Sabbath Delight (related, only distantly, to Turkish Delight...)

Sabbath lunch with friends...nothing better. For me, a time to experiment and take time to do what I love in the kitchen. Sometimes the experiments work, sometimes they don't. Today, we had a bit of both. In my estimation, Parts One and Three of lunch worked well (that would be, appetizers and desserts). Part Two, well, mixed reviews. The negative reviews being mine. However, over all, it was a splendid feast with friends, and I will share the delight with you.

The overall theme of this lunch was Lebanon, however, a bit of Turkey and Morocco still managed to slip in. I will make the origins clear below.

To start off with, glasses of cold, clear, green hued tea. I had steeped some fresh ginger root and cane sugar with some green tea (at yes, my picky "just right" temperature) and refrigerated it over night. The result was much better than expected, and I have a second pitcher steeping as I write.

Last night Talea and I started on our second cooking adventure together. We decided to start with the eye-catching Batinjan Raheb (Lebanon: Eggplant and Tomato Salad). It has an eggplant base with greenery and pomegranate seeds (in theory, juice in practice) sprinkled on top. The mint and parsley, tomatoes and scallions added a nice fresh touch to the cooked eggplant puree. Which yes, I pureed on accident instead of the simple mashing called for. When given a choice, I always puree. So "accidents" of this sort are not too mournful. The eggplant puree was delightful, with a touch of lemon, garlic and olive oil. It was perfectly smooth in texture, though I can't say I tasted any of the "smoked flavor" promised upon broiler-charring. Perhaps the barbecue or wood stove would have provided that luxury better. Another time and place! I did comment to Talea upon the rather octopus-like appearance of the peeled eggplant, still held together by stem. It was rather a disgusting little mess, but the resulting taste was well worth it, and I believe this dish won first place in my book of the dishes I tried.

Served along with the salad was the standard Hummus Bi Tehine (Lebanon: Hummus--Chickpea and Tahini Dip). I have made this particular dip countless times, sending many blenders to an early grave, and finally purchasing an unbeatable Bosch. I started out with canned chickpeas in the early days, and upon marriage decided to take it to the next level, trying dry beans from scratch. I wasn't ready that first year of marriage to cook garbanzo beans. They require patience and a time-commitment, something those frantic school days just didn't allow. I would burn the beans (they'd run out of water), or they'd obtain a sickening overcooked hue and flavor. Last night, for the first time in two years, I decided to try again. I soaked the beans overnight, and then I started cooking them. Just barely simmering, adding water when needed, and gently stirring. They worked out perfectly. I even took the time to peel them all as I used to do in the canned-days, to obtain that rumored texture. I dropped in the lemon juice and garlic as of old, in this book's required amount, and for the first time added a bit of the remembered-cooking juice. The result: satin. Not as satiny as the eggplant, but delicious. Warmed garlic naan borrowed from India for the occasion paired well with the two dips. Delight, pure delight.

For the second course of the meal, I tried a minor imposition on my guests. I had wanted to make this book's version of Besara (Cream of Dried Fava Bean Soup-Morocco) and attempt a Spinach Pie (Ispanakli Tepsi Boregi-Turkey), but I didn't get to them Friday night and I couldn't do them Saturday morning. So I walked in the door with my guests and straight to the stove. As we talked, chopped greens, and warmed bread, Jenny and I delved into the secrets of Spinach Pie. For this particular recipe I raided HPP's freezer section for fillo dough, ecstatic to find they carried it. Jenny whisked together the egg, milk and butter brushing-dip and I pulled apart layers of paper thin fillo (the spinach was steaming above the simmering Besara). If I'd had any idea what went into one of these, I would have waved the flag of retreat and bowed to the Greek Grandmas out there.

It seemed "simple" enough, and we got it all together (after throwing a stick of butter on the floor and sending the boys out into the living room). But it was nothing like the Spinach Pies I drooled over in Greece. I took one hesitant bite, and turned the rest over to the others. Maybe it will be better the next day?

The Besara was nothing at all like my Egyptian version compliment's of Wael's mother. There were no onions, and no leeks. Just a dash of garlic, some cumin, paprika and Aleppo pepper. It tasted more like my Turkish lentil soup than fava bean soup, but if I stopped comparing, it was tasty. And because I like things smooth, I ended up pureeing it too, intentionally this time, and not accidentally.

The grande finale to the feast was an amazing apple pie, thanks to Bryan. I don't think they have those in Morocco, Lebanon, or Turkey. But they should.

ps. Update on the Pickled Lemon. I briefly opened it up to investigate and it fizzed most impressively. I see none of the forecasted mold, so I'm not sure when that will appear. It's been two weeks in, another two and it is basically ready!

Paratha

Pictured here are paratha and baba ganoush. The baba ganoush was nice, though, from how it sounds, not as nice as Monique's. I broiled the eggplant rather too long and, instead of a lovely roasted flavor, the baba ganoush had more of a burnt flavor. Also, I would suggest pureeing the eggplant rather than mashing it--just a textural preference on my part.

I've wanted to make paratha ever since Christmas when I tried a bread of my brother's which he dubbed "paratha." As an aside, my brother's version wasn't a flat bread paratha but a raised bread with an eggwash gloss to the crust. Delicious. My paratha, however, was disastrous. The dough itself is quite simple--I made it using a generous portion of whole wheat flour and rolled each paratha thinly before frying them off in a cast-iron skillet. The fatal flaw was, I think, too little oil and perhaps a frying pan which was too hot. By day 2, the paratha nearly broke my teeth--they were that hard. They were spotted with char (i.e., burnt in flavor), yet somehow still tasted of unbaked dough. Perhaps with more oil, they could have been crispy like chips. Or perhaps with less whole wheat flour, they could have been softer. Or maybe they needed to be more carefully stored overnight. I couldn't say, but the summary is as follows: this round of cooking did not pay off.

Of Orange Foods (and more)...

Pickled Lemon (In progress)

This seems to be an essential part of most of the recipes in this book, so I decided to try making my own! The recipe seemed easy: wash, salt, and store lemons, a few days later, add fresh lemon juice, let sit for a month. Well, I forgot to wash first, and salted and cut, and then had to wash and start over again, thinking of strange bacteria growing along with the pickling. They look beautiful in the jar in the window for now! I'm not so sure about when the "harmless" white mold starts growing.

Slada Batata Halwa (Sweet Potato Salad)

Golden sweet potatoes, slivered translucent onions, a dash of ginger crystals... This recipe was a combination of opposing tastes. I would never think to combine sweet potatoes and green olives, onions on top. But strangely enough, it worked. The flavors balanced out, the tart green olives and the soft, yielding flesh of the sweet potatoes. The lemon and the ginger brought it all together, while the cumin and the paprika worked to fill in the tapestry behind. The onions absorbed flavor and distributed it throughout. Delectable smelling in the pan, delicate on the tongue. This one gets four stars and a smiley in my book...

Simmering on the stove...

Slata Bortokal Bil Zaytoun (Orange, Olive, and Onion Salad)

I know, it's strange, to combine the fruitiness of oranges with the sweet of an onion. Especially when you add kalamata olives. But I threw them into the bowl nevertheless, the tempting picture in Arabesque assuring me it would be alright. Oranges sliced small, kalamata replacing black, and half of a red onion snowed across the top. The lemon and paprika worked well, and even the teaspoon of Aleppo pepper blended well. The taste test results were that yes, this recipe, surprisingly enough, worked. The immediate heartburn upon rising from the table, did not. But does it go into my lunch bag for the week? Yes.

Rosemary Focaccia Bread

A party given in honor of an Italian ceramicist. A party with an Italian theme. My focaccia fit in perfectly. The mashed potatoes stirred into the dough (along with the extra helping of yeast) raised it to a perfection of bready texture. That oily yet crunchy yet soft and light. But with a heaviness as well. It was perfect. The rosemary, potatoes, and garlic (with a dash of sea salt) basting the top drizzled inside and out, creating a welcoming flavor to the tongue. The warmth, moisture, and garlic (lots of garlic) made this a perfect bread. Next time, I would include some of the flavored oil and rosemary and salt on the inside of the bread as well, with the mashed potatoes. Spreading the rich flavor throughout.

The fresh rosemary and garlic in olive oil steeping....

The day of potatoes

Arabesque

Here's to a new cooking adventure, probably to be tromped on and well trodden, through the pages of a delectable feast of a book.