(Not So) Foul Salad

The first challenge with Foul is that its name is unfortunately an unappealing English cognate.

The second challenge with  Foul is finding its star ingredient, fava beans, also known as broad beans also known as faba beans also known as field beans also known as bell beans also known as pigeon peas also known as horse beans...you get the picture. Turns out, a fava bean by any other name is still a fava bean.

Kroger's canned vegetable aisle boasted at least 20 different types of beans but none of them were labeled with the aforementioned monikers. On a hunch, I skipped to the "International Foods" section and located a can of "Pigeon Peas" on the English shelf.  Hurrah.

After that, it's pretty simple. Fava beans are prominently featured in many Arab dishes, including some common in Syria, in part because they're easy to grow and yield abundant harvests even under harsh conditions. Usually, fava beans are incorporated into a mezze or side dish and sometimes even are presented warm and mashed. I wanted to preserve the integrity of the beans' shape and texture, so I kept them whole and took a cue (once again) from Syrian Foodie in London in assembling a salad.

Ingredients

• 2 cups canned fava beans (drained)--or if you're really ambitious (I'm not!) cook fresh ones

• 3 tablespoons cilantro

• 1 tablespoon minced garlic

• 1 tablespoon lemon juice

• 2 tablespoons olive oil

• salt and pepper to taste

Directions

1. Combine beans, cilantro, garlic, and lemon juice well. 

2. Slowly stir in olive oil. Season with salt and pepper. Garnish with lemon slice.

Eat right away with a fork, or more preferably, with pita and sparkling apple cider.

Artichoke Salad

I love artichokes but the preparation their raw form requires intimidates me. Oh hell, who am I kidding? I'm not afraid; I'm just lazy. Despite the luscious rewards of preparing buttery roasted artichokes, I am much happier, usually, to settle for less unctuous but still satisfying marinated artichoke hearts. Artichoke are prominently featured in Syrian cooking, with many recipes involving stuffing the hearts with spices, pine nuts, and ground meat. Some day, I will make those recipes. 

Beautiful but a bitch to prepare.

Last night I was just fine with making an artichoke salad inspired by a memory of a similar botanical assemblage I enjoyed during my first visit to Damascus.

Ingredients

• 5-7 Artichoke hearts marinated in oil (from a jar like this from your local supermarket)

• 1 large tomato (chopped)

• 1/2 red onion (chopped)

• 4 tablespoons parsley (chopped)

• More olive oil (if necessary)

• Salt and pepper

Directions

Toss artichoke hearts, tomato, onion, and parsley together in a medium bowl. Add salt and pepper to taste and more olive oil if you like. 

Recipe: Arayes

Don't judge a sandwich by its crust. My attempt at making arayes, a type of Syrian grilled sandwich turned out a bit sloppy but thanks to high-quality, unctuous lamb, fresh labneh, and good amount of chili, the contents were delicious.

Ironically, it was my choice of labneh rather than frozen pita that was probably the undoing of this sandwich. The former was unavailable fresh and the latter (more traditional) only frozen. Next time, I won't overstuff my sandwich and use pita in order to form neater, more compact pockets. Right now, I'll just enjoy this simple, satisfying snack.

Ingredients

• 1 pound ground lamb

• 1 small yellow onion (chopped)

• 1 bunch parsley (chopped)

• 1 teaspoon chili flakes

• 1 teaspoon allspice

• Butter

• salt

• pepper

• labneh/pita bread

Directions

1. Preheat oven to 200 degrees Fahrenheit.

2. Combine ground lamb, onion, parsley, chili flakes, and allspice in a large bowl. 

3. Cook meat mixture in a pan on the stoveup until just hints of pink remain.

4. Butter exterior of bread pockets and stuff with meat mixture. Do not overstuff.

5. Cook on wire rack in oven; 10 minutes for medium rare, 20 minutes for well done.

Recipe: Ojji

The Metro Yeoman is in Deutschland for work, which means it's just Bridey, Mason, and Jack at home this week. Mason and Jack, btw, are the world's cutest cats with a total of three eyes. Yes, they're that superior: they don't even need two full sets. 

Jack (left); Mason (right).

Usually when I want eggs for dinner I commandeer my better half because he is exceedingly adept at preparing all variants: scrambled, poached, sunny-side up, etc.  But his absence was a good opportunity for me to hone my own skills by making ojji, a type of Syrian omelet. I cooked it and relished it; now, I just have to learn how to pronounce it. The recipe below is adapted from syriancooking.com; I have seen others on the interwebs that involve mint, which I excluded only because I worried it would overwhelmed the more delicate flavors of the parsley and onion. 

Ingredients

• 6 large eggs

• 1 cup flour

• 1/4 cup chopped fresh parsley

• 1/2 cup chopped white onion

• 3 tablespoons olive oil

• 1/4 teaspoon ground red pepper

• 1/2 tablespoon salt

Directions

1. Combine eggs, flour, parsley, and onions in a mixing bowl. Add in pepper and salt slowly. Batter will be thick.

2. Heat olive oil in skillet over medium heat for just under a minute.

3. Ladle small (or large depending on how big you want your omelet patties) scoops of batter onto the skillet. Brown on both sides but do not overcook lest interior become dry. 

Recipe: Salata Addis

Two things you should know about me and lentils.  First, after reading the original version of Cinderella in middle school in which the eponymous heroine's evil stepmother falsely asserts if Cinderella is able sift lentils out of the ashes she can go to the ball, I for years associated lentils with dirt and broken promises. Second, this association shifted dramatically, and most importantly, positively when I volunteered one summer in Himachal Pradesh in northern India. The cook at our lodgings packed us tiffins of dal, okra, rice, and chapati every day for lunch, and in the cooler mountain temperatures, the warm spiced lentils were the perfect comfort food. (And welcome distraction from the fact that I was exposed daily to TB patients not wearing masks but that's another story.)

A leftover bag of green lentils from holiday entertaining presented the perfect opportunity to make salata addis, a Syrian lentil salad speckled with onions, parsley, and tomatoes. The recipe below is adapted from Helen Corey's Healthy Syrian and Lebanese Cooking, my bible until I find a better one (irony noted) for this experiment.

Ingredients

• 1/2 cups lentils

• 3 1/2 cups water

• 1 bay leave

• 2 tablespoons minced garlic

• 1 small onion (chopped)

• 2 tablespoons fresh parsley (chopped)

• 1 medium tomato (diced)

• 1 tablespoon lemon juice

• 3 tablespoons olive oil

• salt and pepper to taste

Directions

1. Rinse and drain lentils. Place in saucepan and add in water and bay leaf. Bring to a boil and cook partly covered for approximately 30 minutes.

2. Drain lentils and discard bay leaf. 

3. Combine lentils with garlic, onion, parsley, and tomato in a large bowl.

4. Toss with lemon juice and olive oil. Salt and pepper to your pleasing.

5. Serve warm or chilled.

Recipe: (Just) Mutubal

Last June I made  mutubal shawandar, which despite its garish color exacerbated by my bad food photography, was light, lovely, and incredibly refreshing in the height of the humid season.

This week I embarked on a brief vegan challenge with my favorite masshole Zach and therefore was limited in what Syrian recipes I could test. Not that there's any dearth of vegetable-heavy dishes in that country's culinary canon, for as in many Western nations, Syrians use meat more often for garnish and flavoring rather than as the main event. 

Mutubal is as simple to make as mutubal shawandar as the former swaps out beets for roasted eggplant. It should be noted that eggplants are not in season. It should also be noted that I do not care because I LOVE EGGPLANT AND NO ONE WILL STOP ME FROM EATING IT. This is basically me:

Mucho credit to Cousin Phil at Deviant Art.

But I otherwise I really try to eat what's in season, I swear. Here is a short and sweet recipe for mutubal, adapted from FashionEdible.

INGREDIENTS
2 cups roasted eggplant (chopped)
2 tablespoons minced garlic
2 tablespoons tahini
1/2 cup plain yogurt (or silken tofu if you're on a vegan challenge)
1/2 lemon (juiced)

DIRECTIONS

1. Preheat oven to 400 degrees Fahrenheit.

2. Slice eggplant into discs no thicker than one half inch.

3. Coat each disc liberally with salt and arrange them so they line the insides of a colander.

4. "Sweat" eggplant slices for approximately 15 minutes. Rinse and pat dry.

5.  Arrange eggplant on foil-lined baking sheet and spritz with olive oil spray. Roast in oven for 20-30 minutes.

6. Remove eggplant from oven and chop into cube-size pieces.

7. Combine eggplant with garlic, tahini, yogurt, and lemon juice in a food processor or blender. Pulse into smooth.

8. Garnish with olive oil.

Kemeh: Desert Truffles...And That's One "S"

Oh, if it were possible to meander safely through the Syrian desert with a pig. 

In a few months it will be truffle season and I'm not talking the sweet cocoa kind but rather terfeziaceae, a species of mushroom common to hot, dry regions of the Middle East and Mediterranean.

Naturally brain-washed by V-day advertising, I had originally intended to do a search on the double "s" variety. Thanks to my broken laptop keyboard, I acquired new-found knowledge of desert truffles from resources like this terrific NYT article and the ever-informed Syrian Foodie. I now have a new favorite fungus even if I haven't actually tasted it. Apparently, the flavor of kemeh is heartier and less delicate than that of European truffles.

HAVE YOU SEEN ME?

Mrs. Google suggests that Tazah Foods makes a canned variety that is available stateside. Hit me up if you spot them in any Houston markets. I'll be on the lookout.

Muhammara For the Win!

1. Guacamole meet your Middle Eastern match: Muhammara.  Although not strictly Syrian, Muhammara seemed particularly appropriate to make for the Superbowl since that's the one day each year when consuming nothing but dip and chips for dinner is practically your patriotic duty.

You know what's also your patriotic duty? Welcoming immigrants and refugees. Because I'm willing to bet your great-great-grandma was one. But I digress.

Muhammara is extremely easy to make if you're luck enough to have a food processor. If you're not, little birds on the interwebs tell me that a mortar and pestle and a blender can also help, too. 

The recipe below (slightly adapted) is from the New York Times:

Ingredients

• 1 large roasted red bell pepper, chopped

• 1/2 cup chopped onions

• 1 teaspoon freshly squeezed lemon juice

• 1 teaspoon ground cumin

• 3 teaspoons pomegranate molasses

• 1 teaspoon salt

• 1 teaspoon red pepper flakes

• 4 tablespoons olive oil

• 1/2 cup walnuts

• 5 tablespoons bread crumbs (or cracker crumbs, in a pinch)

Directions

1. In a large bowl, mix together pepper, scallions, lemon juice, cumin, salt, 2 teaspoons pomegranate molasses, 1/2 teaspoon red pepper flakes, 3 tablespoons olive oil, and walnuts (but save 2 or 3 for garnish!).

2. Add mixture to food processor and purée until smooth.

3. Add bread crumbs and pulse again. Season to taste with salt and red pepper flakes. 

4. Transfer to a bowl. Use a tablespoon to make a small well in the center. Drizzle 1 tablespoon olive oil, 1 teaspoon pomegranate molasses, and 1/2 teaspoon red pepper flakes into the well. Garnish with remaining walnuts.

Recipe: Barazek (Sesame Cookies)

"Cookies" may not be the first thing that comes to mind when you think of Syrian food, but I promise once you try barazek you may consider Damascus as a potential baked good mecca. (Pun intended. Not really. Cause, you know, Mecca is in Saudi Arabia.)

Barazek with sesame seeds.

I made barazek late at night after braving Superbowl traffic (#EADOproblems) and consumed them with relish even later at night with some milky tea. I love their slightly sweet, nutty flavor. Some recipes call for sesame seeds, some call for pistachios, some both. I opted to segregate my mix-ins and split the batch.  Credit for the (slightly adapted) recipe below goes to Amira's Pantry:

Barazek

Ingredients

• 1/2 cup unsalted butter brought to room temperature

• 1/2 cup powdered sugar

• 1 egg

• 1 teaspoon vanilla extract

• 1 teaspoon vinegar

• 1 1/2 cup white flour

• 1/2 tsp baking powder

• 1/4 teaspoon salt

• 1 cup sesame seeds

• 1 cup coarsely chopped unsalted pistachios

Directions

1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees Fahrenheit.

2. Cream together sugar and butter.

3. Mix in egg, vanilla extract, and vinegar.

4. In a separate bowl, combine flour, baking powder, and salt.

5. Add flour-baking powder mixture to wet ingredient. Let rest in fridge for 30 minutes.

6. Shape dough into small discs. Coat with sesame seeds or pistachios or both by pressing them in a bowl filled with the aforementioned ingredient(s).

7. Bake for about 20 minutes until bottom is golden brown.

Why I (Especially) Care, Btw, About Syria

I'm gonna do a not-so-humble-brag and tell you I was obsessed with Syria long before it dominated the news for disturbing reasons: war, massive civilian casualties, Russian power plays, refugees drowning in a desperate attempt to escape. 

One of my best friends is Syrian and her enthusiasm for the culture and people of her country is unparalleled and infectious. In college she regaled me with stories of visits to see relatives, the beautiful historical sites, the terrific, amazingly fresh food. When she invited me to stay with her in her family's apartment one summer in Damascus, it took me all of five seconds to reply, "Yes! When?".  The details of this first trip are the subject of a longer post but let's just say by the end of seven days of zipping around the awesome old neighborhoods in the capital, plus side jaunts to the ruins at Palmyra and Aleppo, and endless multi-course meals cooked by Lena's grandmother, I was practically looking at real estate.

Thus, when a few years later my friend got married in Damascus (in what, to this day, ranks as my favorite wedding of all time, besides my own), I was thrilled for an excuse to return again, and bring along my then fiance now husband. He loved the country just as much as I did (which made me love him even more), and promptly starting making kibbeh within a week of returning home to Texas.

Then, things changed a lot to say the least. I still can't wrap my mind around how this place that I associate with so much joy, light, life, and laughter is now a locus of darkness and death. And I won't even begin to fathom how real Syrians (not wannabe ones like me) can process the events of the past years. 

What I am doing in addition to supporting financially and politically all the right dogs in the fight, is eating my feelings. Cooking Syrian food reminds me that this country was and one day will be much more than a war zone, a talking point in a presidential debate, and something whose mention makes people shake their heads in sorrow. 

Renewing The Experiment

There's a new sheriff in town and he's an incompetent asshole. While I can't (alone) reverse any of his terrifying executive orders, I will stage my own form of (edible) resistance by continuing to cook and learn about Syrian food. Work is crazy, I need to do x, I want to do y, blah, blah, but I gotta make more time for this experiment. Stay tuned.