There are few things as alien-looking as a Buddha's hand. Most people I've talked with have never even heard of it or seen it, and when I show them a picture, they scream in terror.
A variety of citron (that stuff that's candied and chopped up to make European fruit cakes), Buddha's hand is distinguishable by its characteristic "fingers" that protrude from its base in a fashion I find whimsical but most find creepy. Unlike other citrus, where the juicy, sweet fruit is encapsulated by a white pith of varying degrees of thickness and a thin coating of fragrant zest, Buddha's hand is all bitter white pith with intensely aromatic yellow zest, weaving its way over the peaks and valleys of the fruit's appendages.
I've often zested the fruit and used it in salad dressings, over roast chicken and in place of lemon in sugar cookies or almond cakes. But recently, after a hankering for marmalade, which relies on the bitterness of citrus pith to balance all the sugar that goes into it, I decided to see whether the pith-full Buddha's hand was an even better candidate than the traditional orange or grapefruit.
Slicing the Buddha's hand on a mandoline produced delightful disks of fragrant pith, perfectly sized for fitting inside a spoon when doling out the marmalade.
I boiled the fruit for half an hour to ensure most of its bitterness was gone, then stirred in sugar with Meyer lemon zest and juice to add more fragrance and tang. The marmalade was bright and floral, but still a touch too sweet. Being a marmalade, it should be sweet, but I found last-minute inspiration in the pomegranates sitting on my kitchen counter.
After cooking the marmalade to the perfect consistency, I let it cool, then stirred in pomegranate seeds. Suspended in the floating finger citrus jelly, they look like jewels and add surprising pops of acidity. Eating the marmalade is a delightful experience, all the better knowing the grotesquely beautiful fruit from which it's made.
