And the third, well, I confess that the third is store-bought, a salad with dried cranberries, pecans, saffron and green onions from Whole Foods that I have yet to try to make at home. The second recipe is from Madhur Jaffrey, including morels and asparagus and is a total delight.
I have only three tried-and-true Israeli couscous dishes, the first, with roasted butternut squash and lemon, and was my standby carry-along to Thanksgiving dinner all those years I was a vegetarian and had no issue repeating the same recipe dozens of times. In practically any dish that you see couscous, a grain such as quinoa, bulgur or barley could be easily replaced for added nutrients and fiber, and while we often do, I just can’t be so earnest every night. Couscous, a fact that seems to repeatedly surprise my husband (namely because he hasn’t listened the first four times I told him, I’m just saying) is not a whole grain, in fact, its closer to a pasta than anything else, formed from semolina flour. Nowadays I can find it in a lot of stores, but I feel less good about eating it. But even there, Israeli couscous was something of an enigma. Of course, back then I could barely find it anywhere, except occasionally at the Fresh Fields in upper Georgetown where they had those bins which I still miss today when I’m forced to buy half a pound of pecans when I need a half-cup. A friend of one of my housemates who was working as a live-in nanny-slash-cook for a wealthy family in Bethesda, brought over some leftovers from the family’s dinner and what was this? This smattering of white polka dots through a tangle of greens and vegetables? You call it couscous, too? Why has nobody told me about this before! I’ve had a minor fixation with Israeli couscous, the larger, more pearl-like variety of couscous, since my first year of graduate school.
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