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    Home » Recipes » Salad Recipes

    Published: Feb 25, 2015 · Modified: May 8, 2020 by kseniaprints · This post may contain affiliate links · This blog generates income via ads · #sponsoredpost ·

    Spicy citrus salad with pistachios, or the dish that distills the pardes {V, GF, Paleo}

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    Spicy citrus salad with pistachiosThere are those dishes that awaken your taste buds with their scintillating mix of flavours and textures. There are those dishes that nourish your soul with a well-balanced combination of vitamins and nutrients. And then there are those dishes that tell the story of your life, encapsulated in one heavy forkful. This spicy citrus salad with pistachios is one of those.

    Spicy citrus salad with pistachiosI am eight years old. My father takes me by the hand and leads the way into the pardes. The sun is quickly setting ahead of us, a huge ball of energy being swallowed up by a vast sea of trees, its light spilling like golden blood on the the top branches. The fruit glisten from within the folds of greenery, their orange spheres promising sweet delights to those who dare. My father hoists me on his shoulders, helping me reach the higher branches; I grab an orange and twist, my fingers struggling against the nimble branch. Suddenly, I hear a satisfying 'pop', and the fruit comes undone in my hand. I hand it to my father, and reach out for the next one. Afterwards, my hands smell intoxicatingly of citrus peels.

    Spicy citrus salad with pistachiosSpicy citrus salad with pistachios

    ---

    I am nineteen, on holiday from my job as a social guide in a kibbutz. My high school best friend and I go to visit Ori, a boy we met on a youth delegation a year ago. I have a boyfriend who lives far away, in Canada, a man I pine for after the sun sets and the moon rises above the desert. And yet Ori makes me laugh, his too-long curls falling on his forehead and his mouth grimacing into a crooked, sardonic grin. He makes me think, his political views challenging me at every turn, forcing me to pause and re-evaluate things I hold dear. He makes me feel things I am uncomfortable with feeling. And so, when he slips under the chain-link fence, parts the branches of the orange tree and hands me a perfectly ripe fruit, I do not hesitate; I peel the fruit and bite in, juice dribbling down my chin. Afterwards, my hands smell intoxicatingly of citrus peels.

    Spicy citrus salad with pistachiosSpicy citrus salad with pistachios

    ---

    I am twenty-four, on holiday from my job as a legislative intern. My father swerves the car off the road and parks alongside a dirt path, only metres away from the familiar chain link fence. He and my mother grab bags and lead the way into the pardes, dragging my friend Joe and I behind. Joe is excited, a restless ball of energy. He cannot wait until he can reach up and pull an orange from the tree; "This is the stuff of movies," he says. I am still making up my mind about the boyfriend in Canada, a man for whom I have stopped pining months ago. But as I watch Joe run among the trees, as my dad seats me on his shoulders and helps me pick a perfect fruit off the tree, I feel the rush of discovery, of youth. I know that I will love again like I used to, with the butterflies in the pit of the stomach, the sweaty palms and the sleepless nights, the juice dribbling down your chin and the heart fluttering with nerves. I know I will feel that rush. Just not with him.

    I tear the fruit off the branch and hide it in my jacket pocket, to eat later. Afterwards, my hands smell intoxicatingly of citrus peels.

    Spicy citrus salad with pistachiosSpicy citrus salad with pistachios

    ---

    I first made this spicy citrus salad with pistachios for a big dinner with friends last year, a dinner which I originally planned for six but that ballooned beyond all expectations and left me with frayed nerves and a shortage of food. But despite the anxiety it all worked out, as these things do.

    Spicy citrus salad with pistachiosSpicy citrus salad with pistachiosThere are ten people seated around a long table in our dining room, their faces illuminated by the flickering light of a dozen candles, passing platefuls of food. A roasted chicken made from my grandmother's recipe, its juices oozing down everyone's chins. Barley salad from the Kinfolk Table Cookbook, glasses full of sparkling wine, and lace doilies as centrepieces. Laugher and several muffled conversations. And in the centre, a spicy citrus salad with pistachios on a big round plate. Blood oranges and mandarins and grapefruit slices intermingled with slivers of sweet onion, sprinkled with pistachios and ground hot peppers, and slick with a simple marinade of lime juice and fruity olive oil.

    Spicy citrus salad with pistachiosSpicy citrus salad with pistachios

    I take a huge forkful of citrus, juices dribbling down my chin. I smile. My hands smell intoxicatingly of citrus peels.

    Spicy citrus salad with pistachiosSpicy citrus salad with pistachiosI look across the table at him, locked in conversation with Joe, the boy who ran in the pardes. I see his hair falling in waves on his forehead, the corners of his eyes crinkling when he laughs. I see his nose, sharp and a bit crooked like Ori's. I hear his voice. And I know: it is here, that love with the butterflies in the pit of the stomach, the sweaty palms and the sleepless nights, the juice dribbling down your chin and the heart fluttering with nerves. With the midnight fights and the tears and the impatience and the requests to just. leave. me. alone. With all the emotion a young heart can take.

    And this time, I'm not going to let it go.

    Spicy citrus salad with pistachiosSpicy citrus salad with pistachiosSpicy citrus salad with pistachios

    Spicy citrus salad with pistachios

    Spicy citrus salad with pistachios and thyme

    Blood oranges and mandarins and grapefruit slices intermingled with slivers of sweet onion, sprinkled with pistachios and ground hot peppers, and slick with a simple marinade of lime juice and fruity olive oil.
    5 from 1 vote
    Print Pin
    Course: Salad
    Cuisine: Israeli cuisine
    Prep Time: 15 minutes
    Total Time: 15 minutes
    Servings: 2
    Author: Ksenia Prints

    Ingredients

    • 3-4 citrus fruit of various kinds and sizes oranges, grapefruits, pink grapefruits, pomelos, clementines, blood oranges and even kumquats are all good here - though I would stay away from anything too small and soft, like mandarins
    • 1 Vidalia sweet white onion, or ½ a purple onion (I have made this both with and without the onions, and trust me, they're necessary; but if you only have regular yellow onions, then don't use more than ½)
    • The juice and zest of 1 lime
    • ¼ cup pistachios
    • 3 sprigs of thyme
    • ⅛ cup extra virgin olive oil the fruitiest you've got
    • Maldon sea salt to taste
    • ½ teaspoon smoked paprika or cayenne pepper powder

    Instructions

    • With a sharp paring knife, cut the peel away from the citrus, taking care to remove all the pith. Slice the citrus into ½-inch-thick slices. Slice the onion into half-moon crescents. Arrange the citrus and onions slices interchangeably on a big platter in several layers.
    • Chop pistachios and thyme roughly, and sprinkle on the fruit. Top with grated lime zest, smoked paprika or cayenne pepper powder. Drizzle olive oil and lime juice.
    • Finish the salad off with a generous sprinkle of Maldon sea salt.

     

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    Comments

    1. Kellie MacMillan says

      February 25, 2015 at 11:08 am

      5 stars
      What a hauntingly beautiful story. For some reason I can picture this as a culinary movie. There just aren't enough of them. That journey of a passionate hungry soul. I got goosebumps when you mentioned looking across the table at Greg.

      • kseniaprints says

        February 27, 2015 at 6:55 am

        When I was little, I would get these moments when I would envision that my life actually was a movie and I was the main heroine, Truman Show-style. Everyone was in on it and I had to always act my best to ensure that people at home won't judge me or feel disappointed. So I would do little things like courtesy when I got on the bus, or act extra nice to the saleslady at the store.
        And then I grew up and realized that was just megalomania.

    2. Mom says

      February 25, 2015 at 2:11 pm

      It's so romantic story!! Thank you for your remember , my sweety baby)

      • kseniaprints says

        February 27, 2015 at 6:53 am

        Spasibo, mamulya

    3. Sarah says

      February 26, 2015 at 8:54 pm

      so. beautiful!

      • kseniaprints says

        February 27, 2015 at 6:53 am

        Merci 🙂 Now, would it be creepy if I sent it to the people I wrote about? Maaaaybe. 😉

    4. Berta says

      February 27, 2015 at 12:49 am

      What a beautiful story! By the end of it, I felt as though I had just read a miniature novel of sorts!
      I love it when you share recipes with a story, because that makes the recipe somehow all the more mouth-watering 😉

      • kseniaprints says

        February 27, 2015 at 6:52 am

        Oh man, thank you so much! And I personally would love to be able to share a story with every recipe (the goal of this blog is to be a repository of my family's history, a living memory if you will), but it usually comes down to lack of time to do the story justice... One day!

    5. Dina says

      May 22, 2015 at 11:39 am

      Ksenia, not sure how I missed this post. So romantic and vulnerable. I love your Mom's comment as well. The recipe, I am putting it on my must do list. It looks so delicious.

      • kseniaprints says

        May 23, 2015 at 9:31 am

        Dina, your words touched me so much! Thank you for that. Yes, my mom is a special lady, and her comments usually hit home 🙂

    Trackbacks

    1. FBC Featured Member: At The Immigrant’s Table | Food Bloggers of Canada says:
      July 24, 2015 at 3:09 AM

      […] I pour my heart and soul into so many of them! I guess it would have to be a toss-up between Spicy Citrus Salad  (which talks about love) and Mujadara or Kneidlach Matzo Balls or  (which talk about my […]

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