Pomegranate Molasses Chicken + Bulgar Wheat Salad with Currants and Mint

One of the things I love most about food is that it's communal. Sure, we need it for sustenance. And it's a fun creative outlet. But more than that, I love how it connects people.

When our friends have babies, we eagerly bring them food and share their joy. When someone dies, we bring food to their loved ones, sharing their pain. When we want our coworkers to like us, we take baked goods to the office. When there's cause for celebration--a graduation, a wedding, a birthday--we throw a party with snacks at the very least and quite possibly a full banquet. When we want to get to know someone better, we find a time to eat together.

Food connects us.

This week I've been thinking about Laura. She entered my life as my brothers' friend and my close friend's cousin, and she remained in my life as my friend. Laura died this week. She'd been battling cancer for some time now, and on Sunday I woke up to the news of her death. Though we rarely saw each other after I moved away for college, whenever I did get to spend time with Laura, she always had this peaceful, comforting, welcoming, nurturing presence about her. She always made me feel like I belonged in whatever group we were in (often a struggle for me). She loved people well. She brought so much beauty to this world.

I wish I could take her family a meal.

On the day Laura died, I made this meal which felt exotic and beautiful. Perhaps because cooking is comforting, and I needed that on a day dampened with death. Perhaps because the act of preparing and eating food made me feel somehow connected to the people all over the world who grieve Laura's passing. Perhaps because it was a small way to bring a little beauty back into the world.

Pomegranate Molasses Chicken and Bulgar Wheat Salad with Currants and Mint
Adapted from Honey and Co.: The Cookbook by Itamar Srulovich and Sarit Packer
Yield: 2-4 servings depending on the size of your appetite and your chicken thighs

Chicken ingredients
1 clove garlic, sliced
1/4 to 1/2 green chili, sliced (I used 1/3 of a jalapeno, seeded)
Scant 2 Tbsp. pomegranate molasses (see notes)
1/2 Tbsp. canola oil
1/4 tsp. freshly cracked black pepper
4 boneless, skinless chicken thighs
Canola oil, for pan frying
Salt and pepper, to taste

Bulgar salad ingredients
3/4 cup bulgar wheat
1/4 tsp. salt
1/2 tsp. olive oil
1/2 Tbsp. pomegranate molasses
1/4 cup shelled pistachios, toasted and chopped
1/4 cup dried currants (see notes)
2-4 Tbsp. fresh pomegranate arils
Generous 1/4 cup chopped fresh mint
1/4 to 3/8 cup chopped fresh parsley (a couple handfuls)
Additional pistachios (roasted and chopped), pomegranate arils, and mint to sprinkle on top

Directions
Marinate the chicken: In a gallon sized zip-top bag, combine garlic, chili, pomegranate molasses, canola oil, and black pepper. Add chicken thighs, then squoosh everything around so the marinade coats the chicken well and the garlic and chili slices are pretty evenly dispersed. Seal the bag and chill in your fridge for 2 hours, or up to 2 days.

Cook the chicken: Preheat oven to 400. In an oven-proof skillet (cast iron works great), heat a glug of canola oil over medium heat (on the stove). When the skillet is hot, add the marinated chicken thighs, smooth side down. Season with salt and pepper (to taste) then don't touch them for 2-3 minutes. Let them get nice and golden! Turn the chicken, let that side brown for a couple of minutes, then transfer the skillet into the preheated oven. Cook for 12 minutes or until chicken thighs are fully cooked.

Prepare the bulgar salad: Cook bulgar according to package directions, adding the 1/4 tsp. salt and 1/2 tsp. olive oil. (I tried the more traditional method of pouring boiling water over my bulgar and covering it for 5 minutes, but mine was still crunchy after 10 minutes, so I resorted to zapping it in the microwave. Always before I've used the stovetop method which worked much better for me.) Fluff with a fork, then add the pomegranate molasses and continue tossing with a fork. Add all the rest of the salad ingredients--pistachios, currants, pomegranate arils, mint, and parsley--and toss to combine. Taste; add salt and pepper if needed.

I followed Itamar and Sarit's recommendation for serving: scoop some bulgar wheat salad onto your plate, top with a chicken thigh or two, and sprinkle with some extra pistachios, pomegranate arils, and fresh mint.

Notes

• In theory, you can buy pomegranate molasses. But I couldn't find any, so I improvised and made my own! Basically you just simmer pomegranate juice, sugar, and fresh lemon juice until it thickens and reduces. I used Alton Brown's ingredient ratios and looked to Tori Avey's extra detail in the instructions.
• If you're a fellow Abilenian and know where to get pomegranate molasses locally, please share your wisdom! I looked at Market Street and HEB, Drug Emporium and Cordell's were closed, and Natural Grocer's didn't answer when I tried calling to see if they carried it. Also orange blossom water for future recipes from this cookbook.
• Currants can also be tricky to find here, but I found some in the bulk bins at Market Street. One of my friends has found them at Natural Grocers as well.
• I cheat and buy the pomegranate arils that come in a little cup in the produce section.
• As long as you plan ahead on marinating the chicken (and making the pomegranate molasses if needed), this could easily be a weeknight meal. It felt really fancy, but it doesn't involve any fancy techniques, and it came together pretty quickly once the pom molasses was made. Also, leftovers reheated well.

Beautiful Things

Lately I've been reflecting a lot on the past year.

This time last year was the beginning of the end for my friend and boss. After a triumphant month of May when Charles stuck it to his cancer and made it back into the classroom after almost dying a few months earlier, he almost immediately began declining again. Drastically. He spent the month of June in and out of the hospital, went into hospice care in early July, and died a week later.

At the time, it felt like my world was crashing down. And in some ways, it was. This was the first time I'd lost a close friend, so there was all this grief to deal with, with little to no experience with or knowledge of how to grieve. On top of the grief was a whole lot of uncertainty about my job—who would my new boss(es) be? how well would we get along? would I even still have a job?

Some friends at house church introduced me to Gungor’s song Beautiful Things, and it's kind of been my anthem these last 18 months.

All this pain
I wonder if I’ll ever find my way
I wonder if my life could really change at all

All this earth
Could all that is lost ever be found?
Could a garden come up from this ground at all?

(chorus)
You make beautiful things
You make beautiful things out of the dust
You make beautiful things
You make beautiful things out of us

All around
Hope is springing up from this old ground
Out of chaos life is being found in You

Chorus

You make me new, You are making me new
You make me new, You are making me new

Chorus

For months I sang this song, resonating so much with the pain and uncertainty of the first part of the song, and clinging desperately to the hope of the later two-thirds of it—the promise that God does make beautiful things out of the dust—that hope does spring up from dry, cracked ground.

And you know what? Beautiful things have come out of all this pain. Hope has sprung, and life has grown out of the chaos.

The last year has been filled with sweet, refreshing newness. With hope budding up out of desolate ground. Countless friends have surrounded me with tender support and encouragement. My new boss is pretty great, and I’ve found dear friends in him and his family. I got promoted into a position that didn’t exist before now. And in a couple weeks I’ll be moving into a new house.

At times like this, when I’m surrounded by beauty and feel like I’m getting a fresh start, I sing this song in praise of the beauty God has made from this mess. I sing it to remember the pain and the desperation, and I sing it to rejoice in the beautiful things that have come from it.

And during seasons like mid-June to mid-July, when I miss Charles like crazy and can’t help but think of all how awful this time was last year, I sing this song to remind myself afresh that God already has brought beautiful things from this hurt, and to cling to the hope that there is more beauty yet to come.

Smoky Sweet Potato Sliders with Garlic Cream Sauce and Avocado

Not too long ago I discovered the blog Eats Well with Others. Not only was I instantly captivated by her abundance of hearty winter squash dishes, but I felt an odd kinship with the blogger, Joanne. You see, her dad died of cancer last fall. While I didn't lose a dad to cancer, I lost a dear friend who was kinda like a second dad to me.

Charles fought his cancer tooth and nail--complete with a bone marrow transplant, numerous hospitalizations, and twice-weekly trips to the cancer clinic for infusions and blood draws and the like. He fought hard for nearly three years, and those of us close to him fought right alongside him for those three years.

Joanne's dad, on the other hand, did the opposite--he lived with cancer for two years without telling anyone, because he wanted to live fully the life he had left, and didn't want his life and family's lives to be tainted by cancer treatments. His family didn't find out until his last two weeks of life.

I think both ways are awful ways to grieve, because grief is awful no matter how you look at it. Although everyone's grief is different, I think there's a sameness to all our grief. I don't know quite what anyone else's grief feels like . . . but at the same time I know exactly what their grief feels like.

I feel this connection with Joanne, and I'm glad to know I'm not the only one who turns to cooking for therapy.

Speaking of cooking therapy, let's talk about sweet potato sliders. They're quite yummy: smoky from the smoked paprika, a touch of sweet from the sweet potatoes and maple syrup, creamy from the avocado and yogurt, with this amazing punch of roasted garlic. And, if you use more chipotle than I was brave enough to sprinkle in, you'll get some nice heat, too.

Joanne did home-made whole wheat buns/rolls for her sliders. I went the easy route and bought a pan of Sister Schubert's rolls. I imagine Hawaiian rolls would also be good with these.

I do recommend that you use smoked paprika rather than plain paprika. If you don't already have some in your spice collection, it's worth purchasing, as it adds this wonderful smoky flavor that's so good in this dish.

Smoky Sweet Potato Sliders with Garlic Cream Sauce and Avocado

Adapted from Eats Well with Others
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Yield: 12 sliders

For the Patties
2 large sweet potatoes
1 cup cannellini beans, drained and rinsed
1/3 cup panko bread crumbs
1/3 cup flour (I used whole wheat)
1 large egg, lightly beaten
1-1/2 tsp. smoked paprika
1 tsp. salt
1/2 tsp. pepper
Dash of cumin
Sprinkle of chipotle powder

For the Garlic Cream Sauce
2 bulbs garlic (as in bulbs, not cloves)
2/3 cup plain, fat-free Greek yogurt
1 tsp. maple syrup
Salt and pepper, to taste

For Cooking and Assembling
Olive oil
1-2 avocados, sliced
12 small dinner rolls

Directions
Preheat oven to 400. Cut the top quarter off of the two bulbs of garlic. Drizzle 1 tsp. olive oil over each bulb. Wrap in aluminum foil and roast in the oven for 30-40 minutes.

Pierce potatoes all over with a fork. Wrap each in a paper towel and then microwave for 5 minutes. Flip over and cook for 5 more minutes. Remove from the microwave, slice in half, and let cool until you can scoop out the flesh.

In a bowl, coarsely mash the cannellini beans with a fork. Add in the sweet potato flesh, then mash together. Mix in the panko, flour, egg, smoked paprika, salt, black pepper, cumin, and chipotle powder. Place the bowl in the fridge for 15-20 minutes.

While the mixture is chilling, combine the sauce ingredients in a food processor and pulse until pureed. If needed, add a tiny splash of milk.

Heat a large skillet over medium heat and add a swirl of olive oil (or spray with olive oil spray). Remove the burger mixture from the fridge and form into 12 equal patties. Place them in the skillet once it is hot. Let them cook until they are fully set and golden on one side, about 5-7 minutes. Flip and cook for another 5 minutes.

Assemble by topping the dinner rolls with a burger, roasted garlic sauce, and avocado slices. Serve as a snack or appetizer, or turn them into a meal by serving 3-4 sliders per person.

Fall (Happy Sigh)

I can't wait for fall. For the crisp nights, cozy meals, and frosted windshields. I wish I could say I've always loved fall, but in actuality, I used to view fall as simply cooler weather (good), going back to school (blah), and gearing up for the main event: Christmas. But within the past few years, fall has become my favorite season. One year, in an attempt to keep myself from breaking out the Christmas music in September, a friend and I wrote a blitz of fall-themed parodies of Christmas carols and church songs. Another friend invited me to her All Saints Day pumpkin parties (yes, we're theology nerds even when it comes to food-themed parties). Starbucks' pumpkin spice lattes happened. And I discovered the exquisite joy and versatility of cooking fall/winter squash and roasting vegetables.

This year, I'm especially ready for fall. My heart skips a beat every time I see predicted high temps below 85. I love the sound of the marching band practicing during lunch. I've been drooling over pumpkin recipes that keep appearing on my Facebook feed and favorite food blogs. And a couple weeks ago the smell of roasting garlic nearly drove me to tears (not exaggerating; yes, that was a particularly tough week with some emotion that seriously needed to be acknowledged).

But more than the lower temps and nutmeg-infused baking, I'm looking forward to the start of a new season in my life. This summer was hard. Sure, there were bright spots like taking part in a childhood friend's wedding and vacationing in New Mexico. But I spent the first half of the summer watching (and walking alongside) my boss and friend as his health rapidly deteriorated, while fully expecting him to not live through the summer. And I spent the second half of the summer mourning his death and dealing not only with my own emotional upheaval, but also with all the practical upheaval at the office. Someone had to cancel his five thousand email subscriptions, break the news to people who called the office asking for him, go through hundreds of his files, and help empty his office while not knowing who would be moving into it or when.

So I'm ready to close the chapter of summer 2012. Sure, there will still be grief for a long time, and nothing will ever fill the Charles-shaped void in my heart and life. And there are still days when I need to cry over something as emotionally neutral as roasting garlic. But the grief is becoming less intense with each passing week. This week I get to help move a new boss and friend into the office next to mine. A new semester is underway. And soon I will be burning my favorite Pumpkin Carnival candle and cooking my way through recipe lists like these.

Avocado Egg Stacks

Sometimes it's hard to cook when you're sad. For me, cooking is an artistic outlet. It's a chance to explore new ingredients, techniques, and flavor combinations. And it's hard to do that when someone you love has died and there's a big hole in your life. It's less fun to create, and it's often less fun to taste.

I discovered this recipe shortly before Charles died, and this proved to be a great go-to meal that week when he was in hospice and died. I think I made these Avocado Egg Stacks six times in the span of a week and a half to two weeks. It's a pretty balanced meal--complete with whole grains, protein, healthy fat, fruit (isn't avocado technically a fruit?), and veggies if you count the salsa. It's filling. It's tasty. And it comes together very quickly and easily. This was a good meal to throw together when I didn't want to think too hard or spend forever cleaning up my kitchen. And it was good in that I knew it would taste good with very little effort, but it's simple enough that I didn't care if it ended up tasting blah because I felt blah.

The full recipe is on A Couple Cooks, but here's the basic gist: toast an English muffin; add sliced or mashed avocado, salt, and paprika or chipotle seasoning; top with a fried egg and salsa; eat. I've made it with and without salsa, and actually like it a little better without. I used paprika every time since I don't yet own any chipotle seasoning. And I typically used half an avocado rather than a whole one.

Waiting for Bread . . . and for God's Future

I read this prayer this morning and wept. Once again, I feel like Walter Brueggemann has looked into my soul and expressed my thoughts, tears, and anxieties in such a beautiful, eloquently raw way.

Waiting for Bread . . . and for God's Future
On reading Micah

We are strange mixtures of loss and hope.

As we are able, we submit our losses to you.
   We know about sickness and dying,
                   about death and mortality,
                   about failure and disappointment.
   And now for a moment we do our
               failing and our dying in your presence,
               you who attend to us in loss.

As we are able, we submit our hopes to you.
We know about self-focused fantasy
                and notions of control.
         But we also know that our futures
                are out beyond us,
                         held in your good hand.

Our hopes are filled with promise of
        well-being, justice, and mercy.
Move us this day beyond our fears and anxieties
        into your land of goodness.
                We wait for your coming,
                we pray for your kingdom.
        In the meantime, give us bread for the day.

Walter Brueggemann, Prayers for a Privileged People, page 167

Cancer and Community

I’ve been thinking a lot about community lately, largely because I’m in a rough patch right now and have experienced incredible support from the community around me. Let me share with you a few glimpses of that community:

A few Sundays ago the communion thoughts really hit home—the young woman leading us talked about her struggle with her mom’s cancer, tying that in to the passage about Jesus grieving with Lazarus’ family before bringing him back to life. Her prayer started with, “God, I’m sick of cancer. And I’m sick of death.” That did me in. I wept for basically the entire rest of the service. At the end of the service, a woman I barely even know stopped me and said, “I saw you crying. Are you okay, and can I give you a hug?”

From there, I went straight to small group. For our devotional time, we each shared something we hope to accomplish in the coming year. We had such a mixed bag of emotions in the room: excitement and anxiety about moving, worry about raising support for fulltime mission work, stress of finishing college and applying for grad school, happiness about reaching a significant milestone in thesis-writing, uncertainty about jobs and income, joy and fear about having a baby, stability of no major life transitions coming up, grief over loved ones losing their battles with cancer . . . That night, we all came from vastly different places emotionally, and despite our own individual emotions, we were able to be fully present with each other in all of the wonderful, terrible, happy, unsure feelings swirling in the room. Even now, I’m sitting here trying to put into words the amazingness of the genuine community that took place that night. We didn’t try to make the tone of the group homogenous. Someone who was happy didn’t ignore or minimize the obvious grief of others; and vice versa. We were transparent and raw. The masks were off, and we were able to throw wide the doors of our hearts and invite the group to enter into the good, the bad, and the ugly inside.

The women in that small group had a lunch date a couple weeks ago. That morning I sent an email to let them know that I’d be coming from a prayer vigil for my boss/friend Charles and therefore might be late or emotionally unfit to come at all. But I ended up going, and one of the girls commented, “I read your email and thought, ‘Then it’s even more important that you come be with us.’” Yes! In true community we don’t have to hide our emotions—or avoid said community if we’re going through unpleasant emotions—but instead can bring our puffy eyes and rubbed-raw noses and experience love and support.

Yesterday I attended a memorial service for a seven-year-old boy, Liam, who died of leukemia. Liam’s death and Charles’s worsening cancer have messed with my faith. Charles is such a faithful servant, doing incredibly good things for the kingdom; Liam, in the face of his illness, rallied an army of people to participate in his well project and give life to communities of people who don’t have access to clean water. Literally thousands of people have been praying for Liam’s healing for over a year, and for Charles’s healing for over two years. Why wouldn’t our all-powerful God step in and heal them?

Randy, who did Liam’s eulogy yesterday, said many pertinent things, but I’ll just share this one that especially hit home for me. Randy asked Liam’s parents if they felt like God had sat this one out. But, to his surprise, they answered, “No.” God hadn’t shown up to heal Liam, but God had shown up in countless other ways—through hugs and encouraging calls from friends; through kids who sent care packages and their own artwork to Liam, who also loved to draw; through compassionate, competent doctors and nurses who cared not only for Liam but for their whole family; through thousands of dollars donated toward Liam’s wells; through the countless ways their community of family, friends, and friends of friends who have showered them with love and support. Randy went on to assert that God doesn’t just work cancer magic, and God isn’t a god who is at our beck and call to do whatever we want, exactly when we want it. But God is so very present—and God’s power is so very prevalent—in the ways we rally around each other.

That reality has been so true for me in this season of grief. Liam died, and Charles doesn’t have much time left. God didn’t wave a magic cancer wand for either of them. That reality is awful, and I’m pretty upset with God for not providing healing in the way that I thought God should. But in the midst of all this pain and anger, God is providing me with healing through the supportive calls, emails, hugs, “I’m thinking about you”s, and offers of help from this incredible community of people around me.