Sunday, February 26, 2012
Monday, December 19, 2011
Sunshine in Santorini, Home for the Holidays, and Big Plans for the New Year
Well I’m back from a refreshing trip to beautiful Santorini and still feeling the pleasant warmth of the Aegean sunshine in my veins even now, well into winter. Having been feeling a little guilty about my reticence lately, I've decided to post an update long overdue. The delay definitely hasn't been for lack of things to talk about though (plenty of great food, wine, and good times in Santorini!). Rather, I've been taking a little hiatus from writing while rediscovering how pleasant it is to participate in the simple pleasures of a life finally not so intertwined with the piercing accoutrements of illness.
Writing is a great tool for expression and escape, but sometimes one yearns for a break from the analytical - a chance to just be. Originally intending to record this trip every step of the way, so as to mold a nice article about the riches of the Greek islands upon return home, I wasn't quite so diligent. I don’t regret it though. The experience was a break well needed for myself and my travel compatriots, my mom and sister, who in their closeness and empathy have suffered and surmounted the same roller coaster of pain, angst, triumph, and challenge. We all benefited greatly from a week uninterrupted by deadlines and assignments; self-imposed or otherwise. We chose the perfect place to unwind!
To read a more detailed article about our experience in Santorini, view this post on ecoclub.com: Culinary Tourism in Santorini: An Exploration of Food and Culture. Perhaps I'll share more stories soon (currently working on another article and will post a link when its ready). For now though, I'll be preparing for the future by learning to live in the moment and relishing time spent with family.
I do only have a few weeks after all, before embarking on my next big adventure - I'll be heading off to Podgorica, Montenegro in January to work with CSTI Montenegro in sustainable tourism development. I couldn't be more excited about the opportunity and about our upcoming projects (one of which includes the creation of a 'gastronomic heritage route' and regional cookbook). This winter may be one of my coldest yet, coming from a place where flip-flops represent appropriate attire year-round. Still, after a few climactic and cultural adjustments, I'm sure to enjoy the brighter side of the season which will hopefully include some hearty stews, new adventures, and cozy days in the kitchen learning, tasting, and sharing.
May the New Year be filled with few regrets, strong will, tamed fears, endless compassion, and many blessings for us all. Ziveli!
For more about the culture and cuisine of the Balkans, see previous posts: “Breaking Bread in Montenegro” and "Bourek in the Balkans".
Baba's Lamb and Potatoes
My baba (grandma) makes this dish every year for Easter, but it’s a great dish for any holiday celebration. The lamb becomes very tender and the potato wedges, arguably the best part, are slowly saturated with the flavors of the meat. I use lamb shoulder here, but you could also use a leg of lamb.
Ingredients:
1 lamb shoulder
1 head of garlic, peeled and separated
5-6 large potatoes, cut into wedges
Salt and pepper
Olive oil
Bunch of fresh herbs, e.g. rosemary, thyme (optional)
Preheat the oven on to its highest temperature. Prepare the lamb by seasoning it with salt, pepper and a good drizzle of olive oil. Massage this into the meat and place it fat side up in a deep roasting pan. Lightly score the top and cut a few small incisions in the meat for the garlic. Insert the garlic cloves into the meat wherever you can; into the incisions and under the fat. Place any remaining cloves in the bottom of the pan, along with a bunch of fresh herbs (e.g. rosemary, thyme) if you are using. Place the meat on top.
Put the potatoes around the meat and season with salt and pepper. Pour one cup of hot water over the potatoes and around the meat (not on the meat). This will combine with the lamb juices during cooking and will help the potatoes become nice and soft. Cover the pan with foil or a tight lid.
Place in the oven and immediately lower the temperature to 325 degrees F. Roast until the meat is very tender and potatoes are soft. For a 3 lb. lamb shoulder this should take about 3 ½ to 4 hours. If there is excess liquid in the pan when almost done, remove the lid for the final 20-30 minutes of cooking. This will also create a nice crust on the meat.
Writing is a great tool for expression and escape, but sometimes one yearns for a break from the analytical - a chance to just be. Originally intending to record this trip every step of the way, so as to mold a nice article about the riches of the Greek islands upon return home, I wasn't quite so diligent. I don’t regret it though. The experience was a break well needed for myself and my travel compatriots, my mom and sister, who in their closeness and empathy have suffered and surmounted the same roller coaster of pain, angst, triumph, and challenge. We all benefited greatly from a week uninterrupted by deadlines and assignments; self-imposed or otherwise. We chose the perfect place to unwind!
To read a more detailed article about our experience in Santorini, view this post on ecoclub.com: Culinary Tourism in Santorini: An Exploration of Food and Culture. Perhaps I'll share more stories soon (currently working on another article and will post a link when its ready). For now though, I'll be preparing for the future by learning to live in the moment and relishing time spent with family.
I do only have a few weeks after all, before embarking on my next big adventure - I'll be heading off to Podgorica, Montenegro in January to work with CSTI Montenegro in sustainable tourism development. I couldn't be more excited about the opportunity and about our upcoming projects (one of which includes the creation of a 'gastronomic heritage route' and regional cookbook). This winter may be one of my coldest yet, coming from a place where flip-flops represent appropriate attire year-round. Still, after a few climactic and cultural adjustments, I'm sure to enjoy the brighter side of the season which will hopefully include some hearty stews, new adventures, and cozy days in the kitchen learning, tasting, and sharing.
May the New Year be filled with few regrets, strong will, tamed fears, endless compassion, and many blessings for us all. Ziveli!
For more about the culture and cuisine of the Balkans, see previous posts: “Breaking Bread in Montenegro” and "Bourek in the Balkans".
Baba's Lamb and Potatoes
My baba (grandma) makes this dish every year for Easter, but it’s a great dish for any holiday celebration. The lamb becomes very tender and the potato wedges, arguably the best part, are slowly saturated with the flavors of the meat. I use lamb shoulder here, but you could also use a leg of lamb.
1 lamb shoulder
1 head of garlic, peeled and separated
5-6 large potatoes, cut into wedges
Salt and pepper
Olive oil
Bunch of fresh herbs, e.g. rosemary, thyme (optional)
Preheat the oven on to its highest temperature. Prepare the lamb by seasoning it with salt, pepper and a good drizzle of olive oil. Massage this into the meat and place it fat side up in a deep roasting pan. Lightly score the top and cut a few small incisions in the meat for the garlic. Insert the garlic cloves into the meat wherever you can; into the incisions and under the fat. Place any remaining cloves in the bottom of the pan, along with a bunch of fresh herbs (e.g. rosemary, thyme) if you are using. Place the meat on top.
Put the potatoes around the meat and season with salt and pepper. Pour one cup of hot water over the potatoes and around the meat (not on the meat). This will combine with the lamb juices during cooking and will help the potatoes become nice and soft. Cover the pan with foil or a tight lid.
Place in the oven and immediately lower the temperature to 325 degrees F. Roast until the meat is very tender and potatoes are soft. For a 3 lb. lamb shoulder this should take about 3 ½ to 4 hours. If there is excess liquid in the pan when almost done, remove the lid for the final 20-30 minutes of cooking. This will also create a nice crust on the meat.
Monday, August 22, 2011
Grape Leaves and Good News
A year has passed since I started this blog, and in that time a lot has happened. My purpose for initiating this project was to save myself from the tedium of chronic illness and to feel connected with the outside world during months of relative isolation. I am happy to say that I no longer have to succumb to daily IV therapies, my health has gradually improved to the point where I have been able to cease all prescription medications, I have completed my college education, and have recently returned to working full-time after several years of being unable to do so (at a coffee shop, no less).
Just a few months ago writing and researching for this blog was something that I became obsessed with - I thought about it daily, and the distraction was crucial in helping me through many difficult days. My 'bad days' are now few and far between. Even so, I still sometimes find myself having one of those familiar bad days (doesn't everybody?) and it is then that I return to finding solace in food, cooking, and travel - immersing myself in some cuisine or another and dreaming that I am there; sitting on the edge of the Mediterranean or Adriatic sea, enjoying the local fare with good people.
So when I recently found myself frustrated and overwhelmed by life's daily struggles, I decided to once again find stability and recovery through food and travel. I considered what I needed - composure, companionship, and a challenge to help me regain focus and perspective. The unlikely solution to my troubles? Stuffed grape leaves (dolmas) - the quaint, tasty little packages that can be found in endless variations at tables across the Eastern Mediterranean. I envisioned myself sitting around a table with a group of kind, resilient, good-hearted women - perhaps in Lebanon, Greece, or Turkey, as we contently engaged ourselves in the ritual task of preparing and wrapping a village-size pot of grape leaves over an equally large dish of local gossip. Grounded by this humble fantasy, I set off for the market before returning home to spend the rest of the afternoon figuring out the delicate craft of dolma-making. I recruited my younger cousin as my partner, and suddenly a day that was looking quite bleak had been colored by the luxurious components of our project: deep purple currants, dark, delicate grape leaves, buttery pine nuts, creamy, cloud-white sheep milk feta, fresh summer lemons, and a liberal dose of good Cretan olive oil.
It was almost midnight by the time we finished wrapping dozens of leaves, which was all the better since vegetarian dolmas taste better when the flavors have been given a day or so to meld together anyway (although I admit I couldn't resist a late night taste). Our creations turned out a bit imperfect (a jumbo-size parcel here and there and more than a few torn leaves with rice bursting out), but more importantly they tasted great - bright, rich, flavorful and satisfying with a touch of sweetness.
The next day, when we savored the fruit of our labors, I found myself instantly transported to the beautiful blue waters of the Eastern Mediterranean. It was a pleasant escape, though a temporary one. I am reassured, however, in knowing that I will not have to settle on mere daydreams for much longer. Why? Because I have just purchased a plane ticket to Greece. Suddenly, in this light, the slight imperfections in our dolmas become insignificant, and the taste ever more satisfying. Get ready for a new chapter in Coffee Cup Travels. I imagine it's about time...
Just a few months ago writing and researching for this blog was something that I became obsessed with - I thought about it daily, and the distraction was crucial in helping me through many difficult days. My 'bad days' are now few and far between. Even so, I still sometimes find myself having one of those familiar bad days (doesn't everybody?) and it is then that I return to finding solace in food, cooking, and travel - immersing myself in some cuisine or another and dreaming that I am there; sitting on the edge of the Mediterranean or Adriatic sea, enjoying the local fare with good people.
So when I recently found myself frustrated and overwhelmed by life's daily struggles, I decided to once again find stability and recovery through food and travel. I considered what I needed - composure, companionship, and a challenge to help me regain focus and perspective. The unlikely solution to my troubles? Stuffed grape leaves (dolmas) - the quaint, tasty little packages that can be found in endless variations at tables across the Eastern Mediterranean. I envisioned myself sitting around a table with a group of kind, resilient, good-hearted women - perhaps in Lebanon, Greece, or Turkey, as we contently engaged ourselves in the ritual task of preparing and wrapping a village-size pot of grape leaves over an equally large dish of local gossip. Grounded by this humble fantasy, I set off for the market before returning home to spend the rest of the afternoon figuring out the delicate craft of dolma-making. I recruited my younger cousin as my partner, and suddenly a day that was looking quite bleak had been colored by the luxurious components of our project: deep purple currants, dark, delicate grape leaves, buttery pine nuts, creamy, cloud-white sheep milk feta, fresh summer lemons, and a liberal dose of good Cretan olive oil.
It was almost midnight by the time we finished wrapping dozens of leaves, which was all the better since vegetarian dolmas taste better when the flavors have been given a day or so to meld together anyway (although I admit I couldn't resist a late night taste). Our creations turned out a bit imperfect (a jumbo-size parcel here and there and more than a few torn leaves with rice bursting out), but more importantly they tasted great - bright, rich, flavorful and satisfying with a touch of sweetness.
The next day, when we savored the fruit of our labors, I found myself instantly transported to the beautiful blue waters of the Eastern Mediterranean. It was a pleasant escape, though a temporary one. I am reassured, however, in knowing that I will not have to settle on mere daydreams for much longer. Why? Because I have just purchased a plane ticket to Greece. Suddenly, in this light, the slight imperfections in our dolmas become insignificant, and the taste ever more satisfying. Get ready for a new chapter in Coffee Cup Travels. I imagine it's about time...
Grape Leaves with Rice and Feta
2 onions, finely chopped
2 tsp. cinnamon
1 tsp. allspice
1 Tbs. dried mint
1 Tbs. dried dill
fresh basil, finely chopped (about a handful)
fresh mint, finely chopped (about a handful)
1 (16 oz.) jar grape leaves
2 lemons
1 1/2 cups short grain rice such as arborio
2-3 Tbs. dried currants
2-3 Tbs. pine nuts
2 Tbs. tomato paste
3-4 oz. feta, crumbled
Saute onions until soft. Add (dried) spices, currants, and rice. Add enough water to cover the rice, cover and let cook about 10 minutes over low-medium heat (rice will still have a bite to it). Add fresh herbs, juice of 1 lemon, pine nuts, tomato paste, feta and an extra drizzle of olive oil. Combine all ingredients, taste for seasoning and set aside to cool.
In the meantime, rinse the grapeleaves well in warm water to remove the brine, carefully separate the leaves, pat down with paper towels and set aside to dry a bit. Cut away the stems with a small, sharp paring knife; To do this cut away a small triangle at the bottom so that the thick, tough part of the stem has been removed.
Carefully fill each leaf with about 1 tsp. of the filling (vein side up). Have patience and take your time with this - the first few may look a bit of a mess but you will get the hang of it. Bring the bottom up over the filling, fold the sides inward, and continue to roll upward so that you have a small cigar. Tuck in the sides. Try to keep the dolmas as snug as possible so that they don't open up during cooking.
Drizzle olive oil in the bottom of a large saucepan. Use a few extra leaves (or any broken ones) to line the bottom of the pan and then start filling up with the dolmas as you roll them. Lay them snugly in the bottom of the pan - in a circle around the edges and then into the middle. When the bottom has filled up start a new layer on top of the others.
When you have made all the dolmas and placed them into the pot, slowly pour water over so that it just barely covers the grapeleaves. Add the juice of 1 lemon and an extra drizzle of olive oil. Carefully place a heavy plate or lid directly on top of the grape leaves to weigh them down so that they don't open up while they are simmering. Let simmer gently for about 40 minutes. Drain the water and let cool a bit before handling. Remove the dolmas from the pot, set aside to cool and serve warm or cold (I prefer cold - the next day).
Friday, July 1, 2011
Burek in Belgrade
Several years ago I found myself happily stationed in the heart of Europe. Logistically, this meant that I suddenly had the luxury of traveling to multiple countries with relative ease (alas, not so in my home base of California). These circumstances I owed to a university exchange program which placed me in Heidelberg, Germany. To some extent I felt spoiled rotten by the opportunity to travel and to live in this foreign country, where I could leisurely stroll the grounds of a 13th Century castle whenever my heart desired as it was only two quaint, cobble-stone blocks from my home where I lived dormitory-style with fifty other students. Other local pleasures included meandering through the stalls of the Heidelberg Weinachtsmarkt (Christmas Market) during the winter holidays sipping on spiced gluhwein and eating fresh, hot crepes to warm my frigid hands.
Yes, it was pleasant. But even here in this fairy-tale setting one can grow tired, homesick, and even a bit bored. So to stave off any depression that might be creeping its way in during the cold winter months, I decided to take a trip elsewhere and impulsively purchased a plane ticket for Belgrade, Serbia.
In the days preceding my trip, I felt admittedly run-down, ragged and a bit ill - perhaps a diet of fried schnitzel, sauerkraut, bier and boxed wine is not so conducive to a healthy immune system. At any rate, I was quite ready for a change of scenery. So when my day of departure arrived, I stuffed a few things into a well-worn backpack and set off on the evening train to Frankfurt, where I boarded a quick, two-hour flight to Belgrade.
My arrival at Belgrade's Nikola Tesla Airport made me immediately aware of the fact that despite the short flight, this place was certainly going to be different than where I was coming from. Unlike Frankfurt's bustling terminals, the Belgrade airport was cold and empty save for a small, quiet group of awaiting family members and friends just outside the gates. The city also welcomed me with a bit of gloomy weather, but I didn't mind. If it was merely sunshine I was seeking I would have flown to Cyprus or Sicily. I was looking for something else; connection perhaps, and something to ground me. The rain was a good start then, as I have always found it comforting.
During the next few days, I enjoyed homemade local specialties such as ajvar (a delicious red pepper dip), succulent roasted lamb (I was generously served the best portions), a creamy spread called kajmek, light, fluffy cheese pie served with buttermilk (made fresh and sent from a family friend in a nearby village), and prebranac (stewed beans with sausage, a national dish).
Luckily there was much more to the trip than good food, however. During the days I strolled the pedestrian sidewalks of downtown Belgrade, did some shopping in a smoky indoor mall, and walked through Kalemegdan Park, past the ancient fortress to a wall that overlooks a spectacular view of the confluence of the Danube and Sava Rivers. We visited museums, beautiful parks, and the floating restaurants by the river called splavovi (which light up at night and transform into floating clubs).
It was hard to leave Belgrade when the time came, mostly because of the warmth and familiarity that my generous hosts shared with me, but I departed with notions of a return visit already forming in my mind. The trip was a short one, but it was revitalizing. Upon my return to Heidelberg, my friends made some unexpected comments like, "you look better," followed by a pause and a smile. At first I didn't understand what they were talking about; how could just a couple of days elsewhere have put so much pep in my step? Clearly though, this weekend jaunt to Eastern Europe had breathed some life back into me. I considered what it could have been that had spurred such an apparent revival.
Yes, the food was good and comforting. And the new sights were refreshing. Most memorably though, my hosts treated me like I was both a familiar family member and an honored guest. This, I am sure, is the reason for any change of demeanor. A few good meals was not enough to renew my spirit, though it certainly did make my cheeks a bit fuller. What left such an obvious impression is that I was embraced with sincerity and treated well - treated like family, even while so far from home.
Living and traveling in a foreign country can at times be difficult, frustrating, lonely, and exhausting, but at some point there will inevitably be relief. Travel, like so many other things in life, is not always easy, hassle-free, or comfortable, but it's manageable...thanks to the small comforts, and good people everywhere.
Hvala to my wonderful hosts in Belgrade, whom I hope to visit again soon. In the meantime, I will reminisce through food. Burek anyone??
Cheese Burek
Filo dough
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| Heidelberg Castle |
In the days preceding my trip, I felt admittedly run-down, ragged and a bit ill - perhaps a diet of fried schnitzel, sauerkraut, bier and boxed wine is not so conducive to a healthy immune system. At any rate, I was quite ready for a change of scenery. So when my day of departure arrived, I stuffed a few things into a well-worn backpack and set off on the evening train to Frankfurt, where I boarded a quick, two-hour flight to Belgrade.
My arrival at Belgrade's Nikola Tesla Airport made me immediately aware of the fact that despite the short flight, this place was certainly going to be different than where I was coming from. Unlike Frankfurt's bustling terminals, the Belgrade airport was cold and empty save for a small, quiet group of awaiting family members and friends just outside the gates. The city also welcomed me with a bit of gloomy weather, but I didn't mind. If it was merely sunshine I was seeking I would have flown to Cyprus or Sicily. I was looking for something else; connection perhaps, and something to ground me. The rain was a good start then, as I have always found it comforting.
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| St. Sava Cathedral on a gloomy day, only a short walk from our apartment - the largest Orthodox church in the world. |
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| Burek - a cheese or meat filled pastry that is served across the Balkans. Variations can be found in Turkey, Greece, and North Africa. |
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| View from Kalemegdan Fortress |
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It was hard to leave Belgrade when the time came, mostly because of the warmth and familiarity that my generous hosts shared with me, but I departed with notions of a return visit already forming in my mind. The trip was a short one, but it was revitalizing. Upon my return to Heidelberg, my friends made some unexpected comments like, "you look better," followed by a pause and a smile. At first I didn't understand what they were talking about; how could just a couple of days elsewhere have put so much pep in my step? Clearly though, this weekend jaunt to Eastern Europe had breathed some life back into me. I considered what it could have been that had spurred such an apparent revival.
Yes, the food was good and comforting. And the new sights were refreshing. Most memorably though, my hosts treated me like I was both a familiar family member and an honored guest. This, I am sure, is the reason for any change of demeanor. A few good meals was not enough to renew my spirit, though it certainly did make my cheeks a bit fuller. What left such an obvious impression is that I was embraced with sincerity and treated well - treated like family, even while so far from home.
 |
| Carriage ride in the park |
Hvala to my wonderful hosts in Belgrade, whom I hope to visit again soon. In the meantime, I will reminisce through food. Burek anyone??
Cheese Burek1 package filo dough
8 oz. feta
2 eggs
1-2 Tbs. thick Greek yogurt or heavy cream
2 Tbs. sparkling water (optional)
Pinch salt
1 stick melted butter
Combine feta, eggs, yogurt or cream, and salt. Mix well so that it is relatively smooth. Add sparkling water – just a splash if the mixture is already thin (you don’t want it too runny). The addition of sparkling water is supposed to make the burek lighter, but the recipe will work fine without it. Prepare a round pan (about 9 “) by brushing it with melted butter on the bottom and around the edges. Take a sheet of filo and lay it on a cutting board or other flat surface. Brush with melted butter, and spoon about 3 Tbs. of the cheese filling across the sheet lengthwise. Roll up lengthwise and tuck into a coil. Place in the center of the pan; this will be the center of the pastry and you will build around it. Continue brushing the sheets with butter, filling, and rolling them. It’s helpful to work quickly here so the dough doesn’t get soggy. You will get the hang of it after making a couple rolls. Carefully wrap each piece around the preceding segment so that you have what looks like a growing coil. Do this until you have filled the pan. A few cracks in the dough will not be a problem, but if you have any big breaks you can fill in the gaps with a small scrap of dough. Brush the whole thing with melted butter and bake in pre-heated 375 F degree oven until lightly browned, about 40 minutes.
Lazy Burek
This version is not quite as pretty, but will still taste great, and is easier and quicker to prepare. It will be slightly lighter than the above version as well because it uses a little less butter, and a bit more sparkling water.
Filo dough8 oz. feta
3 eggs
2 Tbs. thick Greek yogurt or heavy cream
Pinch of salt
¼ cup sparkling water
Combine all of the above ingredients and mix well so that it’s relatively smooth. Prepare a pan (about 9-13 “) by brushing it generously with melted butter on the bottom and around the edges. Take a sheet of filo, and dip it directly into the cheese mixture so that it becomes damp but not so saturated that it falls apart. Gently scrunch the wet dough into the outsides of the pan. Continue doing this, working inward, until you have filled the pan and used up all of the filling. Brush the top with melted butter. Bake at 375 F until burek is risen and golden brown, about 50 minutes.
*Note: Whenever working with filo, either work quickly so the dough doesn’t dry out or cover the unused portion with a lightly damp towel while you are working.
Prijatno! Enjoy!
Lonely Planet Belgrade: http://www.lonelyplanet.com/serbia/belgrade
More about Serbian food: http://www.ifood.tv/network/serbian
Saturday, April 23, 2011
Breaking Bread in Montenegro
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| Tara Bridge |
Montenegro. Crna Gora. Black Mountain. Whatever you want to call this tiny, spirited country on the eastern coast of the Mediterranean’s Adriatic arm, I have to go there. A yearning to travel to this part of the world has been a piece of me, ever-growing, since I was a little girl. Perhaps something sparked when I learned to dance the kolo (traditional folkdance) every week after Sunday school, and got to wear those pretty velvet costumes, and the cool elf-like dancing slippers. Or maybe it was the intriguing foreign language that I heard spoken, but couldn’t understand. It could have been the special food my baba (grandma) made – palacinke (sweet, jam filled pancakes), pita (cheese or fruit filled strudel), sarma (meat filled cabbage rolls), presnac (cheesy bread/casserole), slow roasted lamb for Easter, and for Christmas, Česnica or “money bread” as I’ve always called it.
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| Opanki - dancing shoes |
Montenegro is small – territorially speaking and also in regards to its population of about 650,000 – although the measure of its history and verve would be quite large if such things were quantifiable. This mountainous Balkan enclave is nestled between Bosnia-Herzegovina, Serbia, Kosovo, and Albania on the Adriatic coast, just a nine hour ferry ride across the sea from Italy. The interior of the country is often rocky and somewhat inhospitable, though with this rugged landscape also comes beautiful contrasts such as deep ravines, rushing rivers, and mile-high mountains. There are at least three national parks (Lovcen, Durmitor, and Bogradska Gora), a UNESCO World Heritage Site at the Bay of Kotor, an ancient monastery miraculously built into the side of a cliff in central Montenegro (Ostrog Monastery), and beautiful beaches with a pleasant Mediterranean climate on the coast.
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| Sveti Stefan |
The area around Mt. Lovcen in western Montenegro is known as “Old Montenegro,” and is the historical heart of this place. Montenegrins are well known for their hardiness, thanks to a reputation of having successfully defended their land against the powerful Turks during 500 years of Ottoman rule in the Balkans. At the height of the Ottoman offensive in Montenegro, once known as the kingdom of Zeta, the unrelenting Montenegrins held steadfastly onto what was left of their land which was a heavily fortified area near the old capital of Cetinje. In light of this astonishing hold-out, Europeans of the time dubbed the insurmountable people of the Black Mountain as “born warriors” and a “race of heroes”. Though I don’t purport to be quite as tough as my ancestors who fought off the Turks at Cetinje centuries ago, it is nice to know that I’ve got the stuff of warriors running through my veins.
In spite of its rough and tumble reputation though, Montenegro also has a gentler side. Tradition, honor, family, and hospitality are integral to the Montenegrin mentality and heritage. A visitor to a mountain village, for example, might be welcomed into a stranger’s home and offered a strong shot of the local brandy distilled from grapes (loza) or plums (slivovitz). The gesture will probably be followed by a simple yet generous offering of local sheep or goat’s milk cheese, cured meats (Njegusi is famous for its prsut), and perhaps spicy pepper dip (ajvar) and special local cream (kajmak). Finally, and most importantly, there will be freshly baked bread.
In my opinion, soulfully prepared bread is the ultimate symbol of hospitality. Whether it be a dark, rustic loaf in Tuscany, an anise-scented round in Morocco, spongy East African injera, or an unleavened disc baked under hot ash in the sands of the Sahara, bread in one form or another seems a universal gesture of peace and welcome.
So it is in Montenegro. And so while I considered preparing many of the mouthwatering, comforting traditional dishes that comprise Montenegrin cuisine, what I finally settled on was a humble loaf of bread; significant for its simplicity and what it represents.
For more information about Montenegrin dishes and cuisine:
Česnica, or "Christmas bread," is something that I've looked forward to all year, every year for as long as I can remember. It is served only at Christmas on January 7th (celebrated in accordance with the Orthodox calendar). The bread is passed around, and everyone in the family tears a piece from the communal loaf, hoping to find a hidden coin in their portion. A silver dollar has been baked into the dough, and whoever finds it will have good luck in the coming year. Aside from the potential for good fortune that the bread brings, it is tasty. Enriched with plenty of eggs and butter (especially satisfying after the strict Lenten fasting period), the cesnica has a glossy shine, and the interior is dense and a bit cakey.
This year's Christmas celebration was a special one for me, as my sister and I took on the responsibility of preparing the holiday meal that my baba has traditionally and gracefully spear-headed. In the end, in spite of some light-hearted doubts by my overseeing grandma, I'm confident we did her proud.
On Christmas day my family and I, which has evolved over the years to a large group of relatives and friends, broke bread and enjoyed our special meal. Late that night, at the end of a long day of cooking and hostessing, I thoughtfully sipped on my slivovitz-spiked mulled wine (not traditional, but a great invention I discovered), and entertained pleasant fantasies about my future trip to Montenegro: the people I would meet there, the things I would learn, the beauty I would see, and the food I would eat and share.
So until then…I'll just continue baking bread, practicing my faith and patience. And dreaming about that day soon to come when I will share a simple meal, a strong shot of rakija, and some freshly baked bread with my friends in Crna Gora. Ziveli! (Cheers!)
Visit Montenegro:
Česnica - Christmas bread Ingredients:
juice of 1 lemon
5 1/2 c flour
1 tsp. salt
2 pkg. yeast
3 eggs, room temp.
2 c lukewarm water
1/4 lb butter, room temperature or softened
1 silver dollar, washed
Make sure the water is the correct temperature (about 112-120 degrees F), and combine ½ cup water with the yeast. Set aside for about 15 minutes or until the yeast looks like it's ready (bubbles will form). In a large bowl, combine the sifted flour with the remaining ingredients (salt, eggs, water, lemon juice, butter). Knead thoroughly for about 10-15 minutes. Pat the dough into a ball, place in a lightly oiled bowl, cover and set aside until it has risen to double (this took about three hours for me, but it will depend on the temperature in your house etc.). Make sure to set the bowl in a warm place during this time or the bread won’t rise.
Lightly oil or butter a 11 x 15 in. pan and spread in the dough. Slip the silver dollar/quarter into the bread and pinch the dough over so it’s not visible. Brush the bread with egg yolk, and sprinkle with sesame seeds if desired. You may also make a cross, braid or other design on top with a handful of dough if you’d like. Bake in preheated 375 F oven for about 50-55 minutes or until risen and golden.
Saturday, March 19, 2011
Sweet, sweet knafe
Research for this post was tough.
First, I had to read all about the spectacular array of Middle Eastern sweets in existence; my brain swelled with crucial information such as how to make the crunchy sesame cookie Barazeh, how many variations of baklava exist (endless), and what components exactly make up the mysterious pastry-cake knafe. More importantly, what do all of these beautiful pastries taste like? Which leads me to my next stage of research: locating a local pastry shop that would have an authentic, wide-ranging array of Lebanese sweets (must include knafe). No ordinary, spiritless venue would do. My first real taste of these extraordinary sweets must be a good one; I searched ambitiously for a shop that would emulate the famed sweet shops of Tripoli or Damascus.
I successfully and happily discovered Sarkis Pastry in Glendale, California. I was welcomed into the shop by glass cases teeming with nutty, cheesy, honey soaked beauties that looked every bit as delicious and interesting as the ones I'd been drooling over in books and on my computer screen. Eventually I took a break from ogling the pastries, and looked up to see a friendly young woman who smiled at me and offered a generous sample slice of a mysterious cream and pistachio cake that tasted of florally rose water (Ashet-Sarayah). Grateful for the sample, but determined not to get sidetracked, I referred back to my original order of business: "Do you have knafe?" I asked. "Yes, yes right here, do you want some?" She gestured to a piping hot tray of the orangeish, cheese filled pastry; the object of my desire. Perfect. I was offered it in a bun, or plain with syrup. Um, both please. As well as one of those, two of these, and a few slices of that...
Somehow the goods made it home intact, uneaten. I placed the sticky sweets on a pretty tray and took a quick photo (a seriously difficult task; the temptation to bite into each one before placing it on the tray was overwhelming). Next, a methodical tasting session of this most beautiful selection of sweets. My tasting partner and I carefully broke apart each cookie, pastry, cake, and filo wrapped piece of heaven, trying to discern what exactly was in each item, how it was made, and most importantly, what was the best. For the record, maamoul, a delicate butter cookie filled with dates, walnuts or pistachios, is my favorite. Usually I prefer the traditional date filled kind, but at Sarki's, the pistachio maamoul is something special.
A tray of crumbs behind us, we moved on to the knafe. It's a good thing we'd saved this for last, because there's not much that can successfully follow this pleasant bombardment of the palate (and the stomach). Oh man, the knafe: perhaps the most indulgent and most satisfying bite of anything I've ever had (helped, I'm sure, by the anticipation leading up to it). The original version in syrup was really tasty, yes. But the knafe "sandwich" was in a league of its own. Whoever came up with this crazy idea was a genius. They should be fairly recognized right alongside the Sicilian who decided to pair creamy gelato with a brioche bun (the Sicilian "ice-cream sandwich").
Knafe (also, knafi, knefe, kunafe, kanafeh etc.) is a Middle Eastern sweet that's made in many variations, but typically includes a dough of either crushed, shredded filo (khishnah, or "rough" knafe) or a crumbly semolina mixture (naemeh, or "fine" knafeh). The base of the dough is then rubbed with melted butter and pressed into a baking dish. On top of this goes the filling, which traditionally is made with cheese, cream, or sometimes nuts. Then goes another layer of the dough, and the pie is baked until golden brown and the cheese has melted. The knafe is doused in sugar syrup while hot, and served right away, while the filling is still warm and gooey. Sometimes kataifi (shredded filo) dough is wrapped around the filling of cheese, cream, or nuts to make individual pastries, but more commonly the knafe it is made in a large, round pan and served up in squares by dexterous hands and a well-worn spatula.
In Lebanon, a surprising and indulgent version of knafe is made by plopping a gooey square of the pastry into a halved sesame bun. This knafe filling is crowned with a spoonful of sweet, rose water infused syrup. This supremely satisfying "knafe sandwich" is eaten immediately (usually for breakfast) or wrapped in paper to take away.
Knafeh al Nabulsyya is perhaps the best known and most traditional version of this sweet, named after the famed nabulsi cheese from the West Bank city of Nablus. It is said that the best knafe is made in Nablus, thanks in part to the special cheese that is always used in the filling here (elsewhere, substitutes include akkawi cheese, thickened cream, mozzarella, ricotta, or cream cheese). Part of the reason I have been so obsessed with this is dessert is that a friend recently spent some time in the West Bank, and upon return home wouldn't stop talking about the knafe that he indulged in daily while there.
The people of Nablus are so proud of this pastry, that they took it upon themselves to set records with it. In 2009, 150 local bakers teamed up to create the world's largest knafe. After 25 days of preparation, nearly 3,000 lbs. of sweet, gooey goodness was set on a table that snaked through the streets of Nablus, and was served up to a hungry crowd. The pastry was 250 feet long.
I think I'd like to go there.
But for now, it seems I'll have to make due with a home-made interpretation. Surely this ancient dessert will not taste the same against the backdrop of a white tiled counter top in my California kitchen as it would in the dim, dusty alleyway of a Nabulsi souk, as handed to me by a practiced old man from behind his hundred year old cart. No, alas, it will not be the same. But I have a craving that won't quit, and you can't stop this girl from trying.
My Knafe
Here is a recipe for "naemeh knafe," the fine version which is made with semolina flour. To make "rough knafe," use kataifi dough and melted butter instead of the semolina mixture. See below for quantities and further direction.
Ingredients:
3 cups fine semolina four
1 cup granulated sugar
1 1/2 cup butter, softened
1/4 cup tepid water
1 lb. plain cream cheese or ricotta (cream cheese will taste richer, more like a cheesecake; ricotta will be lighter)
12-16 oz. shredded mozzarella (not low-fat or low moisture)
For the syrup:
3 cups sugar
1 1/2 cups water
squeeze of lemon (about 2 Tbs.)
about 2 Tbs. orange blossom water (or rose water)
In a medium bowl, combine the semolina, 1 cup sugar, water, and 1 cup softened butter. Rub it together with your hands until the mixture is moist and crumbly. Spread out evenly on a cookie sheet or baking dish and bake at 375 F for about 10-20 minutes, or until the dough has dried out a bit (but not browned). Remove from the oven and let cool until you can handle it. Rub the semolina mixture between your hands and fingers until you have a smooth mixture (no lumps). When ready to use, melt the remaining 1/2 cup butter and add it to the semolina mixture. You may not need all of this butter. Add half to start, then add as much more as you need; the dough should be well moistened, but not wet.
Put half of the dough into a lightly greased baking dish (about 13"x9") or a large pizza pan. Pat it down and smooth it out so it covers the pan. Add large spoonfuls of the cheese mixture evenly all over the dough, then carefully spread it out so that all the dough is covered. This part can be a little tricky; smooth the filling out very carefully, so as not to lift the dough underneath. Sprinkle the remaining semolina mixture all over the cheese, and gently pat it down so that all is covered.
Bake at 375 F for about 45 minutes, or until golden brown. Remove from the oven and carefully invert the knafe onto a large plate or a pan of the same size. Slide it back onto the original baking dish, bottom side up, and bake for a few more minutes until this side is also golden brown.
To make the syrup, bring the sugar and water to a boil. Add the lemon juice. Let simmer, stirring occasionally, until the syrup has thickened (about 10 minutes). When it is almost done, add the orange blossom water. Let cool a bit before pouring over the knafe.
When the knafe is done, pour the syrup over it (knafe should be hot). Sprinkle with crushed pistachios (optional). It may help to pick the dough a few times with a fork, to allow the syrup to really permeate the crust. Let the syrup soak into the cake for a couple of minutes, then serve while still hot, with additional syrup if desired.
For rough knafe:
1 package defrosted kataifi dough (1lb.)
1/2 lb. melted butter (2 sticks)
1 lb. plain cream cheese
12-16 oz. shredded mozzarella (not low fat or low-moisture)
syrup (same as above)
In a large bowl, pull apart the kataifi dough. Add the melted butter, a few spoonfuls at a time, and rub the butter into the dough. This will be messy, and should take about 10-15 minutes. Once the dough is very finely shredded, and softened from the butter, prepare a baking dish (about 13" x 9") or a large round pizza pan by lightly greasing it with butter or nonstick spray. Add half the dough, and pat it own gently. Plop the cheese mixture evenly all over the dough, and smooth it out, careful not to lift the dough beneath while you are spreading it. Add the remaining dough so that it covers the cheese. Pat it down gently. Bake at 375 F for about 40-60 minutes, or until golden brown. Remove from the oven, and carefully invert the knafe onto a large tray or a baking dish of the same size. Return to the oven and bake until this side is also golden brown.
Remove from the oven and pour the syrup all over the hot knafe. You may not need all the syrup; add according to you taste (though to you will probably need more than you think). Let the syrup soak into the pastry for a couple of minutes, and serve while still warm, with extra syrup if desired.
First, I had to read all about the spectacular array of Middle Eastern sweets in existence; my brain swelled with crucial information such as how to make the crunchy sesame cookie Barazeh, how many variations of baklava exist (endless), and what components exactly make up the mysterious pastry-cake knafe. More importantly, what do all of these beautiful pastries taste like? Which leads me to my next stage of research: locating a local pastry shop that would have an authentic, wide-ranging array of Lebanese sweets (must include knafe). No ordinary, spiritless venue would do. My first real taste of these extraordinary sweets must be a good one; I searched ambitiously for a shop that would emulate the famed sweet shops of Tripoli or Damascus.
I successfully and happily discovered Sarkis Pastry in Glendale, California. I was welcomed into the shop by glass cases teeming with nutty, cheesy, honey soaked beauties that looked every bit as delicious and interesting as the ones I'd been drooling over in books and on my computer screen. Eventually I took a break from ogling the pastries, and looked up to see a friendly young woman who smiled at me and offered a generous sample slice of a mysterious cream and pistachio cake that tasted of florally rose water (Ashet-Sarayah). Grateful for the sample, but determined not to get sidetracked, I referred back to my original order of business: "Do you have knafe?" I asked. "Yes, yes right here, do you want some?" She gestured to a piping hot tray of the orangeish, cheese filled pastry; the object of my desire. Perfect. I was offered it in a bun, or plain with syrup. Um, both please. As well as one of those, two of these, and a few slices of that...
 |
| An array of sweets |
A tray of crumbs behind us, we moved on to the knafe. It's a good thing we'd saved this for last, because there's not much that can successfully follow this pleasant bombardment of the palate (and the stomach). Oh man, the knafe: perhaps the most indulgent and most satisfying bite of anything I've ever had (helped, I'm sure, by the anticipation leading up to it). The original version in syrup was really tasty, yes. But the knafe "sandwich" was in a league of its own. Whoever came up with this crazy idea was a genius. They should be fairly recognized right alongside the Sicilian who decided to pair creamy gelato with a brioche bun (the Sicilian "ice-cream sandwich").
 |
Knefe-Jbneh at Sarkis |
Knafe 101:
Knafe (also, knafi, knefe, kunafe, kanafeh etc.) is a Middle Eastern sweet that's made in many variations, but typically includes a dough of either crushed, shredded filo (khishnah, or "rough" knafe) or a crumbly semolina mixture (naemeh, or "fine" knafeh). The base of the dough is then rubbed with melted butter and pressed into a baking dish. On top of this goes the filling, which traditionally is made with cheese, cream, or sometimes nuts. Then goes another layer of the dough, and the pie is baked until golden brown and the cheese has melted. The knafe is doused in sugar syrup while hot, and served right away, while the filling is still warm and gooey. Sometimes kataifi (shredded filo) dough is wrapped around the filling of cheese, cream, or nuts to make individual pastries, but more commonly the knafe it is made in a large, round pan and served up in squares by dexterous hands and a well-worn spatula.
In Lebanon, a surprising and indulgent version of knafe is made by plopping a gooey square of the pastry into a halved sesame bun. This knafe filling is crowned with a spoonful of sweet, rose water infused syrup. This supremely satisfying "knafe sandwich" is eaten immediately (usually for breakfast) or wrapped in paper to take away.
Knafeh al Nabulsyya is perhaps the best known and most traditional version of this sweet, named after the famed nabulsi cheese from the West Bank city of Nablus. It is said that the best knafe is made in Nablus, thanks in part to the special cheese that is always used in the filling here (elsewhere, substitutes include akkawi cheese, thickened cream, mozzarella, ricotta, or cream cheese). Part of the reason I have been so obsessed with this is dessert is that a friend recently spent some time in the West Bank, and upon return home wouldn't stop talking about the knafe that he indulged in daily while there.
The people of Nablus are so proud of this pastry, that they took it upon themselves to set records with it. In 2009, 150 local bakers teamed up to create the world's largest knafe. After 25 days of preparation, nearly 3,000 lbs. of sweet, gooey goodness was set on a table that snaked through the streets of Nablus, and was served up to a hungry crowd. The pastry was 250 feet long.
I think I'd like to go there.
 |
| World's Largest Knafe |
But for now, it seems I'll have to make due with a home-made interpretation. Surely this ancient dessert will not taste the same against the backdrop of a white tiled counter top in my California kitchen as it would in the dim, dusty alleyway of a Nabulsi souk, as handed to me by a practiced old man from behind his hundred year old cart. No, alas, it will not be the same. But I have a craving that won't quit, and you can't stop this girl from trying.
My Knafe
Here is a recipe for "naemeh knafe," the fine version which is made with semolina flour. To make "rough knafe," use kataifi dough and melted butter instead of the semolina mixture. See below for quantities and further direction.
 |
| Homemade knafe...mmm. |
Ingredients:
3 cups fine semolina four
1 cup granulated sugar
1 1/2 cup butter, softened
1/4 cup tepid water
1 lb. plain cream cheese or ricotta (cream cheese will taste richer, more like a cheesecake; ricotta will be lighter)
12-16 oz. shredded mozzarella (not low-fat or low moisture)
For the syrup:
3 cups sugar
1 1/2 cups water
squeeze of lemon (about 2 Tbs.)
about 2 Tbs. orange blossom water (or rose water)
In a medium bowl, combine the semolina, 1 cup sugar, water, and 1 cup softened butter. Rub it together with your hands until the mixture is moist and crumbly. Spread out evenly on a cookie sheet or baking dish and bake at 375 F for about 10-20 minutes, or until the dough has dried out a bit (but not browned). Remove from the oven and let cool until you can handle it. Rub the semolina mixture between your hands and fingers until you have a smooth mixture (no lumps). When ready to use, melt the remaining 1/2 cup butter and add it to the semolina mixture. You may not need all of this butter. Add half to start, then add as much more as you need; the dough should be well moistened, but not wet.
Put half of the dough into a lightly greased baking dish (about 13"x9") or a large pizza pan. Pat it down and smooth it out so it covers the pan. Add large spoonfuls of the cheese mixture evenly all over the dough, then carefully spread it out so that all the dough is covered. This part can be a little tricky; smooth the filling out very carefully, so as not to lift the dough underneath. Sprinkle the remaining semolina mixture all over the cheese, and gently pat it down so that all is covered.
Bake at 375 F for about 45 minutes, or until golden brown. Remove from the oven and carefully invert the knafe onto a large plate or a pan of the same size. Slide it back onto the original baking dish, bottom side up, and bake for a few more minutes until this side is also golden brown.
To make the syrup, bring the sugar and water to a boil. Add the lemon juice. Let simmer, stirring occasionally, until the syrup has thickened (about 10 minutes). When it is almost done, add the orange blossom water. Let cool a bit before pouring over the knafe.
When the knafe is done, pour the syrup over it (knafe should be hot). Sprinkle with crushed pistachios (optional). It may help to pick the dough a few times with a fork, to allow the syrup to really permeate the crust. Let the syrup soak into the cake for a couple of minutes, then serve while still hot, with additional syrup if desired.
For rough knafe:
1 package defrosted kataifi dough (1lb.)
1/2 lb. melted butter (2 sticks)
1 lb. plain cream cheese
12-16 oz. shredded mozzarella (not low fat or low-moisture)
syrup (same as above)
In a large bowl, pull apart the kataifi dough. Add the melted butter, a few spoonfuls at a time, and rub the butter into the dough. This will be messy, and should take about 10-15 minutes. Once the dough is very finely shredded, and softened from the butter, prepare a baking dish (about 13" x 9") or a large round pizza pan by lightly greasing it with butter or nonstick spray. Add half the dough, and pat it own gently. Plop the cheese mixture evenly all over the dough, and smooth it out, careful not to lift the dough beneath while you are spreading it. Add the remaining dough so that it covers the cheese. Pat it down gently. Bake at 375 F for about 40-60 minutes, or until golden brown. Remove from the oven, and carefully invert the knafe onto a large tray or a baking dish of the same size. Return to the oven and bake until this side is also golden brown.
Remove from the oven and pour the syrup all over the hot knafe. You may not need all the syrup; add according to you taste (though to you will probably need more than you think). Let the syrup soak into the pastry for a couple of minutes, and serve while still warm, with extra syrup if desired.
 |
| khishnah or "rough knafe" |
Friday, February 4, 2011
Lebanon Part II: Food and Fuul
"Middle Eastern" and "Lebanese" food are often referred to interchangeably by those of us who live outside of the region, and indeed many dishes that are quintessentially Lebanese can also be found elsewhere in the Levant. It's often hard to say where exactly certain disputed dishes originated; the topic seems to spark passions and even the occasional legal debate. There was recently an interesting, if somewhat extreme, lawsuit initiated by the former Lebanese Minister of Culture against the country of Israel over who could lay claim to the origins of hummus, tabbouleh, falafel, and a host of other national dishes that are also served up all over the Middle East and in restaurants around the world (Read the article). The minister sought to acquire legal "ownership" of these foods so that only if they were produced under specific guidelines within the state of Lebanon could they be considered authentic products (much like champagne can be so named only if it was produced in the Champagne region of France, or as Parmigiano-Reggiano is only authentic when manufactured in designated regions around Parma, Italy).
Some dishes or foods may certainly be traced to the region of modern day Lebanon, but others may prove more difficult. Fuul for example, has been a staple to the Egyptian diet for hundreds of years, and foods such as falafel and hummus have become so ingrained in wider Middle Eastern cuisine that it would be hard, if not impossible, to decipher their exact origins. But these questions are not for me to answer. I will leave them up to the food historians and food obsessed politicians of the world and will simply tell you what I do know. Although celebrated foods such as hummus, tabbouleh, baba ghanouj, falafel and kibbeh have become relatively mainstream, authentic Lebanese food is not homogeneous or over-done; it is unique, regionally diverse, many-layered, and full of character. And although the aforementioned items are largely represented at the Lebanese table, so are many other wonderful foods that world has yet to hear about. Every village and every region has its specialties, whether it is spicy fish sandwiches with tahini (samkeh harrah) in the northern port of Tripoli, or fist-sized kibbeh filled with lamb-tail fat then grilled (kibbeh shaham); a specialty of the mountain village Zghorta.
The Bekaa valley in the interior of the country is a particularly fertile land well suited for fruits, vegetables, and wine production. Here, the fare is hearty, homey, and flavorful, and preserved items such as pickled vegetables, jams, and syrups made from carob or pomegranates are frequently incorporated into meals (these pantry staples are called mouneh). Lamb is an important source of meat in rural Lebanon, and lamb fat is sometimes used for cooking purposes in the place of butter or oil. In Beirut, and the many fishing towns along the western coast, fish and seafood are prevalent, along with the ubiquitous kebabs which are often sold on the street and are generally made from lamb or chicken (or occasionally fish). Chickpeas, tahini (sesame paste), fava beans, labneh (strained yogurt), bulgur wheat, za'atar (spice mixture of thyme, sumac and sesame seeds), olive oil and lemon juice are a few essentials to the Lebanese diet, and are used in various combinations to create tabbouleh (salad with bulgur, parsley, herbs, olive oil and lemon), hummus (chickpea and tahini dip), fattoush (bread salad with seasonal vegetables), manaqish bil za'atar (za'atar bread), kibbeh (see below), falafel (chickpea fritters), and fuul mdammas (warm bean salad).
Soft, thin flatbread is a part of every meal, and is used to scoop up dips, salads, and meat dishes. Some of my favorite Lebanese foods are:
2. shaped and served sort of like a pizza, a layer of ground meat and bulgur is spread out on a large baking sheet, drizzled with olive oil and perhaps some pine nuts, and baked (see picture).
3. kibbeh nayeh, very fresh lamb ground into a paste, combined with bulgur wheat and olive oil, and served raw as a rich, creamy dip (similar to tartare).
Fuul Mdammas
3/4 cup dried fava beans
3/4 cup dried chickpeas
3 cloves garlic
1/3 cup extra virgin olive oil
juice of one lemon, or more to taste
salt
1-2 tsp. cumin
For garnish:
1 small bunch fresh parsley, finely chopped
green onion, chopped
fresh tomato, diced
radish, chopped
pickled peppers
pickled turnips
Soak the beans overnight in plenty of water and 1 tsp. baking soda. Drain the beans and rinse briefly under cool water. Add to a saucepan. Add enough water so that the beans are covered by a couple of inches. Bring to a boil. Reduce to a low simmer, and cook, covered, until the beans are soft and the water has nearly reduced (about 1.5 hours). Keep an eye on the beans while they are cooking, stirring occasionally and adding a little water if necessary.
When the beans are almost done, smash or chop the garlic with a good pinch of salt until you have a chunky paste.
When ready to serve (the beans should be soft and the water mostly reduced), smash the beans gently with the back of a wooden spoon and transfer to a bowl. This step is optional; sometimes the beans in foul are lightly mashed, and other times they are not. Both ways are good. I like to smash them just a little, as it's easier to scoop with the bread.
Add the garlic paste, salt to taste, and cumin. Add the olive oil and lemon juice.
Garnish with chopped parsley and a final sprinkle of cumin. Serve with the following condiments: chopped green onion, diced tomato, radishes, pickled peppers, and pickled turnips. Serve warm with flatbread for dipping.
 |
Short slideshow of some traditional dishes |
Some dishes or foods may certainly be traced to the region of modern day Lebanon, but others may prove more difficult. Fuul for example, has been a staple to the Egyptian diet for hundreds of years, and foods such as falafel and hummus have become so ingrained in wider Middle Eastern cuisine that it would be hard, if not impossible, to decipher their exact origins. But these questions are not for me to answer. I will leave them up to the food historians and food obsessed politicians of the world and will simply tell you what I do know. Although celebrated foods such as hummus, tabbouleh, baba ghanouj, falafel and kibbeh have become relatively mainstream, authentic Lebanese food is not homogeneous or over-done; it is unique, regionally diverse, many-layered, and full of character. And although the aforementioned items are largely represented at the Lebanese table, so are many other wonderful foods that world has yet to hear about. Every village and every region has its specialties, whether it is spicy fish sandwiches with tahini (samkeh harrah) in the northern port of Tripoli, or fist-sized kibbeh filled with lamb-tail fat then grilled (kibbeh shaham); a specialty of the mountain village Zghorta.
 |
| Bekaa Valley |
 |
| Kibbeh |
Soft, thin flatbread is a part of every meal, and is used to scoop up dips, salads, and meat dishes. Some of my favorite Lebanese foods are:
- anything with tahini; sesame paste (my favorite condiment)
- chicken tarrator; shredded chicken with tomato and tahini
- kibbeh; there are literally dozens of variations of kibbeh (food writer Paula Wolfert has listed 50), but some of the most popular are:
2. shaped and served sort of like a pizza, a layer of ground meat and bulgur is spread out on a large baking sheet, drizzled with olive oil and perhaps some pine nuts, and baked (see picture).
3. kibbeh nayeh, very fresh lamb ground into a paste, combined with bulgur wheat and olive oil, and served raw as a rich, creamy dip (similar to tartare).
- lahem bil-ajine; small flatbreads topped with a mixture of finely minced lamb, onion, spices, pine nuts and tangy pomegranate molasses.
- fatayer; spinach, cheese, or meat filled pastries
- manaqish bil za'atar; grilled flat bread seasoned with olive oil and za'atar. When served on the street these fresh, healthy, thyme flatbreads are cooked over a concave pan called a saj. A paste of za'atar and olive oil is spread onto the little "pizzas" which are folded over and eaten warm. Manaqish bil za'atar represents a comforting, traditional breakfast for many Lebanese.
Fuul mdammas is a dish of stewed beans mixed with garlic, olive oil, fresh lemon and seasoned with cumin. Though it is certainly hearty, good fuul is made to feel less heavy with lively Middle Eastern spices and a generous dose of fresh lemon juice. In Egypt and Syria, fuul is eaten for breakfast and is made with fava beans. In Lebanon, it can be made with a combination of chickpeas and fava beans. Sometimes the beans are slightly mashed, and other times they are served intact. Always this dish is served with lots of fresh flatbread, which is used to scoop up the zesty beans. It is dressed with chopped parsley and served with diced tomatoes, radishes, and pickled vegetables.
This recipe is from a Lebanese friend (thanks Mona!!), so you know it will be good...
3/4 cup dried fava beans
3/4 cup dried chickpeas
3 cloves garlic
1/3 cup extra virgin olive oil
juice of one lemon, or more to taste
salt
1-2 tsp. cumin
For garnish:
1 small bunch fresh parsley, finely chopped
green onion, chopped
fresh tomato, diced
radish, chopped
pickled peppers
pickled turnips
Soak the beans overnight in plenty of water and 1 tsp. baking soda. Drain the beans and rinse briefly under cool water. Add to a saucepan. Add enough water so that the beans are covered by a couple of inches. Bring to a boil. Reduce to a low simmer, and cook, covered, until the beans are soft and the water has nearly reduced (about 1.5 hours). Keep an eye on the beans while they are cooking, stirring occasionally and adding a little water if necessary.
When the beans are almost done, smash or chop the garlic with a good pinch of salt until you have a chunky paste.
When ready to serve (the beans should be soft and the water mostly reduced), smash the beans gently with the back of a wooden spoon and transfer to a bowl. This step is optional; sometimes the beans in foul are lightly mashed, and other times they are not. Both ways are good. I like to smash them just a little, as it's easier to scoop with the bread.
Add the garlic paste, salt to taste, and cumin. Add the olive oil and lemon juice.
Garnish with chopped parsley and a final sprinkle of cumin. Serve with the following condiments: chopped green onion, diced tomato, radishes, pickled peppers, and pickled turnips. Serve warm with flatbread for dipping.
Links:
(very famous sweet shop in Tripoli; can order online)
Dirty Kitchen Secrets (blog)
My Culinary Journey Through Lebanon (blog)
Book: Lebanese Cuisine, by Anissa Helou
Book: Man'oushe, by Barbara Massaad
Book: Saha: a chef's journey through Lebanon and Syria, by Greg and Lucy Malouf
Book: Lebanese Cuisine, by Anissa Helou
Book: Man'oushe, by Barbara Massaad
Book: Saha: a chef's journey through Lebanon and Syria, by Greg and Lucy Malouf
Monday, January 31, 2011
Lebanon
Lebanon. It has been making headlines lately. But while the recent news of riotous protests and a dismembered government hardly portray this place in a positive light, it's important to remember that there's more to life here than political instability. So though now may seem an odd time to emphasize the lighter side of life in Lebanon, I think it's actually quite the right time.
This tiny Eastern Mediterranean country just can't seem to catch a break, though that's not for lack of trying, to be sure. Time and time again the people here have picked themselves up after the stun of war and marched forward determinedly. Fifteen years of Civil War (1975-1991), a tenuous Israeli occupation in southern Lebanon (1982-2000), a massive car bomb attack in Beirut that killed the former Prime Minister and 20 others (2005), sporadic violence between Hezbollah forces and the IDF (Israeli Defence Forces) along the Israeli border, and a devastating month-long, nation-wide bombing campaign by Israel in July 2006 are a few of the obstacles the Lebanese people have had to overcome in recent years. The fact that normal progress and day to day living has been stifled in such staggering ways is all the more tragic, since this is a country and a people with so very much to offer. But as I said, the people here march forward. And interestingly enough, food and wine (my favorite subjects) have often provided the backdrop for some of the most remarkable stories of Lebanese resiliency. Here are four such stories:
In 1984 the owner of Musar winery, Serge Hochar, was named "Wine Man of the Year" by Decanter magazine for his courage in maintaining operations during the violence of the 1970s and 80s. Chateau Musar is located in the Bekaa Valley, where much of the fighting took place. Lebanon was a difficult place to be during these Civil War years, to say the least; the details of the violence are difficult to recount for their staggering inhumanity. Yet even as 1 million of Lebanon's 3 million citizens fled the country during the war, Mr. Hochar became committed, if not obsessed, with the continuity of his business. Staff were ensured of their livelihood, and somehow in the midst of chaos, the wine making went on. "And whenever the airports, roads, or harbors opened, Serge shipped his precious cargo of Chateau Musar to a world wine audience that was increasingly turning its attention to this vineyard that kept producing exquisite wines right from the center of hell" (Read Elizabeth Gilbert's article: "A Wine Worth Fighting For").
In a similar scenario, in a different war, the staff at Ksara winery in the Bekaa Valley were recognized for their efforts during the summer 2006 war with Israel. Beginning in August 2006, Lebanon was rocked by a month long series of bombings and air raids which were aimed at weakening the opposition forces (the war was ignited by a confrontation between Hezbollah and the IDF in southern Lebanon), but which in fact severely weakened the entire country. Defiantly, the staff at Chateau Ksara worked through the siege in the hopes that they'd be able to salvage their precious harvest, even as war was raging on around them. "Despite the bombs that blew out some of the château's windows, Mr Ghostine [owner of Ksara] and his staff were determined to save at least some of the grapes in the vineyards..." Speaking of rebuilding after the setbacks of war, Mr. Ghostine says, "...It's not going to be easy, but I think we can manage it. Somehow in Lebanon, we always do" (Read: Women rescue Lebanon's wine after fighting threatens to ruin harvest).
In 1989, two forward thinking women decided to create a business showcasing the traditional foods of their village and of Lebanon, as an alternate source of income after local harvests were ruined and farmland was ravaged during the civil war. The founders, Youmna Ghoraieb and sister Leila Maalouf, began collecting recipes from neighbors and friends, and employed local women to help test and produce pantry staples and preserves such as jams, pickles, rose waters, etc. (a Lebanese tradition, these items are collectively referred to as mouneh). Mymoune, as the business was dubbed, prides itself on preserving Lebanese culinary traditions while using the freshest ingredients available, and in taking the utmost care during homemade preparations. Their products can be found in certain specialty food stores in the U.S. and the U.K. and have been recognized for their excellent quality (Mymoune website).
In 2004, Lebanon's first farmer's market, the Souk el Tayeb, was created with the objective of promoting peace and unification of Lebanon's diverse population through food. Kamal Mouzawak, the founder of the market, envisioned a project that would bring people together from all over the country under the common activities of food and farming. Farmers, producers, and home cooks from all over Lebanon gather at the market, which is held in downtown Beirut, once a week to share a taste of their delicious produce and homemade foods with the city-folk. The market has evolved into a multi-project endeavor, and continues to grow.
I could go on, as the anecdotes seem to be endless, but hopefully you get the point: the Lebanese people have certainly been stifled over the years, yet behind the front lines of war and gurgling political tensions, there is vibrancy. Namely, one of the richest cuisines in the world, a universally recognized party culture in Beirut, an enviably laid-back lifestyle in the seaside villages that line Lebanon's Mediterranean coast, ancient emblems of world history such as the Roman ruins at Baalbek, and a "booming" wine industry (in the words of a regional wine expert) that has seen consistently positive reviews for taste and quality (the region is believed to be the "birthplace of wine"). These enduring qualities have attracted travelers from all over the world since before the war, when Lebanon was considered the "Paris of the Middle East", and have contributed to the country's bounce-back ability. Just three years after its 2006 confrontation with Israel, Beirut was named the "top place to travel to in 2009" by The New York Times (#1 out of 40 destinations worldwide).
Oh, but the food. Sigh, don't get me started on the food. I mean, I don't like to play favorites or anything, but this cuisine has really got a hold on me. Good food, I believe, is food that makes you feel alive. Real, authentic Lebanese food does that for me more so than perhaps any other cuisine. Even something as simple as sauteed spinach may look unexciting at first glance, but in fact will be packed with the brightness of a fresh lemon, the richness of good olive oil, and the zing of Middle Eastern spice. I had take-out from my favorite Lebanese restaurant last night (research for the blog, of course) and all it took was one bite of a pretty pink pickled turnip to turn me from apathetic and hungerless to awake and excited. So if a preserved vegetable can cure the blues, just imagine what the rest of this cuisine can do. But for more on this happy subject, you'll have to wait a day or two, as I am off to try my hand at foul mdammas, all the while daydreaming about how in the world I can accurately iterate to my readers the breath of fresh air that is Lebanese food.
Stay tuned...
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| Lonely Planet |
In 1984 the owner of Musar winery, Serge Hochar, was named "Wine Man of the Year" by Decanter magazine for his courage in maintaining operations during the violence of the 1970s and 80s. Chateau Musar is located in the Bekaa Valley, where much of the fighting took place. Lebanon was a difficult place to be during these Civil War years, to say the least; the details of the violence are difficult to recount for their staggering inhumanity. Yet even as 1 million of Lebanon's 3 million citizens fled the country during the war, Mr. Hochar became committed, if not obsessed, with the continuity of his business. Staff were ensured of their livelihood, and somehow in the midst of chaos, the wine making went on. "And whenever the airports, roads, or harbors opened, Serge shipped his precious cargo of Chateau Musar to a world wine audience that was increasingly turning its attention to this vineyard that kept producing exquisite wines right from the center of hell" (Read Elizabeth Gilbert's article: "A Wine Worth Fighting For").
In a similar scenario, in a different war, the staff at Ksara winery in the Bekaa Valley were recognized for their efforts during the summer 2006 war with Israel. Beginning in August 2006, Lebanon was rocked by a month long series of bombings and air raids which were aimed at weakening the opposition forces (the war was ignited by a confrontation between Hezbollah and the IDF in southern Lebanon), but which in fact severely weakened the entire country. Defiantly, the staff at Chateau Ksara worked through the siege in the hopes that they'd be able to salvage their precious harvest, even as war was raging on around them. "Despite the bombs that blew out some of the château's windows, Mr Ghostine [owner of Ksara] and his staff were determined to save at least some of the grapes in the vineyards..." Speaking of rebuilding after the setbacks of war, Mr. Ghostine says, "...It's not going to be easy, but I think we can manage it. Somehow in Lebanon, we always do" (Read: Women rescue Lebanon's wine after fighting threatens to ruin harvest).
In 1989, two forward thinking women decided to create a business showcasing the traditional foods of their village and of Lebanon, as an alternate source of income after local harvests were ruined and farmland was ravaged during the civil war. The founders, Youmna Ghoraieb and sister Leila Maalouf, began collecting recipes from neighbors and friends, and employed local women to help test and produce pantry staples and preserves such as jams, pickles, rose waters, etc. (a Lebanese tradition, these items are collectively referred to as mouneh). Mymoune, as the business was dubbed, prides itself on preserving Lebanese culinary traditions while using the freshest ingredients available, and in taking the utmost care during homemade preparations. Their products can be found in certain specialty food stores in the U.S. and the U.K. and have been recognized for their excellent quality (Mymoune website).
In 2004, Lebanon's first farmer's market, the Souk el Tayeb, was created with the objective of promoting peace and unification of Lebanon's diverse population through food. Kamal Mouzawak, the founder of the market, envisioned a project that would bring people together from all over the country under the common activities of food and farming. Farmers, producers, and home cooks from all over Lebanon gather at the market, which is held in downtown Beirut, once a week to share a taste of their delicious produce and homemade foods with the city-folk. The market has evolved into a multi-project endeavor, and continues to grow.
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| Traditional Lebanese food at the weekly farmer's market in Beirut |
"'A hand cannot clap alone' as we say in Lebanon. It needs two hands from different directions…but once joined they can clap, or in our case, plant. So this is about joining hands and bringing opposites together…planting seeds of peace and not of war. Joining hands and forces is the essence of Souk el Tayeb’s story, the first farmers’ market in Lebanon and the region" -Kamal Mouzawak, founder of Souk el Tayeb
(Read the full article).
(Read the full article).
I could go on, as the anecdotes seem to be endless, but hopefully you get the point: the Lebanese people have certainly been stifled over the years, yet behind the front lines of war and gurgling political tensions, there is vibrancy. Namely, one of the richest cuisines in the world, a universally recognized party culture in Beirut, an enviably laid-back lifestyle in the seaside villages that line Lebanon's Mediterranean coast, ancient emblems of world history such as the Roman ruins at Baalbek, and a "booming" wine industry (in the words of a regional wine expert) that has seen consistently positive reviews for taste and quality (the region is believed to be the "birthplace of wine"). These enduring qualities have attracted travelers from all over the world since before the war, when Lebanon was considered the "Paris of the Middle East", and have contributed to the country's bounce-back ability. Just three years after its 2006 confrontation with Israel, Beirut was named the "top place to travel to in 2009" by The New York Times (#1 out of 40 destinations worldwide).
Oh, but the food. Sigh, don't get me started on the food. I mean, I don't like to play favorites or anything, but this cuisine has really got a hold on me. Good food, I believe, is food that makes you feel alive. Real, authentic Lebanese food does that for me more so than perhaps any other cuisine. Even something as simple as sauteed spinach may look unexciting at first glance, but in fact will be packed with the brightness of a fresh lemon, the richness of good olive oil, and the zing of Middle Eastern spice. I had take-out from my favorite Lebanese restaurant last night (research for the blog, of course) and all it took was one bite of a pretty pink pickled turnip to turn me from apathetic and hungerless to awake and excited. So if a preserved vegetable can cure the blues, just imagine what the rest of this cuisine can do. But for more on this happy subject, you'll have to wait a day or two, as I am off to try my hand at foul mdammas, all the while daydreaming about how in the world I can accurately iterate to my readers the breath of fresh air that is Lebanese food.
Stay tuned...
Anthony Bourdain in Beirut
Where to buy Lebanese Wine:
Snooth.com; Chateau Musar, Massaya, Chateau Kefraya, Chateau Ksara (lots of options)
Wine Chateau; Chateau Musar and Massaya
K&L Wine Merchants; Chateau Musar
Mission Liquor Stores in Pasadena, Glendale, Sherman Oaks, CA. Also ships.
Where to buy Mymoune products:
buylebanese.com (search "mymoune")
Please comment if you know of others! Enjoy!!
Other Links:
Souk el Tayeb
Club Grappe: Lebanon's first wine club
Chateau Belle-Vue
Chateau Musar
Chateau Ksara
Massaya
article: For a real taste of Lebanon, go back to the land
Book: Lebanese Cuisine, by Anissa Helou
Other Links:
Souk el Tayeb
Club Grappe: Lebanon's first wine club
Chateau Belle-Vue
Chateau Musar
Chateau Ksara
Massaya
article: For a real taste of Lebanon, go back to the land
Book: Lebanese Cuisine, by Anissa Helou
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