Pomegranate

Greek yogurt lends an unexpected tanginess to this light no-bake cheesecake. Use pomegranate juice that has been flash-pasteurized (such as Pom); fresh juice can turn brown when cooked.

This is a salsa, but whenever I make it I just end up eating it by the spoonful like a salad. The combination of the tart, crisp pomegranate, creamy cheese, and crunchy pine nuts makes a wonderful topping for grilled fish or even a carne asada taco. Pine nuts can be expensive because of the labor-intensive work of extracting them from the pine cones, plus they have a high fat content, which makes them turn rancid quickly. So buy a small quantity and store them in the fridge for no longer than three months.

Pilafs originated in the Middle East, where they are usually made with rice. The rice is toasted in butter or oil along with aromatic vegetables such as onion, then the mixture is cooked with stock (or water) in the oven. The grain is ready for the liquid to be added when it gives off a nutty, toasted aroma. The desired texture of a pilaf is fluffy, with no grains sticking to each other. Pilafs can contain a variety of other ingredients, such as dried fruit, nuts, and pasta such as orzo. Here is a basic recipe, followed by two variations.

Use a citrus reamer, juicer, or press to extract the pomegranate juice.

Demeter, the goddess of grain, hallowed by i siculi—the warrior tribe that inhabited the island before the Greeks—was all of resplendence, even to the high crown formed from her flaxen braids. It was she who illuminated the magic of sowing seeds beneath the earth and then protecting them, feeding them, and growing them up into ripeness. The tribe’s harvests grew ever more abundantly, the goddess conjuring the sun and the rain and the breezes on their behalf, they honoring her with great bonfires under the full moon’s light and ritual offerings of bread and wine. The island was Elysium, uninterrupted. And then, heaving himself up through a rent in the earth’s crust, Pluto stole Demeter’s daughter, Persephone, as plunder for his abyss. Demeter screeched and mourned and cast Sicilia into darkness. There was nothing to nourish her tribe save the tears Demeter cried down from the heavens. So clamorously did the goddess petition him that Pluto succumbed, vowing riddance to the child as much as to her shrewish mother. He would liberate Persephone. Only then, though, did Pluto take note that Persephone had cut in two a pomegranate, and that she sat slaking her child’s thirst on its juices and its glistening, rosy seeds—a blunder. He howled up at her mother that Persephone had devoured the sacred seeds of fertility, and for this sin he must halve his promise. Just as she had broken the fruit, Persephone would be liberated for only six months of every year. And, as penance, she must, each year and everlastingly, stay six months in the shades of Hades. And so it was that Demeter heralded the sun and the rain and raised up the wheat, thick and golden, from May through October, when Persephone was at her side, leaving the island barren and under an impotent sun from November until April—her half-mourning an allegory of the seasons, of life and of death. In the early springtime, one can see still the great roaring fires lit by Sicilian wheat farmers and whole villages in dance and song, invoking the gods’ promise to keep safe their newly sown fields. Only now, old, sweet Demeter, pagan that she was, has been supplanted by St. Joseph, her powers having been ferried over into his realm. Not so long after a woman in Palermo had told us this story of Demeter, we were staying awhile in Enna, an interior agricultural city. One evening, the man who served our supper of rough-cut semolina pasta with a mutton sauce and thick chops of pork, oven-roasted with wild onions, dispatched to our table his mother—a fine country cook—with the sad news that she’d had not a moment to put together some rustic little tart or other that day. There would be no sweet. Unless, of course, she murmured, we’d like a pomegranate with un cucchiaino di zabaglione—a small spoonful of custard. We agreed. What she brought forth to us on an old plate of cranberry-colored glass were two pomegranates that seemed to be broken rather than cut in two, their crimson juices spilling out from the jagged shells with tiny coffee spoons plunged into the hearts of seeds. Two diminutive porcelain pitchers of some winy custard were laid beside the plate. We were urged to pour the custard over, into the pomegranates. Sweet but not quite sweet against the tart, peppery seeds, the sauce was the color of ambered muscadine, its scent that of crushed violets. It was a plate quietly, achingly beautiful to see and to eat. Later, when we asked her son if we might give our thanks to his mother for the fine supper and, especially, for the pomegranates, he told us that she’d gone upstairs to bed. Thinking to write our thanks in a little note, I asked him, “What is her name?” “Mia madre si chiama Demetra,” said the man. “My mother is called Demeter.” Startled, dazed even, for a moment, the story of Demeter came racing to mind. Thinking the note unnecessary, all we said w...

This time of year, with pomegranates in season, I find myself spooning this salsa over all sorts of things, from duck to turkey and even grilled fish.

I stole the marinade in this recipe from my husband. That strange combination of ingredients—toasted bay leaves, coriander, white pepper, honey, and sherry—lends an exotic and aromatic quality to the squab. Farro, Kabocha squash, and cavolo nero are three of my favorite things on earth, so in this dish, I just give in, sautéing them all together into a slightly labor-intensive but super-delicious “stir-fry.” I could eat it for lunch (or dinner!) every day. Embellished with a jewellike pomegranate salsa, this dish is a foray into the Near East.

This is one of those salads that I can’t stop eating once I start. It’s thirst quenching, crunchy, and downright addictive. The juice from the pomegranate binds with the olive and hazelnut oils to make a bright, acidic dressing for the peppery arugula and sweet persimmons. Juicing your own pomegranates is easy, but if you’re not careful, it can result in some embarrassing mishaps. One night at Lucques, a customer asked for a pomegranate martini. Bartender Soren Banks, having seen a bowl of pomegranates in the kitchen, happily agreed to make her one. He rushed back to the kitchen for a quick juicing lesson, and then back to the bar. Following what he interpreted to be my instructions, he proceeded to spray himself and all the customers at the bar with the bright-red juice. Fortunately, everyone was more amused than angry, especially after a free round of pomegranate martinis (juiced this time in the kitchen). See Fall Market Report (page 205) for the best way to juice a pomegranate.

This vinaigrette is fabulous spooned over roasted veggies and grilled eggplant.

There are two varieties of persimmons available on the market, fuyu and hachiya. Fuyu are round and flat and are eaten while still crisp; they make colorful and tasty salads. Hachiya are elongated with a pointy tip, and are tannic until ripe and very, very soft.

Using pomegranate juice instead of water to make this nut brittle not only makes for a beautiful magenta-tinted caramel color but also adds a very subtle flavor of the pomegranate. Serve this buttery treat with ice cream, or pack it in cellophane bags and tie them with festive bows for delicious party favors.

Like raspberries and chocolate, pomegranate and chocolate make a very sexy couple, and they give this sorbet a little more body and interest than your basic fruit flavors. Its sweet-tart flavor is refreshing on a hot day, and the mint syrup has a real cooling effect.

GINA This always makes me think of that “Love Potion #9” song! And that’s exactly what your sweetie will be thinking when you make him this extra-special potion. When he asks you what’s in it, don’t tell him! He’ll probably think it’s a little girly, because it’s red and pretty. But what he won’t know is that this potion packs a wallop, thanks to the pomegranate’s aphrodisiac qualities. So potion up, ladies. You’ll thank me later.

Brussels sprouts used to be up there with lima beans on the list of vegetables people claimed to hate, but I think they’re having an overdue resurgence in popularity. These roasted Brussels sprouts are tender yet firm and have a wonderful nutty, earthy flavor. Rich hazelnuts add texture, as does the tart pop of garnet-colored pomegranate seeds. This is a beautiful fall side dish.