Kebabs With a Kumquat Kick

In this age of compact discs and digital compression, kumquats are the perfect fruit. Electric orange and no bigger than quail eggs, they don’t require the commitment of a Valencia orange or even a tangerine, yet they manage to pack all the punch of those long-playing versions. Kumquats are the sound bite of citrus.

Sink your teeth into one, and the thin veil of peel explodes in your mouth in an aerosol spray of sweet citrus oil. Now taste the juicy, tart flesh and wait as your face contracts into a full pucker. Try one in the morning after a couple of espressos and see if it doesn’t blast your mouth clean. Nature’s original palate cleanser.

Kumquats aren’t for the timid. Or for children, who seem to prefer throwing them to eating them. My first exposure to kumquats was hearing them used as a punch line in jokes. It took Mel Brooks to get a laugh out of nectarines (“The 2,000-Year-Old Man” claims they are God’s greatest gift), but as every comic knows, kumquats are naturally funny because they start with a K. And you’ll get twice the laughs if they’re candied.

Some people don’t consider a kumquat edible unless it’s candied. But candied kumquats are a dumbed-down fruit. They don’t taste like anything but sugar. They’ve lost their purpose in life.

The kumquat’s potent simplicity has long been appreciated in its native China. Potted trees hung with the miniature fruit have been kept on the Chinese table for a bracing note to the meal.

Kumquats became a part of my own life because they can grow in a container and, in the middle of a Southern California winter, produce scads of olive-sized citrus the color of a summer sunrise. Everything else in my backyard orchard has either failed to produce or dropped its crop before it ripened. Kumquats are my only reward. I started playing with them in the kitchen. I tossed them, halved and seeded, into a saute of cubed chicken breast with red and yellow peppers for Latin carnival-like color and rosemary, garlic and honey to round out the flavors. When I visited my mother, who was recovering from a serious illness, I packed a handful of kumquats. She agreed that my bright saute was a splendid, revivifying dish.

To the best of my recollection, I’d never seen kumquats on a restaurant menu. Then on a trip to Napa Valley this winter, I found them on two. One used them in a poultry stuffing, while the Wine Spectator Greystone Restaurant skewered them with Turkish lamb kefta. Eerie coincidence or evolving California consciousness?

“I never knew what to do with kumquats,” Bill Bradley, chef d’cuisine at Greystone, says of his recent discovery. “But I’d been reading Middle Eastern cookbooks, and they cook a lot with fruit. And one day I looked at my produce list, and there were kumquats.” Although he blanches them to tone them down, their flavor is still a sunny foil to the richness of the spiced ground lamb.

Kumquats, it seems to me, are in the air. Prepare to pucker.

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Lamb Kefta and Kumquats

(Serves 6 as appetizer)

From Bill Bradley, chef d’cuisine of the Wine Spectator Greystone Restaurant in St. Helena

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12 kumquats

1 1/2 pounds ground lamb

3 tablespoons fresh parsley, chopped

2 cloves garlic, minced

1 tablespoon all-purpose flour

1 teaspoon cayenne

1 teaspoon cinnamon

1 1/2 teaspoon nutmeg

1 teaspoon ground cumin

1 teaspoon dried mint, finely crumbled

1/4 teaspoon allspice

1 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper

2 tablespoons fresh summer savory, chopped

1 teaspoon salt

12 small (about 6 inches long) wood skewers, soaked in cold water for at least 30 minutes

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Place kumquats in small saucepan with cold water to cover by several inches. Boil, drain and repeat process two more times. (This will remove bitterness.) Reserve.

Place rest of ingredients in large bowl and mix well. Mixture should be somewhat sticky.

Roll ground lamb mixture into 24 balls about 1 to 1 1/2 inch in diameter. Place meatball, then kumquat and another meatball on each skewer.

Cook skewers on indoor grill for about 8 minutes per side, turning to brown evenly. Serve immediately.

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Food stylist: Norman Stewart; plate from Sur la Table, Pasadena