Rose Water

A recipe is given in al-Baghdadi’s medieval cookery manual for these crisp little golden balls soaked in scented syrup or honey, bearing the same name, luqmat el qadi, which means “judge’s mouthfuls.” In Egypt they are known as zalabia, in Lebanon they are known as aweimat. The Greeks have a similar sweet called loukoumades. They are street food. Vendors deep-fry them and throw them into a syrup. During festivals they are sometimes colored bright yellow or red for joy and happiness and sold sprinkled with sugar and cinnamon. For parties they are served piled in a pyramid on a platter, held together by a sticky syrup.

When I was a girl I could die for this. I hardly ever make it now, but I was very happy to find it again in Istanbul. This is a sweet of Turkish origin which was very popular in Egypt. Some bakeries and cafés always had a large tray full of the rich, translucent, golden-ocher bread soaked in honey and syrup. Numerous recipes exist, and of course the texture and taste depend on the bread and the honey used. Use a fragrant honey like Hymettus or acacia.

Ataïf are dearly loved all over the Arab world. They were favorites of the Caliph Mustakfi of Baghdad in the tenth century. At a lavish banquet in his honor, a poem written by a certain Mahmud ibn Husain al-Kushâjim extolling the merits of ataïf was recited. Basically pancakes dipped in syrup, they are sprinkled with pistachios and eaten with thick cream or, more grandly, they are stuffed with chopped nuts or with cheese. The stuffed ones are my favorites. They are eaten during festivals, especially during the month of Ramadan, when they are sold in the street. They are the sweets of happy occasions such as weddings. Once upon a time, in Egypt, on the day of betrothal, a string of camels or donkeys brought the bride’s furniture and belongings to the house of the bridegroom, while he gave a farewell “stag” banquet complete with dancers and singers. The young bride had a ritual bath and was then conducted to her new home by a colorful procession headed by buffoons and musicians, dancers, jugglers, sword swallowers, and fire eaters. These were followed by lavishly decorated donkey carts. A first cart carried a coffeemaker with pots and cups and a fire, making coffee for well-wishers. A second carried makers of ma’amoul and trays covered with these pastries to distribute. A third carried pancake makers, handing out ataïf to passersby. When the bride arrived at the house, she sat down with her guests to a feast where hundreds of these delicacies were consumed. Families nowadays usually buy their ataïf ready-made from bakeries, and then stuff them and soak them in syrup. But the batter is easy enough to make at home. Several people I know always make it themselves. None have scales, nor do they measure quantities. They just look at the batter and add more water or more flour if they think it requires it. An aunt who lives in California and who has never ceased to cook in the Oriental manner uses a well-known pancake mix, which is very acceptable.

These glorious pastries have a melt-in-the-mouth shell and a variety of fillings of dates or nuts—walnuts, pistachios, or almonds. See the variations for these. My mother always had a biscuit tin full of them to offer with coffee. In Syria and Lebanon they make them with semolina instead of flour. An uncle told us of a baking competition organized by a dignitary in Aleppo many years ago. The maker of the best ma’amoul would get a prize, the equivalent of about two pounds, to be paid by the dignitary. Hundreds of ma’amoul poured into his house, certainly more than two pounds’ worth, and enough to keep him eating happily for months.

The finest-quality sheets of fillo are best to use for baklawa.

A traditional and constant feature of Middle Eastern sweets and pastries is the sugar syrup which is used both in making them and to bathe, soak, or sprinkle on many of them. It is either thin and liquid, or thick and treacly, and scented with rose water or orange-blossom water or both. It can be made in advance and stored for many weeks, even months, in a glass jar, ready to be used. The following quantities give the most common thickness.

This is a modern version of dondurma kaymakli without sahlab. Mastic and rose water give it an exotic allure. The mastic, a resin exuded from the lentisk tree, is sold in small, hard, translucent lumps, like crystals. It must be pounded or ground to a fine powder with a pestle and mortar, together with a pinch of sugar.

This is not an old, traditional ice cream but one developed by Egyptian expatriates in Europe with traditional ingredients and flavorings. It is very rich. Some Indian and Middle Eastern stores sell blanched and slivered or ground pistachios. If they are not available, you will have to buy shelled pistachios and blanch them for a few moments in boiling water to detach their skins, then peel them (a time-consuming labor), and grind them. Use 1 cup shelled pistachios to obtain 1 cup ground ones.

An Egyptian breakfast of boiled whole wheat, with hot milk poured over and sprinkled with sugar called belila, is turned into a celebratory dish on the 10th of Moharram (the first month of the Muslim calendar), when it is embellished with a flower fragrance and with nuts. Unless it is very young, wheat remains chewy even after lengthy cooking, so I use barley, which is less common but softens relatively quickly.

This is Syrian and beautiful, like white blossoms and brown leaves floating in a pure scented stream, but it is not to everybody’s taste.

It looks like white opaline encrusted with little stones. When it is served, it trembles like a jelly. It is customary for an admiring audience to compliment a belly dancer by comparing her tummy to a balouza.

A friend described the flavors of a pudding she tasted in an Iranian restaurant, and I applied them to the classic crème caramel. It is magnificent.

Vermicelli broken into 1-inch pieces, or pasta which looks like large grains of rice, called lissan al assfour or “bird’s tongues,” and orzo in the U.S., is used. Both of these types of pasta were made at home by rolling the dough between two fingers, but now they are available commercially. In Egypt it is a breakfast dish, served sprinkled with nuts and raisins. Chopped bananas are sometimes also added. The pasta is usually fried until it is golden brown and then boiled. In North Africa, where they steam the pasta without first frying it, it is served as a dessert. The mastic must be pounded or ground to a powder with a pinch of sugar.

Mastic, the resin from the lentisk tree, a native of the Greek island of Chios, gives this homely pudding an intriguing and, to me, very delicious flavor. (Lebanese pronounce it miskeh, and some restaurants wrongly call it “musk.”) It is bought in small translucent grains or crystals. You have to pound or grind them to a powder with a pinch of sugar.

This intriguing rice pudding made with water—not milk—called zerde in Turkey and sholezard in Iran, has a delicate flavor and pretty, jellylike appearance.

This is the most common and popular Arab dessert. It is a milky cream thickened by cornstarch or rice flour (in the old days the rice was pulverized with a pestle and mortar). In Lebanese restaurants it is usually made with cornstarch; at home rice flour is used, or a mixture of both. In Turkey they call the cream sutlage.

We used to soak the prunes overnight in tea to make pitting easier. Now pitted ones are available, but stuffing them still takes time. I watch television or listen to music while I do this. I prefer the dessert without the cream topping. Either way, it keeps very well for days.

A mixed dried fruit salad with nuts is a favorite in Egypt during Ramadan, the month-long fast, when Muslims fast during the day and eat after sunset. All through the day, people, hungry and listless, are hardly able to work, and dream of what they would like to eat. At nightfall, when the sky is a cherry red, the cannons boom through the cities signaling the end of the fast, and the muezzins sing it out from all the minarets. The silent city suddenly comes alive with the clatter of spoons and plates, glasses and jugs, and with the sound of relieved hunger and laughter, of music and merry-making. The longed-for dishes wait on tables, trays, and the floor, piled high with ful medames, falafel, and bamia, meatballs and kebabs, khoshaf and apricot cream (following recipe). Every family has its favorite combinations of dried fruits.

Another Ramadan specialty in Egypt is a cream made of sheets of dried pressed apricots (amareldine) soaked, then boiled in water. I was in Cairo during the Ramadan month a few years ago and saw hundreds of bowls of this tart-tasting fruit cream offered free at street parties. The sheets of amareldine available these days do not have the pure taste they once had—perhaps due to preservatives. It is better to use natural dried apricots. Pistachios or almonds and thick cream are optional embellishments. Sometimes cornstarch is used to give the cream the texture of jelly. For this, see the variation.

The special appeal here is the contrast between the tartness of the apricots and the sweetness of the almond paste.