Big dipper

On Friday, I had dinner with Darius, my best friend and perhaps the most charming person I know. He posseses not the treacliness associated with "charm" these days, but rather casts a spell upon everyone he meets without thinking twice. It is an incredible gift of which I'm sure he is completely oblivious, and I would be lying if I said I didn't hold out hope that this super power of his would rub off on me.

While I wait for that magical moment, I take pleasure in, and complete advantage of, the fact that Darius is also the most adventurous eater I know. The ideal dining companion, he is willing to try anything, and truly likes most foods. (Except chocolate. This unfortunate trait would normally make me mistrust someone and send our so-called friendship plummeting into a deep pit of miserable disrepair, but as I said, Darius is a charmer, and the prospect of having extra chocolate all to myself continues to be too irresistable to pass up.)

But as I was saying, I had dinner with Darius Friday night. Craving kebabs and rice, we followed the advice of one of my former co-workers, Sarah, a gifted writer and quite the gourmande, and made our way to Tabboule, a casual family affair hidden in a strip mall and serving up traditional Lebanese food in big portions. It wasn't meant to be much of an adventure - the online menu boasted standard Middle Eastern fare and even the perennially enigmatic route into Ridgewood, a northern New Jersey village, proved quick and simple. I knew what I wanted - chicken kebabs, not boring I promise! - but a quick glance across the quarter page of appetizers caught me offguard. Muhammara...

Now, I'd heard of muhammara - a sultry spread comprised of roasted red bell peppers, walnuts, pomegranate (either molasses or whole seeds) and a healthy dose of heat (cumin and hot red pepper flakes or chile) - but had never before had the opportunity to try it.

When it arrived, the bright red paste, flecked with a kaleidoscope of multi-sized ground nuts and illuminated by an oily sheen, dominated the white table, upstaging even Darius's babaganoush. And the taste... even better than I had expected: at once smooth and grainy, sweet and spicy and tart. My taste buds were overloaded, and I couldn't get enough. I put it on my chicken, on pita chips and on pita bread, repeatedly ate it by the spoonful (sorry, Darius!), and finally spread it into the fluffy rice that that my dear friend thought he was too full to eat. Heavenly.

Now, I could give you a recipe for muhammara, but I have yet to come up with it myself sooo I will direct you to http://chocolateandzucchini.com/archives/2007/12/muhammara_bell_pepper_spread_with_walnuts_and_cashews.php, where the delightful Clotilde Dusoulier has provided one that is bound to be sensational.

Instead, I'm including a recipe for one of my absolute favorite foods, which, after devouring the muharrama, I couldn't help but crave and absolutely had to make today. Called Zeitoun Parvardeh, this vegetarian caviar is similar to muharrama in that it involves throwing walnuts and pomegranate paste into the food processor, but the roasted red peppers are replaced by green olives. It is infinitely more tart, which I absolutely adore.


Like the muharrama, this is most often eaten as a spread or dip, but the possibilities really are endless. For example, I tossed it together with some whole wheat penne, something like a sour, nutty pesto. My poor dad is still shaking his head at the sacrilegious pairing, but I have a feeling that Darius, who is getting his own jar of the concoction since I made way to much, will approve.


Zeitoon Parvardeh
Courtesy of my mother
One 6.5 ounce package of pitted green olives (about 36 large olives), drained and rinsed
1.5 cups shelled walnuts
1/4 to 1/2 cup of concentrated pomegranate juice or syrup, available in Middle Eastern stores
1/4 to 1/2 cup lemon juice
1/2 teaspoon ground golpar, available in Middle Eastern stores
Salt and pepper to taste
2 cloves garlic, optional

Grind walnuts in food processor until fine and add to a medium-sized bowl. Add olives, either whole or chopped depending on preference. (I love the chewiness and leave them whole.)
Add 1/4 cup of pomegranate syrup. Combine using a spoon or spatula and taste. If you can handle a more sour spread, continue to add the remaining 1/4 cup, tasting as you go. Repeat with the lemon juice, mixing and tasting as you add.
Add garlic, crushed, if you like, but I leave it out. (Garlic is forbidden in my parents' house, but that will have to be the topic of a future post...)
Add the golpar, combine and taste, and add salt and pepper to taste.

Note: The spread can be eaten immediately, but will reach its peak flavor in about 3 days. It can be stored in an airtight container in the refrigerator for about a week, if it lasts that long.