Pomegranates make you think of Christmas: they are like baubles and, with their regal calyxes, could have been worn (or given as a gift) by the Wise Men. They have traditionally appeared in the festive season, a wonderfully dissonant note against parsnips and white celery. I love to find them in street markets, where they are defiantly exotic amid the watering-cans and bolts of cheap fabric.
That leathery crimson exterior holds a beehive-like network of creamy pith and glassy pink seeds. It has been marvelled at by writers (Gide wrote of its 'guarded treasure' and 'pentagonal architecture') and is loaded with symbolism. Greek books on dreams interpret them as a sign of temptation, sexual adventure, even danger. They were, of course, the undoing of Persephone. Kidnapped by Hades, she was allowed to return to earth if she didn't eat anything in the Underworld. But she couldn't resist the pomegranate and ate six seeds. So she had to stay there for six months every year, only to return to earth in the spring; Greeks still smash pomegranates on doorsteps at New Year in anticipation of the season to come. They also eat the seeds in a kind of porridge at funerals. So for them the fruit is double-edged. It has to do with death and danger, and with life.
It is double-edged for the cook as well. The seeds – lozenges of sweet-tart juice that burst on your tongue – will make almost any dish look beautiful: salads of green leaves and white feta, rose-scented milk puddings, bowls of pistachio-studded couscous . But retrieving them is a trial. The seeds are firmly held in the pith, which is both unsightly and bitter. If the fruit is very ripe, you can dislodge most seeds by halving it and hitting the leathery shell with a wooden spoon. But I find this rarely works. I generally end up gouging them out with a teaspoon and separating whatever pith adheres using my fingers.
It is worth the effort. Apart from figs, it's hard to think of a more otherworldly ingredient. Which brings me to a modern problem. A decade ago you saw pomegranates only at Christmas; now they are available year-round. They are so popular they are added to dishes willy-nilly. Summery strawberries with pomegranates? It doesn't work. Sprouts with pomegranates? It may be Christmas but this is not a match made in heaven. I usually encourage people to cook with abandon. But you are dealing with treasure here – don't turn it into bling.
You don't have to worry about precise timings as the lamb isn't served pink. Pomegranate molasses is a concentrated syrup of pomegranate juice. It is sweet-tart and very sticky. You can find it in Middle Eastern shops and larger supermarkets
2kg shoulder of lamb, bone in
9 cloves garlic roughly chopped
4½ tbsp pomegranate molasses
4½ tbsp runny honey
4 tbsp olive oil
Juice from 4 lemons
Leaves from a small bunch of mint, torn
½ onion, finely chopped
½ tbsp olive oil
2 crushed cloves garlic
500ml chicken or lamb stock
2 tbsp red-wine vinegar
2 tbsp torn mint leaves
pinch of sugar
1 pomegranate or 225g seeds
Leaves from a small bunch of mint, torn
4 cloves garlic, crushed
400g Greek yoghurt
Pierce the lamb all over, making deep slits in it with a very sharp knife. Crush the nine cloves of garlic to a paste with some seasoning, then add all the other ingredients for the lamb and pound some more. Put the meat in a 30cm Le Creuset Shallow Casserole, or on a huge piece of foil set in a roasting-tin (use two pieces at right angles to each other if need be) and pull up the sides so that none of the marinade will run out. Pour on the marinade, turning over the lamb so that it goes on both sides. Put in the fridge and leave to marinate for about 12 hours.
Preheat the oven to 200°C/gas 6. Put the lid on the casserole, or pull the foil over the lamb and seal to form a tent. Place in the oven and immediately reduce the heat to 160°C/gas 2. Cook for three to four hours, basting with the juices every so often. The lamb is cooked when you can pull the meat apart with a fork.
If you use a roasting-tin and foil, the juices around the lamb usually get burnt, so make the sauce with home-made stock. Sauté the onion in the olive oil until soft, then add the garlic and cook for a further two minutes or so. Add the stock and the vinegar and bring to the boil. If there are any unburnt juices from the lamb in the foil or the pan, add them. Boil until you have a sauce – a thin one is fine – then strain through a sieve. Add the mint and a little sugar to taste.
Mix the pomegranate seeds with the mint, and add the crushed garlic to the yoghurt. Shred the lamb at the table and serve with the yoghurt, the seeds and mint, plus some flat bread or couscous, and a salad of watercress and spinach, tossed with walnuts or hazelnuts. Offer the sauce on the side.
I get cravings for this fresh, light and scented dish. Don't assemble it too far in advance – it's good slightly chilled, but it's best not to put it in the fridge for too long as it loses its visual sparkle.
325ml water
Juice of 3 lemons
175g granulated sugar
1 broad strip lemon rind
1 broad strip orange rind
2 tbsp orange-flower water
8 dates, pitted, preferably medjool or deglet noor
5 oranges
½ pomegranate or 125g seeds
Heat the water, lemon juice and sugar together with the strips of peel, stirring from time to time to help the sugar dissolve. Bring to the boil then simmer for about 10 to 12 minutes until the mixture is syrupy. You will add orange juice to it later so it will get a bit thinner again. Leave the syrup to cool then strain and add the flower water.
Halve the dates then cut each half into three slices. Cut the top and bottom off the oranges then, with each fruit standing on its base, cut off the peel and white pith with a very sharp knife. You can either cut the oranges into slices or into segments – whichever way you cut them, catch the juice as you go along and add to the syrup. Put the oranges in a shallow bowl, layering them up with the pomegranate seeds and dates. Pour over the syrup and chill lightly. Offer Greek yoghurt on the side.
400g Greek yogurt
2 cloves garlic, crushed
Good pinch of salt
1.2kg squash or pumpkin
4 tbsp olive oil
½ tsp ground cinnamon
½ tsp ground cayenne
5cm piece ginger root, peeled and finely chopped
Squeeze of lemon juice
100g baby spinach
Leaves from about 12 sprigs mint, torn
35g walnut pieces, toasted
1 pomegranate or 225g seeds
2 tsp pomegranate molasses
Smidgen of Dijon mustard
4½ tbsp extra-virgin olive oil
Pinch of caster sugar
Squeeze of lemon
Make the labneh the day before. Line a sieve with a piece of cheesecloth (or a brand-new J Cloth) and set it over a bowl. Mix the yoghurt with the garlic and salt. Put the yoghurt into the cloth and refrigerate. It will lose excess moisture over the next 24 hours, leaving you with a firmer, more cheese-like substance. Help it along by giving the cloth a squeeze every so often. Halve the squash and scoop out the seeds and fibres.
Cut into slices about 2cm wide at the thickest part (if you are using a long butternut squash, halve it horizontally as well as lengthways before cutting the wedges ). Peel each slice. In a small pan, heat the olive oil, cinnamon, cayenne and ginger. Put the squash into a roasting-tin and pour the oil over the top, turning with your hands to make sure it is well coated. Season. Put into an oven preheated to 190°C/gas 5 and roast for 35 minutes, or until tender and slightly caramelised. Baste every so often. When cooked, put on a serving dish and squeeze over some lemon.
Take the drained yoghurt out of the cloth and gently break it into nuggets.
Put the molasses, mustard and some salt and pepper into a small jug and whisk in the olive oil. Add sugar and lemon juice to taste – you really have to keep tasting this dressing to get a good sweet-sour balance.
Add the spinach, mint and walnuts to the pumpkin and toss gently with three-quarters of the dressing. Dot nuggets of labneh over the top, scatter on the pomegranate seeds, drizzle on the rest of the dressing and serve.
© Stella magazine/The Sunday Telegraph
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