Cranberry Pomegranate Jello Salad

October leaves on the magnolias and the maples. Set the Table at New Birth Saturday morning. Six girls. We did baked chicken.

Daddy in his apartment in the back. I brought him his coffee and his medication this morning. He grumbled. The grumble was the love. Marcus, 21, studying for finals at Alabama.

A pot of collards on the stove. Turkey neck for the broth instead of fatback now. Vinegar at the end. The kitchen smelled like the kitchen Mama kept.

Jasmine, 19, home from Howard for the weekend. Isaiah, 18, called from Charlotte — coaching season starting.

I went to bed at ten. The dishwasher was running. The day was the day.

Derek and I had date night Friday. Same restaurant, same booth, same enchiladas for me and carne asada for him.

Daddy sat in his chair after dinner watching the news. He fell asleep before the third quarter. Standard.

Andre called from LA. He told the Kevin Hart story again. Twenty-some years and that boy is still telling that story. Everyone in this family is going to hear about Kevin Hart at our funerals.

I read for an hour Sunday night before bed. Some novel about a Black woman in 1960s Alabama. Mama would have liked it.

Miss Ernestine called Tuesday. She's ninety-something and sharp as ever. She told me my potato salad still needs more mustard.

I drove to the Walmart on Camp Creek Saturday morning. The kind of grocery run that takes two hours because you run into three people you know. Sister Patrice caught me in the produce. We talked about her grandbaby for fifteen minutes.

I made a casserole for the church potluck. The pan came back empty. That is the only review I trust.

Tuesday evening I sat at the kitchen table with my composition notebook and worked on the cookbook. From Brenda's Kitchen — that's the working title. I cannot write the introduction without crying yet.

Darnell sent a photo from Clarksville. The garden is producing. He grew tomatoes the size of softballs. I sent him back a photo of my sweet potato casserole. We are competitive about food now in our middle age.

Wednesday Bible study at the church. We read through Proverbs. The women in my row argued about whether wisdom is built or born. I said both. They agreed, sort of.

The neighbors had a Friday cookout this week. I brought my mac and cheese. They have come to expect this. I have come to expect this. The block is the block.

The blood pressure check was Wednesday. The numbers were borderline. The doctor wants me to walk more. I am walking more.

I had a hard counseling case at school this week. A seventh-grade girl whose mama lost her job. We talked. I gave her my number. I told her she could call.

The kids were home for the weekend. The house was loud the way it should be.

Sunday service at New Birth this morning. The choir sang. I sang soprano in the second alto row. Pastor preached about Naomi and Ruth. The congregation said amen. I said amen.

Thursday I made cornbread for a sister at church whose husband had surgery. I dropped it off at the hospital. She cried at the door. I told her, eat the cornbread, baby. The food is the saying.

Pastor preached about the prodigal son again. He preaches about that boy at least three times a year. The text is the text but every preaching is different. I cried in the second service this time. Don't ask me why.

Saturday morning I had Set the Table at the Cascade Heights center. Twelve young women. We did baked chicken. One of them — Imani, sixteen — was so afraid of seasoning that she barely shook the salt. I stood next to her and put my hand over hers and said, baby, you cannot be afraid of food. We seasoned the chicken. The chicken came out right. She glowed.

That casserole I brought to the church potluck — the one that came back empty — reminded me that the food we carry to other people’s tables is its own kind of language. This cranberry pomegranate Jello salad has become one of mine. It’s bright and a little tart and just sweet enough, and it travels well, which matters when you’re running from the Walmart on Camp Creek to New Birth to Sister Patrice in the produce aisle. I started making it for holiday tables and potlucks because Mama always said the dish that brings color to the table brings people to the table too. The pan comes back empty every time. That’s the only review I trust.

Prep Time: 15 minutes | Cook Time: 0 minutes | Total Time: 4 hours 15 minutes (includes chilling) | Servings: 10

Ingredients

2 (3 oz) packages cranberry or raspberry Jello
2 cups boiling water
1 cup cold water
1 cup pomegranate juice
1 (14 oz) can whole berry cranberry sauce
1/2 cup pomegranate arils (seeds)
1/2 cup chopped pecans or walnuts (optional)
1 (8 oz) block cream cheese, softened
1/2 cup sour cream
2 tablespoons powdered sugar
Whipped cream or Cool Whip, for serving

Instructions

Dissolve the Jello. In a large bowl, whisk the Jello packets into 2 cups of boiling water until fully dissolved, about 2 minutes.
Add the liquids. Stir in the cold water and pomegranate juice. Let the mixture cool at room temperature for about 15 minutes until it is no longer steaming.
Fold in the mix-ins. Stir in the cranberry sauce, pomegranate arils, and nuts if using, distributing them evenly throughout the liquid.
Pour and chill. Pour the mixture into a lightly greased 9x13 inch dish or a decorative Jello mold. Refrigerate for at least 4 hours or overnight until fully set.
Make the cream topping. Beat the softened cream cheese, sour cream, and powdered sugar together with a hand mixer until smooth and fluffy.
Top and serve. Spread or dollop the cream cheese topping over the set Jello just before serving. Garnish with additional pomegranate arils and a spoonful of whipped cream if desired. Slice into squares and serve cold directly from the dish.

Nutrition (per serving)

Cranberry Pomegranate Jello Salad — The Dish That Comes Back Empty