my freezer
• Green Bean Casserole with Crispy Onions (doubled)
• Roasted Delicata Squash with Brown Butter, Lime and Pepitas, except I ran out of time so they were just roasted
• Root Vegetable Gratin
• Baked Beans (brought by a friend)
• Ree Drummond’s Twice-Baked Potato Casserole (brought by a friend)
• Cranberry Sauce (brought by a friend, the one who taught me to make my own back in the day)
• Cheesecake-Marbled Pumpkin Slab Pie
• A Very Large Pecan Pie
• By the way, we made everything above except the gravy and obviously the turkey vegetarian simply by using vegetable stock; it wasn’t a challenge and nobody missed out on a thing. For the twice-baked potatoes, an area was left bacon-free on top.
• Do not underestimate the power of one really great, crunchy salad, the perfect contrast to all the butter-drenched and gluten-full wonders across the table. It goes quickly. I’m sharing today the salad I’d intended to make; I think it’s the perfect last-minute addition to any menu and so easy to bring with you from home. I guarantee the host will appreciate it.
• Finally, ask me anything! I feel like I know 100x as much about Thanksgiving as I did 72 hours ago and most of what I did is very fresh in my head. I’m happy to answer any questions you have in the comments below. I’ll probably attack them mostly this evening, so don’t fret if you don’t get an immediate response.
One year ago: Roasted Leek and White Bean Galettes and Date Breakfast Squares
Two years ago: Classic Pecan Pie with Praline Sauce and Crispy Sweet Potato Roast
Three years ago: Green Bean Casserole with Crispy Onions, Apple-Herb Stuffing for All Seasons, Cauliflower with Brown Butter Crumbs and Parsley Leaf Potatoes
Four years ago: Cauliflower-Feta Fritters with Pomegranate
Five years ago: Gingersnaps and Sweet Potato and Marshmallow Biscuits
Six years ago: Creamed Onions with Bacon and Chives and Sweet Corn Spoonbread
Seven years ago: Sweet Potato and Buttermilk Pie, Creamed Spinach and Gingerbread Apple Upside-Down Cake
Eight years ago: Silky Smooth Pumpkin Pie, Home Fries, Apple Pancakes and Fennel Proscuitto and Pomegranate Salad
Nine years ago: Pumpkin Waffles and Creamy White Polenta with Mushrooms and Nutmeg-Maple Cream Pie
Ten! years ago: Three Cranberry Sauces and No-Knead Bread
And for the other side of the world:
Six Months Ago: Roasted Carrots with Avocado and Yogurt and Almond Rhubarb Picnic Bars
1.5 Years Ago: Fake Shack Burger and Swirled Berry Yogurt Popsicles
2.5 Years Ago: Soft Pretzel Buns and Knots
3.5 Years Ago: Greek Salad with Lemon and Oregano
4.5 Years Ago: Vidalia Onion Soup with Wild Rice
Brussels Sprouts, Apple and Pomegranate Salad
This is a crunchy, bright abundantly November-ish salad that hails from Michael Solomonov’s Zahav cookbook. In the book, he calls it tabbouleh and explains that while in the U.S., tabbouleh is usually made with bulgur wheat, parsley and chopped tomatoes, in Israel, you’re unlikely to find it made the same way twice, and I’d say the same for Solomonov’s versions too. In the book, he’s swapped kale for parsley but I’ve also seen him do the same with shredded brussels. He says he enjoys swapping quinoa for the bulgur, and adding pomegranate when it is in season. In the fall, he said he enjoys adding apples and walnuts, and will sometimes even replace the grain entirely with walnuts. And it from here that we’ve ended up with a dish I won’t even call tabbouleh, so not to confuse anyone, but a salad, and an excellent one at that. Between his book and the various outlets that have published versions of this salad, I found almost no two recipes alike so I instead set out all the ingredients and added them at the levels I liked most. You, too, can and should adjust the flavors to taste.
- 1/2 large red onion, diced small
- 2 tablespoons red wine vinegar
- 2 teaspoons ground sumac
- 1/4 teaspoon kosher salt, plus more to season salad
- 2 cups shredded brussels sprouts
- 1/2 cup fresh pomegranate seeds (from about 1/2 a large one)
- 1/2 a large unpeeled apple, cored and diced (I used Granny Smith, the book recommends Pink Lady or Honeycrisp)
- Juice of half a lemon, plus more to taste
- 1 1/2 to 2 tablespoons honey, plus more to taste
- 1/4 cup olive oil
- 3/4 cup toasted, cooled walnuts, lightly crushed or coarsely chopped
- Ground chipotle chile pepper, urfa biber peppers, hot smoked paprika or another chile flake, to taste
Combine all salad ingredients, including red onions and their pickling liquid, in a medium bowl and season to taste with salt and red pepper. Taste and adjust ingredients as desired — I’ve seen versions of the recipe with more honey, olive oil and lemon; I didn’t need them but you might find you do.
This salad can be prepped ahead, but I’d keep the dressing off of it until at most an hour before serving so it doesn’t discolor the sprouts.
All January and early February, as glacial winds smacked us in our face on the walk to school — and somehow back too (uphill, both ways, etc.) — I counted down the days until we would go to Florida to visit my parents (who winter-as-a-verb there like all the other smart retirees of the Northeast) and thaw our bones for five days. Instead, the warm weather found its way here and apparently it’s been full-out spring while we were away but I’m not mad, how could I be, I was sitting on a beach in the middle of winter and it was exactly what we needed, or at least the 3/4 of us that are willing to let our feet touch the sand. Spotty wi-fi, falling asleep shortly after the kids did each night (one who learned a new word “mom-MEE!”) and great heaps of fresh fruit at the hotel’s breakfast buffet (shamelessly one of my favorite resort things) all contributed to an overall feeling of wellness that I hope to carry with me at least for the next 15 minutes, because I believe in keeping expectations reasonable.
[Somewhere in here is a wry observation of how far this is from the kid-free cocktails-on-the-beach style vacations we’ve taken other years, but if there’s anything that the retiree population of Florida makes clear it’s that you get those days back, although you might spend them cooing over other people’s tiny children and telling them how much you miss those exhausting days. I’ll spare you.]
Before I left, however, I made us a holiday-ish cocktail that instantly became my new favorite winter thing. We usually think of margaritas as the go-to Mexican cocktail, but the unfussy and unfancy paloma is much more a bar standard, part tequila and part grapefruit-flavored soda (usually Fresca, Squirt or Jarritos), saved on the rocks with a lime wedge, sometimes with a salt rim too. A grapefruit junkie, I like to make it with fresh juice and a splash of lightly sweetened seltzer, but when cleaning out the fridge before we went away I found both a full pomegranate (score!) and pomegranate juice and decided to make a version with both. It was fizzy, dark pink, tart-sweet perfection, all with a proper kick of tequila and I really, really think you should too.
One year ago: White Russian
Two years ago: Spaghetti Pangrattato with Crispy Eggs
Three years ago: Dijon and Cognac Beef Stew
Four years ago: Blood Orange Margaritas
Five years ago: Double Coconut Muffins
Six years ago: Spaghetti with Lemon and Olive Oil
Seven years ago: Monkey Bread with Cream Cheese Glaze and Cauliflower and Caramelized Onion Tart
Eight years ago: Devil’s Chicken Thighs with Braised Leeks and Red Kidney Bean Curry
Nine years ago: Pear and Almond Tart
Ten! years ago: For Beaming Bewitching Breads and Baked Tomato Sauce
And for the other side of the world:
Six Months Ago: Eggplant Parmesan Melts
1.5 Years Ago: Angel Hair Pasta with Raw Tomato Sauce
2.5 Years Ago: Smoky Eggplant Dip and Strawberries and Cream with Graham Crumbles
3.5 Years Ago: Rice-Stuffed Tomatoes and Almond-Crisped Peaches
4.5 Years Ago: Mediterranean Baked Feta with Tomatoes
Pomegranate Grapefruit Paloma
- 2 thin slices or small wedges grapefruit
- Kosher salt for rim, if desired
- 2 tablespoons grapefruit juice
- 2 tablespoons pomegranate juice
- 1 teaspoon honey, sugar or agave
- 1/4 cup white tequila
- About 3 medium-sized ice cubes
- 1/4 cup club soda or seltzer
- A few pomegranate arils (for garnish)
Place both juices and honey or sugar in the bottom of your glass and use a long spoon to stir it until combined, and/or until the sugar has dissolved. Add tequila, stir to combine. Add ice then club soda or seltzer. Garnish with additional grapefruit slices and pomegranate arils. Repeat as needed.