Those are the last pistachios I'm going to buy for a while. Extravagant!
Lean times coming to our house. I'll leave it at that. Yesterday I considered brushing the mold off the pita bread and serving it. I also considered using some rancid walnuts instead of opening a fresh pack.
Didn't. But that's where we're at, and I think it's going to get a lot worse, no matter who is elected. (In case you were wondering, the Baker is voting for Barack Hussein Obama. This terrorist food is so doggone good!)
Meanwhile, I bought new pita and opened a fresh pack of walnuts and here's what I made, all of it out of Claudia Roden's Arabesque:
Chicken Fattet. You poach chicken, remove meat from bones, and pour the chicken and some of its broth over a bed of toasted pita, bake, and top with mint-spiked yogurt. Kids wiped off the yogurt, refused to touch the pita, liked the chicken. Resembled last night's fabulous chickpea dish, but not as delicious. And more expensive. And harder.
Muhamarra: Walnuts, pomegranate molasses, and moist bread pureed to a paste and spiced. Serve on a plate as a "salad." It tastes wonderful but there's something disgusting about the texture. Something . . . masticated.
Eggplant with Pomegranate Molasses. Roasted eggplant coarsely chopped and tossed in a sweet-tart dressing. Not great.
Pistachio cake. See photograph. A souffle-type pastry -- nubbly and green -- over which you pour rose water/sugar syrup. Damp and sweet and lovely and reviled by children.
Tomorrow: Stone soup.