This article is adapted from the March 15, 2025 edition of Gastro Obscura’s Favorite Things newsletter. You can sign up here.
My boyfriend, Peyam, grew up celebrating Nowruz, the Persian New Year. We’re currently planning the menu for our second annual Nowruz party, and, as with many holidays, certain things just have to be on the table.
Peyam insists that it’s not Nowruz without kuku sabzi, a frittata-like baked dish of herbs and eggs, and sabzi polo mahi, herbed rice with fish. Nowruz falls on the spring equinox (March 20 this year), so many classic Nowruz dishes are made with herbs to represent spring’s triumphant return. And in Persian cuisine, herbs like mint and parsley are not mere garnishes: They are vegetables, eaten whole and chopped, raw and stewed. Like English “greens,” the Farsi word sabzi refers to leafy plants as well as their color, but it’s more inclusive. Persian “greens” are not just spinach and lettuce, but basil, dill, cilantro, fenugreek; anything fragrant, fresh, and alive.
A pot of growing sabzi—usually wheat, mung bean, or lentil sprouts—is included in the Nowruz display known as the Haft-sin, both to symbolize spring, and because sabzi in Farsi begins with the letter sin, equivalent to S. Rounding out the Haft-sin, meaning “the Seven S’s,” are other symbolic items starting with that letter, such as seeb (apples) and serkeh (vinegar). Another common inclusion is my favorite Nowruz dish, a deep brown pudding called samanu in Iran, or sumalak in other Nowruz-celebrating countries, such as Uzbekistan.
Tasting its sweet, nutty flavor, you’d never guess that samanu is also made of sabzi with no added sugar, thanks to a transformation that’s nothing short of magical. You can buy jarred samanu at Persian stores, or online. But if you’re up for a culinary challenge, you can make it yourself, as I did for the first time last Nowruz.
Making samanu from scratch can be daunting because of one key, unskippable ingredient: time. The entire process, from grain to sprouts to pudding, takes about one week, at the end of which you’ll be babysitting a pot on the stove for an entire day. But in my opinion, all that time and effort just makes it even more special. Traditionally, the hard work of preparing samanu was shared. Women and children would gather to tell stories, sing songs, and make wishes for the New Year while taking turns stirring the pot.
Last year, I was worried about getting things right—and wanted to give myself some buffer if I failed—so I timed the recipe to finish a few days early. This meant I had to freeze my samanu and defrost it for our Nowruz party, but this had no effect on its flavor (it is magical, after all). I decided to make it an annual tradition and prepared samanu again this year, but with slightly more confidence.
So how do wheatgrass sprouts become pudding? The secret is an ephemeral chemical reaction. Seeds like wheat grains are packed with plant fuel (sugar) stored as long chain molecules (starch). During germination, starch reserves break down into their component sugar molecules, which the growing plant consumes until it can make more energy from the sun. For a brief moment, the sprout is flooded with sweetness.
Samanu is made by extracting the juice of these maximally-sweet sprouts and cooking it low and slow. The sprout juice gradually thickens due to the remaining starch, loses its grassy taste, and darkens as the sugars caramelize. The process can be compared with malting, the roasting and grinding of sprouts at their peak sweetness, which produces the sweet, nutty malt flour prized for everything from beer to milkshakes.
Additional wheat flour and water helps maintain samanu’s consistency, but nothing else is needed. However, some people add a splash of saffron water, or toss in almonds or walnuts at the last moment while making a final wish for the New Year. Samanu may also be garnished with nuts, or with pomegranate seeds, which is my preference because of the exquisite color contrast.
If you make samanu, however you choose to serve it, be sure to marvel at it when you do. Your efforts have paid off and, improbably, you have made a dessert entirely out of wheat. You have distilled the pure essence of springtime.
Samanu
- About one pint (two cups)
Ingredients
- 3 cups whole uncooked, unprocessed wheatberries (wheat grains)
- Water
- 5 cups flour
- 1 handful of whole shelled walnuts or almonds (optional)
- 1 to 2 tablespoons saffron water (optional)
- Pomegranate seeds or nuts (pistachios, walnuts, or almonds) for garnish (optional)
Instructions
- Soak the wheatberries in water for two days. Change the water daily.
- On day three, drain the seeds and spread them out on a tray or plate. Cover with a damp cheesecloth or paper towel.
- For the next three to four days, wet the seeds as needed so that they stay moist, but not submerged.
- Watch carefully for changes. The seeds will develop a long root, then a smaller shoot. They are ready to harvest around day six, when the shoot is about half an inch long and pale green. Once the sprouts turn dark green, they will be too bitter for samanu, but you can plant them in soil, uncovered, and grow them into wheatgrass (or make a green smoothie, if that’s your thing).
- You should have about four and a half cups of sprouts. Grind them finely in a blender or food processor with six cups of water. You may need to do this in batches.
- Press the ground sprouts through a cheesecloth or strainer and collect as much liquid as possible. Reserve the solids to make malt, if desired.
- Pour the liquid into a pot and add the flour, whisking thoroughly to combine.
- Bring to a boil on the stove, then reduce to low heat.
- Simmer gently, stirring every 15 to 20 minutes, until the samanu looks like a thick, dark caramel sauce and tastes sweet. This may take as long as eight or nine hours. Add another cup of water if the samanu becomes too thick to stir.
- If desired, mix in nuts, saffron water, and/or a New Year’s wish.
- Plate and top with garnishes.
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