Middle Eastern

The peppery bite of radishes is the featured player in this crunchy salad, which is served all over the Arab world in one form or another. Salting the radishes first improves both flavor and texture, but if you’re pressed for time, just salt the salad as you normally would.

Here’s a “Why didn’t I think of that?” concoction that’s added to many plates—and sometimes simply set on the table as a condiment—throughout the Middle East. Fresh and delicious, it’s often made with mint instead of parsley or shallot in place of onion. Serve with any grilled meat, but especially Kofte (page 355).

Among the simplest and most useful all-purpose chile pastes—terrific as a condiment for grilled food, and useful by the spoonful in braised dishes—this one can be made with nothing more than dried chiles (the standard red ones, inexpensive and readily available at any Asian market, are fine), garlic, and olive oil. A bit of cumin or Tabil is a nice addition. However—and this is a big however—harissa need not be fiery; it can be made with relatively mild chiles, like New Mexico or ancho chiles. Furthermore, whether you need the chiles or not is up to you; even if you use “mild” chiles, the sauce will be fairly hot if you do not. Obviously, some experimenting may be necessary to find your tolerance level. I have eaten harissa in many different forms, and this recipe is my choice. Harissa keeps for at least a week or two, refrigerated. It will lose a bit of intensity over time, but this is not necessarily a bad thing; some would call it mellowing.

A filling, bright-tasting soup that would certainly qualify as a main course. To make it even more substantial, cut up a couple of potatoes and simmer them with the kofte.

The procedure for basic pilaf—and here I’m focusing on the Middle Eastern rather than the Indian variety—is much simpler than that for risotto but truly no less rewarding. And like risotto’s, its technique can lead you to many different dishes; note the variations, which are just a fraction of what you can do. Long-grain rice (basmati is best) is the one to use here. Leftover pilaf can be successfully reheated in a microwave; no kidding. Just add a tiny bit of water first.

I first ate this soupy stew (or stewy soup) at a lunch counter in Istanbul and was taken by its depth of flavor. It seemed that either the whole was greater than the sum of its parts or there were some hidden ingredients. It turned out to be the former, or nearly so; through an interpreter, I learned that the dish did not begin with stock but with water and that the only ingredient I was not seeing was a bit of garlic. The cook offered that one might add a bit of butter for richness but that he hadn’t done so with this batch. If you want to turn this into a more filling main course, use stock instead of water, add some cubed boneless chicken or lamb, season it with a little cumin or dill, and finish it with lemon. You’ll wind up with a bigger, more substantial Turkish-style stew, though not necessarily a better one.

Whether seasoned with rose water or cinnamon, these are beguiling. They’re best with fresh fruit that is just short of perfectly ripe, but you can use reconstituted dried fruit also. Though they will not take as much stuffing, dates are good this way too. Rose water can be found in small bottles at Middle Eastern stores.

I have been making this winter fruit salad from the time I first started looking at cookbooks and well remember the original Claudia Roden recipe (in her wonderful classic A Book of Middle Eastern Food). My version, honed by experience and travel, is a little different. If you use water, you will probably need to add a bit of sugar; start with 1/2 cup and see how that tastes. This recipe produces a lovely syrup of its own, but you can serve it with yogurt or fresh or sour cream if you like. If you’re in a hurry, you may cook the mixture, gently, until the fruit softens. The texture will be mushier, the fruits less distinctive, but the taste will still be great.

Most of our pumpkins—which are grown more for decoration than for eating—are too watery for this wonderful Turkish dessert. If you can get a small, firm pumpkin, that will do the job just fine. If not, go with winter squash, like butternut, which has firm flesh and is easy to peel.

It seems every country that grows rice makes rice pudding, and almost every experienced cook has his or her own technique. After years of playing with it, this is the one I like best, and it works well with the variations of most cuisines. In many cases rice pudding is simply milk bound by rice; often the amount of rice is well under 10 percent of the total. I prefer this recipe with just 1/4 cup, no more. The result is a thick milk custard with a recognizable but understated rice presence. If you want a dense and slightly chewier mixture, use the larger amount of rice. Other possible additions to rice pudding: a strip of lemon zest, a pinch of saffron threads, or a teaspoon of ground cardamom added at the beginning; a couple of tablespoons of raisins and/or slivered pistachios stirred in at the end. See the variations, and the following recipes, too—this group of recipes is unending.

A lovely yellow rice pudding, with the exotic flavor of saffron; interestingly, it’s dairy free. Use cinnamon or cardamom in addition to (or in place of) the rose water (available in small bottles at Middle Eastern stores) if you like.

Something between pudding and cake, basbousa is popular throughout the Middle East. It’s always drenched in sugar syrup and often topped with fresh whipped cream. Rose water (sold in small bottles at Middle Eastern stores; it keeps indefinitely) is an odd ingredient, a lovely flavor that can quickly become overpowering. Use it judiciously.

Not unlike rice pudding, this couscous dessert is found throughout the Middle East and North Africa. Scent it with a few drops of rose water (available at Middle Eastern stores) or orange-flower water in place of the cinnamon if you like. Until recently, the topping for seffa was a thick sugar syrup, like that used on basbousa (preceding recipe). But more and more you see it without syrup or with a substitute like almond milk, which is very good.

Loukoumades are served across Greece and Cyprus, with a wide range of garnishes. I’ve suggested honey and cinnamon because they’re a simple, delicious, and authentic combination. But you could add a sprinkling of chopped pistachios or a dusting of confectioners’ sugar or even substitute the syrup used in making Baklava (page 628) for the honey.

Like Wor Teep, Chinese pot stickers, these meat-filled dumplings are filling and delicious (with store bought dumpling wrappers, they’re also quite easy). But the serving style is completely different: these are usually cooked and served in broth, with yogurt. Alternatively, you can boil them in water and serve them with yogurt or melted butter.

This stuff is great, and I have never tasted it in this country except in my own kitchen. I first had it in Turkey, where it was quite spicy, but have since learned that it’s equally acceptable milder. Dried urpa or aleppo pepper, or hot paprika, is the ideal seasoning—a bit of bite but not overwhelming—but judicious use of hot red pepper flakes is also good. You can also omit the heat entirely. This spread can be made hours or even a day in advance. Always, however, serve it at room temperature, never cold. Serve with bread or vegetable sticks; it makes a great sandwich ingredient too.

Its flavor bears no resemblance to real caviar, its ingredients (except for the salt) have nothing to do with caviar, but its texture—supposedly—is akin to that of caviar. If there are enough seeds in your eggplant—not necessarily a good thing—I suppose you could argue that its graininess is like that of caviar. In any case, it’s a wonderful spread for Crostini (page 41), as a dip for fresh vegetables, or as a stuffing for roasted peppers or tomatoes (pages 492).

You are served this everywhere in Istanbul and everywhere told this story: the dish is so delicious that the imam or priest to whom it was served simply fainted—“bayildi.” (Some people say he was so very thrifty that he fainted at the profligate amount of olive oil used, but since olive oil is no longer especially expensive—and a half cup is not that much, after all—you can enjoy this dish without guilt.) As is almost always the case, the small, light-skinned “Japanese” eggplants work best because they lack the bitterness common to larger eggplants. If you cannot get those, use the smallest eggplants you can find. This dish is always served at room temperature (or cold), so make it ahead of time.

Especially when made with lamb, this is incomparably delicious; serve it with good bread or toast. There was a time when this meat was chopped, then pounded and kneaded by hand, for longer than you or I have the patience to do. The food processor makes quick work of the process, and if you buy good fresh meat from a reliable source and handle it carefully, it’s as safe as a rare hamburger.

In this pure celebration of spring, Middle Eastern spices add warmth and depth to tender goat, while the season’s first tender offerings—fresh chickpeas, slender spring onions, tart sorrel—make a fabulous accompaniment. Letting the sautéed vegetables cool before adding the sorrel allows it to keep its vibrant color, and it also makes this relaxed, do-ahead party food. Prepare the side while the goat rests and be prepared to covet the leftovers. Fresh chickpeas look like abbreviated little fava beans in the pod, and, like favas, they require a two-step shelling process to get to the little green gems inside. If you can find them, it’s worth every minute of preparation. Fresh chickpeas are sweet and tender, with only a hint of the nuttiness that marks their flavor when dried. The spices can be found in Middle Eastern markets or online.