Fattoush, Summer Salad with Crisped Flatbread (this page)

Contents

Introduction
THE TAWLES
Building the Table
CHAPTER ONE
The Road to Your Favorite Bite: Dipping Sauces
CHAPTER TWO
What We Eat Before We Eat: Mezze, Dips, and Spreads
CHAPTER THREE
From the Fields: Sulta/Salads, Vegetables, and Dolmas
CHAPTER FOUR
Carbs, Beautiful Carbs: Breads, Grains, and Legumes
CHAPTER FIVE
Food on a Stick: Kebabs
CHAPTER SIX
You Don’t Eat Meat?!
It’s Okay, I Make Lamb (Meat, Poultry, Fish, and Shellfish)
CHAPTER SEVEN
Why Are We All Lactose Intolerant? Cheese and Dairy
CHAPTER EIGHT
Sweet Endings: Desserts
Resources
Index
Acknowledgments
Enjoying the sunrise in Lebanon
Introduction

I first heard the word in Ukraine: “Everyone is meeting at maydān.” And

then I kept hearing it: “The festival is at maydān.” “The memorial is
being held at maydān.” “The revolution is happening at maydān.”
Pronounced “MY-dahn,” “MAY-dahn,” or “MI-dan,” the word is used
throughout the Eastern Mediterranean, Central and South Asia, the
Caucasus, Eastern Europe, and North Africa. It means the same thing
everywhere: a central public meeting place, often in the middle of a city.
A space for people to come together as a community to celebrate, to
mourn, to rebel. That the word and ritual of the maydān have traveled so
widely is a marvel. It shows, among other things, that maydān doesn’t
carry a passport, because moving between and among all those different
places is not so easy if you’re constrained by man-made borders.
Maydān isn’t the only cross-lingual traveler in this region. The foodways
also stretch across and through Morocco and Tunisia in the west, moving
east through Lebanon, Syria, and Turkey up to Georgia, and as far east as
Iran. Even if similar dishes don’t have the same name everywhere or are
made a bit differently from village to city to country, many of the
ingredients and recipes from this part of the world have crossed borders,
carried on the backs and in the minds of people who are sometimes
making the journey willingly, and often not. Westerners associate many
of these countries with tragedy and danger. Americans hear “Lebanon”
and think of explosions and terrorists, Turkey brings a devastating
earthquake to mind, and “Syrian civil war” rolls off the tongue more
easily than the name of the country alone. Reporters perpetually seem
able to find “conflict kitchen” stories in these neighborhoods. When we
consider how and why this food has traveled so far, it’s absolutely true
that wrenching stories of forced migrations, famine, and war must be
told, and heard.
But there are also other narratives to tell, and I have lived one of those.

The Inherited Immigrant Experience

I come from people who know very well what it means to feel
extraordinarily proud of our culture while simultaneously softening the
edges that might make our differences too noticeable. I was born and
grew up in Ada, a tiny cornfield town in Ohio, the daughter of a Sicilian-
American dad from New Jersey and a Lebanese-American mom straight
out of Detroit. She and Dad saw how easy it was to lose those threads
that tied us back to Lebanon, to Sicily; to assimilate so completely that
you’d forget who your people were and where they came from.
I am obviously not an immigrant, but the inherited immigrant experience
shaped my parents and me in turn. The unspoken rules about what you
do inside your house that you can’t do outside are passed down like a
book of secret codes from one generation to the next.
All four of my great-grandparents on my mother’s side came to this
country from Lebanon between 1900 and 1908 and eventually settled in
Detroit. Even though my grandparents, the next generation, had both
grown up speaking Arabic, they did not teach the language to my mom
and her siblings. But the food proved to be more resilient. My mother
grew up only eating and cooking Lebanese food. And then I had a very
similar experience.

Baking man’ouche with Aunt Jan and Mom

Kherbet Khanafar, my ancestral village in Lebanon
Lebanese in the Cornfields

Eating grape leaves at a young age

I was a kid in the 1980s and early 1990s, before the Food Network
became a 24/7 stream of boisterous dispatches from across the vibrant
cultural melting pot that is America. For all I knew the people in my
house and my cousins in Toledo were the only Lebanese in Ohio. Mom’s
perspective was that for us to identify with our culture we had to know it;
and for us to love our culture, we had to show it. She was certain that by
sharing the foods and flavors of our roots with as many people as
possible, she’d charm them into understanding and accepting us, while
simultaneously teaching my three brothers and me everything she
wanted us to know and love about our heritage. Mom cooked every
single night, and one and all were welcomed to our dinner table. My
parents firmly believed that everything that happened at that table was
important, and everything important happened at that table, while we
prepared and ate platters full of home-cooked Lebanese and Italian food.
This is all well and good—and maybe even a bit noble, in theory—but
things are a little tougher out there when yours is the only locker at
school that smells strongly of garlic. Of course, there are so many stories
like mine, and really I was so fortunate as I enjoyed growing up in Ohio
and didn’t get overtly bullied. But, sure, people said some weird stuff,
and I was asked “So what are you?” all the time.
And there was a standard of beauty in Ohio that was not my family’s
kind of beauty. It was about light hair and light eyes and a breezy
comfort hanging out with the boys after the football games. My dad was
the faculty advisor to Ohio Northern University’s International Student
Association, for students from abroad; every year I looked forward to the
fashion show the students put on to show off the styles of dress from
their home countries. I remember so clearly the young women from
Lebanon and Jordan, with long dark hair and brown eyes like mine, who
walked the “runway” dressed in silky fabrics dyed in rich jewel tones
and whose gold bangle bracelets sparkled in the light and jangled
together as if dancing and singing. I recognized beauty in them—in their
faces, in how they dressed, and in the way they carried themselves. What
they had felt familiar and certainly much closer to me than anything at
school or at the mall. Through them I connected to a place where I
eventually arrived.

Making tabouleh for the masses

 Aunt Joan and Aunt Jan visiting the homeland for the first time

Cooking with cousins in Bishmizzine, Lebanon, my maternal grandfather’s village

From as far back as I can remember, I carried with me a palpable sense

of being different, an “other.” There’s no question that this was partly
because of how conservative and strict my parents were, especially Dad.
I wasn’t allowed to go to slumber parties. We didn’t trick-or-treat on
Halloween. Dating was out of the question until I was just a few months
away from leaving for college. Needless to say, I didn’t have a normal
social life by the standards of most of the kids I grew up with, or really
of anyone that I’ve met—even in my adult life. And naturally our food
was also outside the norm. All I wanted to bring to school for lunch was
a peanut butter and grape jelly sandwich on store-bought white bread and
to have parties like my friends did, with pizza and Mountain Dew.
Instead, my lunch was a pita stuffed with lamb in lemony tahina, and
when my friends came over, Mom served them skewers of grilled
chicken with bowls of garlicky toum sauce.
So we were that weird family in our homogenous, not ethnically diverse
town, and it was definitely rough for a while. But by the time I was in
high school, the kids knew that ours was the house to come to for great
food; and their parents had figured it out, too. Mom began catering out of
our tiny home kitchen, as well as doing Lebanese cooking demos at the
Hardin County Fair. Meanwhile Dad’s one and only hobby outside of his
work as a professor of pharmaceutical law at Ohio Northern University
(ONU) was making and selling street food. His own father, Al, whose
family lived and worked in a Pennsylvania coal-mining town and who
didn’t go past the eighth grade, had grown up to own and run an Italian
grocery store and butcher shop in New Jersey. Pop (that’s what we called
him) lived above and then alongside the shop, which is where my dad
grew up. Dad was the first in his family to go to college, so he never
considered taking over the family business. But his passion for food
drove him to wake up us four kids early every Saturday morning to help
him make mountains of Italian sausage and then spend Sunday at local
fairs and festivals selling them in sandwiches. My parents were not
professional cooks, but they did buy all their pots and pans at restaurant
supply stores, which wasn’t commonplace in those days, especially in
rural Ohio. And they taught me at a very early age how to whip up
batches of tabbouleh for three hundred and enough Italian sausage to
feed both a small army and the opposing side.
Those were the ordinary days. And then there were the special ones. For
holidays (see this page), weddings, or any other cause for group
celebration (or mourning), we’d drive up to my mom’s family in Detroit
days before the event itself, or my aunts and their husbands and kids
would descend on our house. For a full day or two, my mom and aunties
formed assembly lines in the kitchen and dining room to prepare all the
components of the feasts. Each aunt (and, when we got older, the
cousins) had an assigned job for every dish, whether grinding fresh lamb
for kibbeh, chopping walnuts for baklawa, mixing fatayer dough, filling
and rolling grape leaves, dipping warm sambousek into sugar syrup
laced with orange blossom water, or any of what seemed like dozens of
other tasks. The house smelled incredible from almost the moment they
arrived, and the women’s voices—often bickering, and often laughing—
were like a well-worn coat I would put on and be surrounded by the
commingling aromas and music of their togetherness.
Visiting Muscat, Oman
New Frontiers
Yet in spite of all of the focus on food in my house, until I went to
college, I didn’t really eat at restaurants other than the casual Italian
spots near where my dad’s family lived in New Jersey. I’d never had (or
seen) okra, or truly fresh fish. We were Midwestern Middle Easterners.
My first trip outside of the United States, for a college semester abroad
in Granada, Spain, showed me that delicious food existed outside the
walls of families’ homes and persuaded me that international travel was
going to be a very important, even necessary, part of my life. I’d never
been on my own before. I fell in love with a guy named Carlos, and I
took a siesta every day at three o’clock so that I’d be ready to go out
until long after dark. On those nights out in Granada—one of the most
fun cities in the world for a college kid, in my opinion—everyone
danced and drank on the streets until very late. Old, young, it didn’t
matter. They really taught me to love life.
And the patatas bravas! Many nights we would buy paper cups full of
these hot, crispy little chunks of perfectly fried potatoes to eat on the way
home. It was the first time food that wasn’t prepared by my family meant
something special to me. From then on, I could connect everywhere I’d
been to something I ate while there, and that ingredient or dish forever
after reminded me of a specific place, person, or sometimes even a
moment from a trip. To this day patatas bravas symbolize my first taste
of freedom.
What I didn’t—couldn’t—know at the time was that this love for travel
and food memories would someday lead me to be slumped on a Trans-
Siberian Railway train ten thousand miles from home, watching through
the smudged window as one snow-and-soot-covered village after another
wove in and out of focus, wondering gloomily what the hell I was doing
there. If you’d asked me on one of those nights in Granada where I’d be
in a decade or so, I would never in a million years have guessed that I’d
be sitting on a shabby train car, feeling very empty. Nothing about most
of my thirty-something years of life up until then hinted that anything
about my current situation was likely.
After graduating from college in the early 2000s, I moved to
Washington, DC, where I soon began to pursue my master’s degree in
public policy. I was preparing to help save the world. In the meantime I
still had to eat, so between classes and interning at Human Rights Watch,
I waited tables and slung cocktails at a bar in Southeast DC. One of my
regular customers was a reporter for the Baltimore Sun named David
Greene. We hit it off so well that we got engaged a few years later in
Istanbul and then we ate delectable fish sandwiches (this page) in
celebration.
To Russia, in Love
 Drinking tea at a roadside restaurant in Oman with David

Soon after David and I were married in 2007, we moved from DC to

New York City, where I worked for the city council and David for NPR.
And then David got the assignment of his dreams: foreign correspondent,
based in Moscow. David would want me to clarify that it was only the
first part he’d been hoping for; the precise base of operations was not
spelled out. In retrospect, his dreams should probably have been more
specific. I spoke not one word of the language—to this day I have what I
call taxicab Russian. No matter! My semester in Granada had convinced
me that I was extremely international and could assimilate anywhere. I
assumed I’d find something to do once I’d learned a bit of Russian; I
could always wait tables or tend bar, as I’d done throughout college and
grad school. Except Moscow is a lot different than Granada, or Turkey,
or anywhere else I’d been until then—or since. It turned out that I wasn’t
actually allowed to work in Russia, an important detail that only became
fully clear to me once I was on the ground there.
So, after years of hustling my butt off to learn and do everything I could
to get where I wanted to be professionally (helping to save the world,
you may recall), I was suddenly effectively holding still, which I have
never been terribly good at, and living in a challenging and frigid foreign
city (you may also recall that I have Mediterranean blood). There were
some dark days, like the late afternoon when I caught sight of a
reflection in the darkened windows of the kitchen (it was only 4:00 P.M.
and already pitch black outside) and what I saw was a woman with her
hand up the butt of a half-thawed chicken and the phone crammed
between ear and shoulder while she waited for her husband to answer
and let her know what time he would be able to leave work and come
home for dinner. What I saw was familiar, for I’d seen my own mother in
exactly the same pose, making exactly the same call, hundreds of times
in my childhood. I googled myself and the only results were our wedding
announcement; I googled David and there were links to the many stories
he’d been posting for NPR. I often found myself reckoning with the
uncomfortable notion that I had become a thirty-something housewife
without having planned it, and at the expense of my own personhood.
It absolutely wasn’t all bad. In fact, perhaps my most enduring love
affair—with the food and culture of the country of Georgia—was
sparked on one of our very first nights in Moscow. In the “Sad Sam”
building in Moscow where many foreign journalists live, we hosted a
dinner for some of the other reporters. We’d enlisted the help of a
Georgian woman to cook the meal, and the first thing I saw her do was
chop an enormous pile of walnuts in our tiny kitchen. I mean, so very
many walnuts! My mind went immediately back to my twelve-year-old
self standing at our dining room table surrounded by my mom and aunts
while we rolled, stuffed, and folded scores of sambousek (this page) for
Christmas. Every dish the lovely cook prepared that night—rolled
eggplant stuffed with chopped walnuts, lamb and tarragon stew, chicken
in walnut sauce—was completely new yet somehow familiar to me, and
all of it smelled and tasted amazing. I was in love.
Though that was my very first taste of authentic Georgian food, I had
plenty of opportunity after that night to experience more. When we lived
in Russia, the ruble was doing great against the dollar. It was the heyday
of the billionaire oligarch, and the restaurant scene in Moscow was on
the uptick. The most popular places served extremely expensive Italian
and French food. The only restaurants that served consistently great,
affordable food were Georgian. Thankfully there were a lot of these.
Most of our culinary discoveries happened thanks to David’s frequent
assignments abroad. We visited more than thirty countries during our
three years in Russia, and we ate incredible food in so many of them.
Eventually we even got to see the quiet villages and stunningly beautiful
mountains of Georgia for ourselves. I was overwhelmed by the Georgian
people’s kindness, hospitality, and oh my goodness, the food. We ate
exceedingly well, enjoying many of the dishes you’ll see on this page.
The Train to Everywhere

Russia

Then, toward the end of David’s stint in Russia, he and his producer
arranged the ne plus ultra of reporting assignments: riding the full route
of the Trans-Siberian Railway, from Moscow to its terminus nearly six
thousand miles away, Vladivostok, a port city in the southeasternmost
part of Russia. Naturally I accompanied them. In December 2011 we
embarked on the adventure, and our food experiences over the three-and-
a-half weeks ranged from the sublime to the ridiculous. The sublime
came roughly at the point where the train crossed onto the Asian
continent, and we left European Russia behind. The dividing line is the
Ural Mountains, and situated in the foothills of these mountains is the
city of Yekaterinburg, where the Romanovs—Tsar Nicholas II and his
family—were executed by the Bolsheviks in July 1918, and where our
train stopped on a very cold day. We spent little time in the city itself,
instead driving about forty minutes out of town to Sagra, a little village
of fewer than one hundred tiny wooden houses heated only by small
stoves.
Two different families had invited us to visit them in their homes, and
they set out feasts of tea and cakes and pickles. Viktor, the charming,
bearded patriarch of the village, lived in the first home we visited. Viktor
sweetly took it upon himself to rid me of the brutal head cold I’d picked
up. His homespun remedy was a generous shot of vodka enhanced with
an eye-popping amount of freshly ground black pepper. I had to take my
medicine—there was simply no getting around it. To Viktor’s credit, he
prepared the same shot for himself, presumably as a preventative
measure against catching my cold. The extremely spicy shot was
followed by a pickled tomato. Neither helped my burning throat, but my
head did clear up for a good thirty minutes and for that I was very
grateful. On the other hand, kindly Viktor’s home didn’t have indoor
plumbing. We never knew what we’d find in the rural parts of Russia
when it came to toilets. Lots of people still use outhouses. They are
brave souls; it never got above 0 degrees Fahrenheit (minus 18 degrees
Celsius) while I was there.
The second house we visited was owned by Andrei and his wife, Oxana.
Andrei loved to hunt, as evidenced by the large number of guns lying
around the house. Meanwhile his wife, Oxana, had only two gas burners
to cook on and no kitchen sink. The only running water in the house was
located in the bathroom. Oxana made the best eggplant spread I’d ever
had—it struck me that were it served in a restaurant in Manhattan they’d
call it “tapenade” and charge a fortune for it. Oxana had a collection of
porcelain souvenirs from faraway places, which she proudly showed me
one by one. They were all gifts—she hadn’t been to any of those exotic
places. But she did have an indoor toilet, which she was almost as happy
about as I was.
And then there was the ridiculous, most of which we experienced while
on the train itself, where the enticing idea of accompanying David to
Siberia on the world’s longest railway met up with the reality of said trip
not too long after we reboarded the train in Yekaterinburg, somewhere
just north of where Kazakhstan and Mongolia nearly meet. By this time,
some of what we initially perceived as the charming quirks of foreign
train travel—things like sleeping four to a cabin and no prohibition on
passengers smoking anywhere, at any time—had become significantly
more consequential in our day-to-day lives. For instance, in spite of an
ornate dining car and a very long and detailed menu—whose front cover
was adorned with the proclamation, “Dear visitors of the dining-car!
Daily from 12-00 to 16-00 local time the dining-car gives complex
dinners.”—they served nothing but borscht. On the plus side it was
delivered to our table by a short-tempered attendant who never troubled
himself to hide his irritation when we tried to order anything on the
menu that wasn’t borscht. There were few other options. When the train
pulled into a station, vendors on the platform sold kielbasa-type sausage,
and we’d dash off just long enough to buy some and hop back on.
Additionally, a very blonde, buxom woman clad in a black leather skirt
and high heels sauntered the aisles selling cabbage-filled pies exclusively
to male passengers, often while sitting on their laps. One of her
customers told me her name was Natasha.
The greatest gastronomic gift the porters gave us was unreserved access
to huge samovars full of piping hot water on every car. I ate my weight
in ramen and drank so much tea that I was constantly in need of the less-
than-amazing train bathrooms or village outhouses. No wonder I’d
caught that cold! I wrote these words in my journal after one particularly
long stretch with no stops:
Entering 58th hour on the train with no breaks. Going to lose my mind. Have serious
cabin fever. Must get off the train. The food car workers have become our sworn enemies.
We are existing on cups of instant noodles, bread, cheese, instant oatmeal, and granola
bars. I want a veggie stir fry very badly.

Thus was my state of mind that day. I sat slumped and a bit cold, staring
out the train window, and wondering not only what the hell I was doing
there, but what the hell I was doing, period. I had now spent three years
in Moscow with (and often without) David; more of our marriage had
happened in Russia than out of it. We were heading back to the U.S. in
the next calendar year, specifically to DC, where David had been
promoted to an anchor seat on NPR’s Morning Edition. And I was . . .
what, exactly?
Three and a half weeks traveling across Siberia on a sometimes very
slow train can warp your sense of where in the world you are, and where
in the world you belong. In this mood it became easier for me to adopt
the fatalistic attitude that I’d been observing from afar the past few years.
Our Russian friends loved to remind me and anyone within earshot that
since we could easily die tomorrow, we might as well do whatever we
have in mind today. I pondered my mortality and thought hard about
what made me happy. I recalled the hours-long Georgian supras where
strangers become friends (see this page), and I thought about Oxana,
Andrei, and Viktor and how enthusiastically they’d welcomed and fed
us. I considered all the hospitality I had experienced during our travels,
in so many different languages, and how it had made me feel content and
at peace. It dawned on me that what I loved most of all was the food at
the center of all that warmth and generosity. I allowed myself to realize
that I’d always loved working with food. I’d worked hard in bars and
restaurants during school, but I had never considered a career in food. I
had been afraid to commit to it in that way—especially after getting a
graduate degree in public policy. I believed that going all-in on working
with food might be something I’d do later in life, like my mom did when
she finally got her own brick-and-mortar restaurant at the age of sixty,
after the kids were all out of the house.
On that train I came to accept that “later” was now. Making food, serving
food, making people feel at home, comfortable and cared for—that was
my dream assignment. I’d never felt more viscerally that if I were going
to fail, so be it. The seeds were planted; there would be no more waiting.
When we got back home, I was going to open a restaurant.
David likes to say that my restaurants wouldn’t exist if I hadn’t been so
cold in Russia.
Learning the ancient way of grinding grain into flour, Oman
Lighting the Fire at Maydān

Opening Maydān’s iconic blue door

I returned to the U.S. with a sense of purpose I hadn’t felt in a long time
and all the fire and drive of the newly converted. I intended to wring
every single good thing from my travels and my upbringing to give to
my guests. In 2014 I opened my first restaurant, Compass Rose, in
Washington, DC, with a menu of street foods from around the world. I
love that I can look at an item on the menu even today and a flood of
warmth comes over me as I remember those places, people, or moments
I will forever associate with that dish. To my surprise and enduring
delight, we were enthusiastically embraced by the people of, in, and
around DC. Before long I knew that I’d found my calling, and that it was
already ringing for me to add to the family.
I didn’t have to think too hard about what would be next. I had wanted a
fire-fueled restaurant ever since the city hadn’t allowed us to install the
outdoor kitchen I wanted as part of the street food concept at Compass
Rose. I went on a mission to find a location where I could cook food the
way street food vendors all over the world cook. When I further decided
I wanted to pay tribute to the women who taught me how to cook and
about hospitality, the food I grew up with made the most sense. Since the
region my family comes from is incredibly ancient, it seemed logical to
use the most traditional form of cooking food—live fire—as a way to
honor it.
So I would explore and expand outward from my Lebanese roots and the
food of my soul and we would cook this food on fire. On-the-ground
research was the only way to make it happen. The kind of food I wanted
on our menu had to be experienced in person and on the spot. As my
chefs and I planned our summer 2017 trip through Morocco, Tunisia,
Lebanon, Turkey, and Georgia, I knew that it wasn’t going to be enough
to go to big cities or even medium towns and talk to chefs and other food
professionals. We couldn’t find the recipes or techniques in books or
online for the kind of food we wanted because that sort of record-
keeping of home cooking in these places simply didn’t exist. So we set
out on what we called the “cooking with grandmas” tour, searching for
foods, spices, and recipes we could replicate back home. We were
welcomed into strangers’ homes with open arms, and we left friends.
The women we met and talked to reminded me of my mom and my
aunts. I felt a kinship with them as I listened to their stories about
keeping their traditions. I reached a new level of understanding and
gratitude toward my mom for her insistence that I had to know and love
the culture and foods of my roots.
And our suspicions about the need for this level of hands-on research
were confirmed when one of our teachers, a woman in Tunisia, told us,
“You can’t find authentic Tunisian food in the restaurants. Men work in
the restaurants. You have to come into our homes where the women are.”
Exactly so. On this trip we let the universe lead us and we found
absolutely wonderful people who taught us magical things. We saw parts
of the world that are more beautiful than anything we’d ever seen. And
we connected with people despite language limitations, understanding
one another through the most human things we all share. We saw that our
differences really aren’t so many after all, especially when it comes to
food, which simply doesn’t recognize the borders drawn by men.
Early evening at Maydān
 At Maydān’s main bar

That cross-cultural connection resonates like the hum of a communal

meeting spot where strangers can gather, and so we opened Maydān in
DC in 2017, with dishes drawn from my Lebanese roots and our travels
through and extensive research about the region from Morocco and
Tunisia in the west; moving east across North Africa through Egypt,
Lebanon, Syria, and Turkey; then north up to Georgia and the Caucasus;
south to Yemen and Oman; and as far east as Iran. (Though I’ve never
been able to visit Iran in person, I am lucky to have Iranian friends who
are generous with their recipes for authentic dishes from their country of
origin.) And again we were thrilled that the city, and indeed the whole
country, responded so positively to us. Named one of both Food & Wine
and Bon Appétit’s best restaurants of the year in 2018, we also received
our first Michelin star in 2020.
And, even as I write this book, I have a couple of other restaurant and
food-service concepts in the works. First, in the Virginia-side suburbs of
DC, we are opening the very first Kirby Club, which is my take on the
Lebanese-American story. The menu there is made up of twists on a lot
of what I ate growing up, using many of the ingredients in this book, but
with more of an American feel. And in Los Angeles, I am working to
open the food and retail marketplace of my dreams, inspired by the feel
and content of outdoor markets in Fez and Marrakesh and the night
markets in Southeast Asia.
A few years ago my mom found an article from 1998 that she had saved
from our local paper, the Ada Herald. The article featured the two of us
talking about turning her penchant for cooking into an official catering
business. None of that journey was easy, which made it all the more
inspiring. Mom taught me the importance of feeding people around a
table. She and her mother, aunts, and sisters taught me that food can heal
and that cooking is a way of showing love. Neither of my restaurants nor
any of the other food and wine projects I’m involved with would ever
have happened if they hadn’t taught me those critical lessons. But if you
had told us back in ’98 that all that cooking together would end up
turning into a Michelin-starred Middle Eastern restaurant in Washington,
DC, Mom and I would have laughed and asked what Michelin was.
The Wine of Georgia and Lebanon

Eddie during harvest time, Lebanon

 Trying new vintages out of the tanks, Lebanon

It might be a surprise to learn that Georgians make excellent wine and

that they’re so proud of it that sometimes when you pass through
immigration, the officer at the airport will stamp your passport and hand
it back to you along with a gift: a small bottle of local wine. They have
good reasons for their pride. The country has several distinct
microclimates allowing many different types of grapes to grow and wine
to be made—as many as five hundred native grape varietals according to
some estimates—and DNA tests have proven that wine has been made
on their land for at least eight thousand years. But what really blows me
away is that in many parts of the country, producers ferment, age, and
store wine just as they did all those millennia ago: In large clay vessels
called qvevri, which are buried in the ground and sealed with beeswax or
clay to protect the precious liquid inside. Georgia has also been known
longer than any other place for their amber wines, whose unique flavor,
tannic mouthfeel, and beautiful orangey hue are produced by days or
even months of “skin contact” between the pressed juice and the skins of
the white wine grapes used to make the wine.
When we lived in Moscow, our expat friends sang the praises of
Georgian winemakers and told us before our first trip to Georgia that
their bottles were the best and most affordable. Unfortunately, they were
also unavailable in Russia, since the Kremlin had imposed an embargo
on them in 2006, ostensibly for quality issues but actually in response to
Georgian protests against Russian influence. That embargo lasted for six
years, by which time the world’s wine market had changed dramatically,
making it challenging if not impossible for Georgian producers to regain
the market share in Russia they’d once had. As someone with a keen
interest in foreign policy and social justice, it shocked me to learn the
ways wine is geopolitical and to witness how a huge, powerful country
could do so much damage to a smaller one with these tactics.
Once I learned this history and traveled more, I realized a lot of other
places in the world face similar hurdles, including my ancestral
homeland, Lebanon. Lebanese winemakers have been tending vines and
pressing grapes and aging and bottling the juice for generations, but few
people expect them to make the great wines that they do. Lebanon’s wine
making has a deep-rooted association with France, a by-product of the
French occupation during the first half of the twentieth century. But
while it’s true that when France moved into Lebanon they brought many
of their grapevines with them, the fact is that Lebanon was growing its
own grapes and making its own wine long before the French arrived, and
they’ve continued to do so and even expanded in the many decades since
the French withdrew. Today, vineyards stretch across the Beqaa Valley
and other deep valleys in Lebanon as well as up the sides of the roaring
mountains that line those valleys. Growing here are grapes that are
familiar to French wine enthusiasts such as cabernet and cabernet franc.
A few well-known winemakers, especially Chateau Musar, which was
founded during the French occupation, make really nice wines using
primarily these grapes. They have done a lot to get Lebanon the attention
it deserves, especially in the U.S. But there are also indigenous grapes,
such as Merwah and Obaideh, and the real excitement and innovation is
happening in the vineyards and cellars of much smaller producers (such
as Mersel) across this tiny country that are trying to expose more people
to these indigenous varietals.
Learning about the grapes and the people working so hard in these places
led me to seek out as much wine from these countries as I could once I
was back in the U.S. It’s my personal Putin protest to sell as much
Georgian wine at my restaurants as possible. And since those early days
in Georgia, I’ve learned of other places where excellent wine is being
made but very few people worldwide know about them. This is why
David and I helped start Go There wines, an innovative production and
distribution company. We focus on grapes and regions that have not been
explored by Americans, and we partner with people in those places who
are pushing the boundaries and challenging the conventions of their
countries with their winemaking. Our partners are amazing people, like
two sisters in Georgia, where the wine industry is dominated by men; a
Syrian refugee living and making wine in exile in Lebanon; and a Black
woman breaking both race and gender barriers in South Africa. Each has
had unique challenges reaching a wider audience, but they wouldn’t
want you to buy their wine because of their struggles; they want you to
buy it because it’s great wine.

Grape vineyards at Kefraya Winery

A NOTE ABOUT THE ORIGINS OF THE RECIPES IN THIS

BOOK
My book shares its name with my restaurant, and though there is
certainly some common purpose between the two, this is not a restaurant
cookbook. I’m a Lebanese grandmother at heart, and the recipes here are
the sort of warm, comforting, and delicious fare that grandmas all over
the world are known for. This food is perfectly suited to the home cook
because it doesn’t all have to be ready at the same time, and everything
on the table is meant to be shared. I use simple ingredients to make
uncomplicated dishes—dips, spreads, kebabs, and stews—bursting with
bright flavors. Similarly while individual countries might claim one dish
or another as their own, I don’t designate a single country for many of
these recipes. When I present a dish made a certain way it’s because that
is how I learned how to do it growing up or during my travels. Naturally
the dishes have been adapted to use ingredients that we can find readily
in the U.S.; however, I don’t whitewash or indiscriminately Americanize
or put “fusion” spins on any of the dishes. The food is specific, but I
have strived to also make it accessible. I want you to feel totally
comfortable and inspired to discover a part of the world that might be
unfamiliar to you. Also, if you’re from a family with a background like
mine, and you grew up eating lots of the same kinds of things, but no one
wrote any of it down, I hope this reminds you of home, and maybe even
gives you a starting place for recreating some of these dishes, just like
you remember them. I hope with all of my heart that your kitchen will
come alive with the aromas of these places—I invite you to visit with
your eyes, nose, and taste buds what you perhaps have not yet
experienced in person.
When an Arabic name for a recipe is offered here, it is either from my
childhood or something I’ve learned from friends and distant family
since becoming an adult. I don’t speak Arabic, and I claim no expertise
on the subject. Any time an English speaker writes an Arabic word using
our alphabet, the best we can do is transliterate, or, as many of my
friends say, “spell like it sounds to you.”

A NOTE ABOUT THIS REGION OF THE WORLD

I can’t share so much about the beauty that has been produced in this part
of the world without also calling attention to how terrible the
circumstances are for so many who live there. War, occupation,
repression of human and especially women’s rights, foreign interference,
government corruption. This is hardly an exhaustive list of the existential
challenges that face many of these people every day and all put
enormous, unfathomable pressure on regular people who want and
deserve nothing more or less than any of us does—to live, work, and
play in safety, to raise a family, to feed themselves and their loved ones
nourishing food, to live without fear. As much as I hope to reach as many
readers as possible with delectable recipes and beautiful photos and
stories, I hope even more that these same readers will look at the part of
the world where all of that greatness comes from with renewed empathy
and compassion for the people who are behind all of it.

Baking in Oman
A NOTE ABOUT COVID
I conceived of this book long before the Covid-19 pandemic took over
daily life in the United States beginning early in 2020. Yet I wrote the
book during the pandemic, and that affected everything about my life,
my restaurants, and yes, the book.
I’m struck by how interested people are in how it all went down. I’m
asked constantly, “How bad was it?” “How did you do it?” “How did
your restaurants survive?” The answers, in order, are horrible, by the
skin of our teeth, and with grit, determination, and a major dose of luck.
I’ve built my life and businesses entirely by bringing people together. I
long to celebrate with them and to comfort them. This is my superpower,
and the most heartbreaking part was that at the height of the pandemic
we couldn’t bring people together. I’m not exaggerating when I say that
for a good while I was frankly lost, adrift, and terrified. Then the people
at the humanitarian organization, World Central Kitchen, called and
asked if we would cook for the city.
When I was growing up the first thing we did when someone did
anything—got sick, died, had something worth celebrating—was to cook
and deliver food for them. And to be clear, this isn’t in my memory just a
Lebanese thing; it’s also a midwestern thing. Food happened constantly.
It seemed like everybody was always cooking something for somebody
else. Or growing enough vegetables in their gardens for everybody else.
So yes, we told World Central Kitchen, of course, we will cook for the
city. And it was such an enormous relief to get back to our purpose—
back to what I was born to do. This has been an extraordinary time for all
of us, individually and collectively. And while most of the recipes here
have already been around long enough to have transcended many human
events, we mere mortals are still reckoning with what this event means. I
guess what I’m trying to say is that I’m grateful to be here, in this place,
sharing this food, with you.

AND LASTLY, SOME COCKTAILS

If you’re reading these words, it’s likely fairly easy to believe that good
food is important to me. But I was also a bartender for most of my adult
life, and it’s from this perspective that I make the following assertion.
Good food is even better with a cocktail.
To underscore this point, and because like any good bartender I enjoy
mixing things up (see what I did there?), I have included a cocktail at the
end of chapters two through eight. These are all drinks that can certainly
stand on their own, like any good cocktail should, but they also play very
well with food, as all my favorite cocktails do. Any of these will make a
meal more fun, and a dinner party even more more fun.
Making drinks at Maydān
Pantry Staples
There are a few items that I always have on hand, and if you have them,
too, it’ll make most recipes in this book no more challenging to shop for
than whatever you can get with a quick stop at the grocery store.

DRIED MINT

A year-round staple in my family, no matter how much mint is growing

fresh outside. Indeed, my grandmother, who we called Sitti, grew mint
all over the yard of her house in Royal Oak, Michigan, where my aunt
Jennifer now lives. During the summer the giant Ping-Pong table in the
basement was draped in a big sheet whose every inch seemed to hold
drying mint. After each harvest was sufficiently dried, it would be
packaged up in dozens of plastic bags for distribution to family and
friends, and as soon as one harvest was bagged, the next was already
being laid out on the table. It was an every-day-in-summer affair, and
that Ping-Pong table never saw the light of day between late spring and
early fall. I’m still excited whenever Aunt Jen hands me a bag of mint
dried from the garden—that’s right, the Ping-Pong table still hasn’t
retired from drying Sitti’s mint. On the occasions I need to actually buy
it, I go to Lebanese, Persian, or Indian stores, where they sell very good
quality dried mint in larger bags or cans.

BLUE FENUGREEK

I’d never heard of blue fenugreek before I encountered Georgian food,

first in Moscow, and then in the country itself, and now I don’t know
what I would do without it. Unique to Georgia, where it is called utsho
suneli, blue fenugreek is related to the Indian fenugreek more common
here in the U.S., but it has a sweeter, warmer aroma and flavor. It’s
phenomenal on meat and in stews. It’s easy to buy it online.

SUMAC

In the restaurants we use ground sumac liberally, sprinkling it over many

dips and sauces, rubbing it on fish and meat, and seasoning fresh and
cooked vegetables alike with it. Tart like fresh lemon, with a light
sweetness and a deep and beautiful red color, ground sumac is kept in a
shaker on my table right along with the salt and pepper so that I can add
some punch to anything and everything.
SALTS

I may have grown up eating only the iodized table salt that my mom
swears by to this day, but you wouldn’t know it to look in my spice
cabinet. Salt is one of my favorite things to buy wherever I travel. I
regularly have no fewer than six different kinds of salt on hand and each
of these is distinct for its grain or texture or flavor; among these I always
have kosher, a premixed salt-and-za’atar mixture, and a delicate, flaky
sea salt, such as Maldon or fleur de sel, for sprinkling on fresh food and
finishing cooked dishes just before serving them. Beyond those
essentials I love all kinds of salts mixed with herbs, spices, or other
ingredients, such as chiles or peppercorns.

ORANGE BLOSSOM WATER AND ROSE WATER

These fragrant waters add floral aroma and flavor to desserts and drinks.
My love for rose water, in particular, began when I was a kid. My
paternal grandma, whose name was also Rose, grew beautiful roses at
the New Jersey home she shared with my grandfather. Every summer
we’d visit them, and it was there that my dad, the pharmacist, showed me
how to extract and distill the essence of those roses into perfume and
fragrant water. I love that memory, but there is definitely no need to learn
how to make it yourself! These waters are readily available in Lebanese,
Persian, and Indian stores and online. If you’ve never before used orange
blossom and rose water in your cooking, I advise you to add only a
portion of what is called for in recipes and taste as you go. As much as I
personally adore orange blossom and rose waters, many don’t, and that’s
just fine. Remember that you can always add more, but you can’t take it
out once it’s in there.

POMEGRANATE MOLASSES

Made from pure pomegranate juice, pom molasses has become a kind of
“secret” ingredient among American chefs, who have discovered what
people in this region of the world have long known, and it’s why it is
drizzled over or poured into so many savory dishes. Each drop is a
concentrated burst of earthy, sweet, tangy, and tannic flavor that elevates
pretty much everything it touches. There are recipes for it online, but
there’s no need to make it as pomegranate molasses is readily available
in many well-stocked grocery stores; Lebanese, Persian, and Indian
stores; and online.

TAHINI
This creamy paste made from sesame seeds is ubiquitous in this part of
the world and an essential ingredient in beloved dips like hummus and
baba ghanoush. Though most mainstream supermarkets now carry some
kind of tahini, and maybe even more than one kind, I urge you to seek
out the Beirut brand, which packs tons of flavor into a paste that is
remarkably easy to stir and pour and is available at Lebanese, Persian,
and Indian grocery stores and online.

UNFILTERED LEBANESE EXTRA-VIRGIN OLIVE OIL

Lebanese olive oil is wildly underrated, in my opinion, and it’s one of the
reasons that the flavors at Maydān are so good. It’s nutty and rich, and
those qualities are especially present when the oil is not filtered. As with
so many of my pantry items, this type of oil is available in Lebanese
grocery stores and online. To ensure you get all the goodness, confirm
that the oil is unfiltered before you buy it; this is not always indicated in
the name of the product.

BEN’S ORIGINAL RICE

(FORMERLY UNCLE BEN’S)

I grew up eating just this one kind of rice (and eating it many times a
week, to be clear). Ben’s rice is parboiled, or “converted,” which means
that it is steam cooked and then dried before packaging; this process
helps prevent it from sticking or clumping during cooking. It also means
that it requires more liquid and a little more time to cook than regular
long-grain white rice. It has very little flavor of its own and I know it’s
not trendy and might even shock some of my chef friends, but I stand by
this truth: Ben’s Original rice always cooks perfectly, is always available
at pretty much any grocery store I’m in, and I never use anything else for
my family recipes. I don’t know how or why my Lebanese family chose
to build our culinary history on this particular rice, but I can say that the
decision was made long before I was born, for my grandmother and her
sisters also used it religiously. For more information on Egyptian rice,
which I have learned to love almost as much as Ben’s, see this page.

GROUND LAMB IN MY FREEZER

This is one of my absolute staples, but for years I could never be sure if
it would be stocked at the store or not. With each passing year it’s
wonderful to see how much more common good-quality lamb is in
regular grocery stores. Still, though, it’s expensive, so when it’s on sale I
buy a couple of extra pounds and throw them in my freezer. This is how I
guarantee that my path to a delicious pot of koosa (this page) or rice with
lamb (this page) is always smooth and easy. If ground lamb is hard to
find where you are, ask the butcher to grind a leg of lamb for you, or
bring it home to grind yourself.

LABNE

I keep a tub of labne in my fridge the way other people I know keep and
use plain Greek or regular yogurt, or sour cream, or crème fraiche. It’s an
ingredient in many of the dishes I cook, but it doesn’t need to be called
for in the recipe to give a creamy, tangy boost to pretty much anything it
touches—soups, stews, roasted vegetables, meats, fish, cake, pudding,
fruit, you name it.
FRESH CHILES

Finally, I use a lot of fresh chiles like serranos, Fresnos, and habaneros in
my recipes because I love the flavor and heat they bring to food.
Sometimes I call for them to be seeded, sometimes not, but in any and all
cases, you can decide whether to remove all, some, or none of the seeds
and ribs, which is where most of the heat is found in chiles. We can’t see
capsaicin, the active component responsible for that heat, but we can
certainly feel when it comes into contact with our skin if, for instance,
we seed and chop the chiles with bare hands; and it can easily travel to
any other ingredient that comes into contact with the cutting board and
knife used to cut the chiles, including that apple you were planning to
nibble on while you finish cooking dinner. A few simple precautions can
help you avoid unexpected and unpleasant encounters with this powerful
irritant. In short, wear rubber gloves when handling the chiles and wash
the knife and cutting board thoroughly after cutting them. I like to use a
dishwasher-safe cutting board for chiles.
 THE TAWLES
Building the Table
Everything that led me to now really began at the table, or tawle (“TOW-
lah” in Arabic). In the purest sense I mean my childhood table. But in the
larger sense I see a “table” in every story I tell. It has become the
organizing principle for everything I do.
I feel like we often get recipes for certain dishes but we don’t know how
to put the whole meal together. And in the case of this cookbook, the
dishes really must go together; grilled meats alone would be lost without
the sauces—but it really doesn’t matter which sauces. I want to share the
vision of a meal with no courses, where plates keep coming, getting
stacked on top of each other, and everything works together—family
style, where everyone breaks bread together.
The style of eating that is common in these regions removes the focus
from individual recipes that must be prepared and served according to set
rules and turns it instead to building a meal around a few different
dishes. The individual recipes in this book are delicious, but the real
magic comes when a few or several are served at the same meal, and not
necessarily at the same time. Bread is your utensil and the heart of the
meal, and the sauces allow diners to make each bite something new. I
grew up eating in this mix-and-match way. Dad used to tease Mom about
how a table set for dinner couldn’t be set without utensils. Mom would
shrug as if to ask why our two hands and a bit of bread weren’t enough.
Placed at four different spots throughout the book are beautiful visual
stories. These tawles are set for celebratory meals, spread with an array
of foods and dishes from the book. I think of these tawles a bit like a
mannequin in a department store that is appointed with such a perfect
outfit you ask the salesperson to pull all the pieces for you and just buy it
outright.
Mountaintop in Lebanon
1

The Road to Your Favorite Bite

Dipping Sauces
When I was growing up, we didn’t use store-bought condiments. Instead,
we had most of the sauces in this chapter in our refrigerator! They didn’t
seem like anything special at the time. Thankfully now I know better.
The way we ate then is the way I eat now, the way we serve at Maydān,
and the way I hope you’ll eat the food in this book. The table is set with
several shared platters of foods, small dishes of flavorful sauces, and a
big basket of flatbread. Diners tear off a small piece of bread and use it
to hold or dip into as many different bits of food and sauces as they’d
like. I love to eat this way, because each bite—Mom calls it a bakoun—
is made up of whatever flavors you choose for yourself. And when there
are two or more dipping sauces available, every single bite can offer you
a new taste and texture experience. I put this chapter of recipes first
because I am convinced that these sauces make every other savory dish
in this book taste phenomenal. Hell, they’ll make every other savory
thing in your kitchen taste phenomenal, period. They’re not just sauces;
they’re a way of life. Often I recommend serving specific sauces with
certain dishes, but any combination that sounds good to you will be
delicious. And if two or more sauces are available, all the better.
IN THIS CHAPTER
Toum (Whipped Garlic Sauce)
Tahina (Levantine Tahini-Lemon Sauce)
Harissa (North African Red Pepper Sauce)
Chermoula (North African Saffron and Herb Sauce)
Ezme (Turkish “Pico de Gallo”)
Zhough (Chili-Cilantro Sauce)
Red Shatta (Hot Pepper Sauce)
Sweet Tomato Jam
Exploring the markets of Muscat, Oman
 Lunch with dips in the mountains, Lebanon

Roadside stop for man’ouche and sfeeha, Lebanon

 Tomato Jam (this page), Ezme (this page), Zhough (this page), Red Shatta (this
page), Harissa (this page), Tahina (this page), Chermoula (this page), Toum (this
page)
Toum
Whipped Garlic Sauce
Makes about 2 cups (480 ml)
This sauce is heaven for garlic lovers, and no one else should try it, at least not until it’s
been in the fridge for a few days so the garlic’s bite has mellowed. All that glorious garlic
needs a good kick of lemon to balance the flavor. At Maydān, we also add egg whites
because we like their fluffy consistency. With a jar of this in your fridge, you need never
fear that a dish is too bland for some—just put this on the table and anyone who wants a
little zing can add it to their plate.
½ cup (75 g) peeled, trimmed cloves garlic (about 18 cloves)
1 large egg white, at room temperature (see Note)
2 cups (480 ml) grapeseed or other neutral vegetable oil
¼ cup (60 ml) fresh lemon juice (from about 2 lemons)
¾ teaspoon kosher salt

Using a paring knife, halve the garlic cloves lengthwise and use the tip
of the knife to remove the green germ running through the center of each
half; discard the germs. Chop the garlic. Transfer the garlic to a food
processor and add the egg white.
Pour the oil and lemon juice into a glass measuring cup or other
container with a spout for easy pouring.
Pulse the food processor a few times, then with the food processor
running, add the oil–lemon juice mixture in a very slow, thin, steady
stream until the mixture emulsifies into a cloud. Add the salt and process
briefly to combine.
Transfer to a serving container and serve. Refrigerate leftovers in a
covered container up to 2 weeks.
Notes: Eggs are easier to separate when they are cold, but egg whites
whip best when they are warmer than that. After separating the egg,
store the yolk in an airtight container in the refrigerator and use it in a
different recipe. Let the egg white stand on the counter until it is at cool
room temperature (or at least no longer fresh-from-the-fridge cold).
For a vegan toum, use 2 tablespoons aquafaba (the liquid from cooked
or canned chickpeas) in place of the egg white. Note that it will take
several minutes for the emulsification to come together.
Tahina
Levantine Tahini-Lemon Sauce
Makes about 1⅓ cups (315 ml)
This simple sauce is common to the entire region, and it can pretty much go with anything.
For lactose-intolerant people, like me, its dairy-free creaminess is very welcome
½ cup (120 ml) tahini (sesame seed paste), preferably Beirut brand, stirred until smooth
before measuring
2 tablespoons grapeseed or other neutral vegetable oil
2 tablespoons fresh lemon juice (from about 1 lemon)
1 clove garlic, crushed with garlic press
½ teaspoon kosher salt

Place the tahini, oil, lemon juice, garlic, salt, and ½ cup (120 ml) water
in a food processor. Process until smooth.
Serve at room temperature or cold. Refrigerate leftovers in a covered
container for up to 1 week.
Harissa
North African Red Pepper Sauce
Makes about 2½ cups (600 ml)
Harissa is everywhere in Morocco and Tunisia, where this chile pepper paste is used to
flavor food before, during, and after it is cooked. When I was there I adopted the local
position that no meal is complete without it. Harissa can be very mild, ear-poppingly hot,
and everything in between. It looks like a long list of ingredients, but harissa is worth every
step. It’ll keep for ages, and you’ll still be thanking yourself weeks from now if you put the
time in today.
1½ pounds (680 g) red bell peppers, halved, seeds and ribs removed, and roasted until very
dark (see below)
4 ounces (115 g) serrano peppers, halved, seeds and ribs removed, and roasted until very
dark (see below)
½ cup (120 ml) extra-virgin olive oil, preferably Lebanese unfiltered, plus more as needed
for serving and storing
¼ cup (60 ml) grapeseed oil
¼ cup (60 ml) fresh lemon juice (from about 2 lemons)
2 tablespoons finely chopped garlic
2 tablespoons Spanish sweet paprika
2 tablespoons Aleppo pepper flakes
2 tablespoons cumin seed, toasted (this page) and ground
2 teaspoons kosher salt

Place the peppers in a blender. Add ¼ cup (60 ml) water along with the
olive oil, grapeseed oil, lemon juice, garlic, paprika, Aleppo, cumin, and
salt. Blend until smooth.
Before using or serving the harissa, you can add more olive oil if you
prefer a looser consistency.
To store, transfer to a container with a tight-fitting lid. Smooth the top
and pour over enough vegetable or olive oil to cover the surface. Cover
the container and refrigerate up to 1 month.
Roasting Peppers and Chiles
Roasting peppers and chiles deepens their flavor and color. As noted on this page,
wear disposable rubber gloves when handling any chiles that have capsaicin and are
spicy hot, such as serranos or habaneros, and wash the knife and cutting board
thoroughly after cutting them.
***
Fresh bell peppers or other peppers or chiles, halved, seeds and ribs removed
Extra-virgin olive oil, preferably Lebanese unfiltered
***
Preheat the oven to 450°F (230°C).
Place the peppers in a large bowl and drizzle with some olive oil. Toss with your hands until
the peppers are well coated all over with oil.
Arrange the peppers cut side down on a baking sheet and roast until browned in spots, 7 to
12 minutes for small, thin chiles or 25 to 30 minutes for large bell peppers.
When a recipe calls for the peppers to be very roasted (as for harissa, above), roast them
until they are shriveled and very brown, about 40 minutes for bell peppers; basically, you
want to roast them until you look at them and think you’ve overdone it.
If the recipe calls for the peppers to be peeled after roasting, place them in a bowl and drape
a kitchen towel over the top for a few minutes. Use a paring knife to help remove and
discard the skin; it should peel off easily. Do not rinse the peppers.
Refrigerate roasted peppers in a tightly covered container for up to 1 day; to refrigerate up
to 4 days, pour over enough olive oil to cover the roasted peppers or chiles.
Chermoula
North African Saffron and Herb Sauce
Makes about 3 cups (720 ml)
Chermoula is a common sauce across North Africa, where it’s often eaten as an
accompaniment to fish. Familiar though it may be in Moroccan, Tunisian, Algerian, and
Libyan cooking, how it’s made and what ingredients it contains varies widely from town to
town, family to family. During our research trip for Maydān, we had excellent chermoula
with many of our meals in Tunisia’s capital city, Tunis, and the area surrounding the
capital. Yet our local friend Aymen was determined that we must taste his aunt’s
chermoula, which he considers the best in the region. And so we spent a full day driving to
and from Sfax, a coastal city located three-and-a-half-hours from Tunis, in order to sample
Aymen’s aunt’s chermoula. Made from caramelized onions and the extracted juice of
raisins ground by hand, hers was rich and subtly sweet, and honestly nothing at all like this
one. I loved every moment of our excursion that day, but I did not in the end prefer
Aymen’s aunt’s chermoula to the brighter, uncooked types we had in other parts of the
country, and which this chermoula is based on. It is herbal and smoky and can go with any
and all dishes in this book. For the kind of rich sweetness that the Sfax chermoula made by
Aymen’s aunt offers, make the Sweet Tomato Jam (this page)—no hand-grinding required!
¼ teaspoon crushed saffron threads
10 cloves garlic, finely chopped
2 bunches fresh flat-leaf parsley, leaves and tender stems, chopped
½ bunch fresh cilantro, leaves and tender stems, chopped
Grated zest of 2 large lemons
5 teaspoons coriander seed, coarsely ground
1 tablespoon Spanish smoked paprika (see Note)
2½ teaspoons red pepper flakes
1 teaspoon ground turmeric
2 teaspoons kosher salt, or to taste
1½ cups (360 ml) grapeseed, canola, or other neutral vegetable oil, plus more as needed for
storing
Extra-virgin olive oil, preferably Lebanese unfiltered (optional; for storing)

Place the saffron threads in 1 tablespoon room temperature water until

the threads start to dissolve, about 60 seconds.
In a medium bowl, stir together the garlic, parsley, cilantro, lemon zest,
coriander, paprika, red pepper flakes, turmeric, salt, and the saffron in its
soaking water.
Transfer the mixture to a food processor; don’t overfill the container—do
this in batches if necessary. Process while slowly drizzling in the oil until
the mixture is well combined and smooth with a little bit of texture, like
the consistency of pesto. If doing batches, transfer the first batch to a
bowl; process the rest of the mixture with the rest of the oil, then stir the
second batch into the first.
To store, transfer to a container with a tight-fitting lid. Smooth the top
and pour over enough vegetable or olive oil to cover the surface. Cover
the container and refrigerate up to 1 month.
Note: I love the depth and, yes, smokiness that the smoked paprika
brings, but if you’re nervous about your sauce tasting too strongly of
smoke, just add half of it to start, then taste the finished chermoula. You
can always stir in more at the end.
Ezme
Turkish “Pico de Gallo”
Makes about 3 cups (720 ml)
A fresh, chopped tomato salad has been served alongside every kebab I’ve ever eaten in
Turkey, and though it seems ubiquitous, ezme can vary quite a bit in appearance and flavor
from place to place, ranging from very chunky to smooth and super bright and from fresh
to mellow and macerated. In this way it brings to mind the many kinds of pico de gallo that
are served on Mexican dining tables. Maydān’s ezme includes some sherry vinegar along
with pomegranate molasses to lend a small dose of sweet that tempers the sharp; it’s great
with grilled or roasted meat or fish.
6 ripe plum tomatoes (about 1¼ pounds / 570 g), peeled (see this page) and chopped
½ pint shishito peppers (about 2½ ounces / 70 g), stemmed and chopped
½ large red onion, chopped
½ cup (120 ml) sherry vinegar, plus more as needed
2 tablespoons pomegranate molasses
2 tablespoons ground sumac
1½ teaspoons Aleppo pepper flakes
1 teaspoon kosher salt, plus more as needed

Place the tomatoes, shishito peppers, and onion in a food processor and
pulse a few times until all are finely chopped. Transfer the vegetables to
a medium bowl.
In a small bowl, whisk together the vinegar, molasses, sumac, Aleppo
pepper flakes, and salt. Pour the dressing over the vegetables and stir
gently to combine. Taste and adjust the seasoning with more vinegar or
salt.
Serve at room temperature. Refrigerate leftovers in a covered container
for up to 2 weeks; let come to room temperature before serving.
Zhough
Chile-Cilantro Sauce
Makes about 3 cups (720 ml)
Some of the very best food I’ve had was in western Oman, on the border with Yemen, where
immigrants and refugees from Yemen were cooking traditional Yemeni dishes. At the top of
that list of delectable bites is this bright green, garlicky sauce with just a bit of heat. I love it
with grilled steak and lamb, and it’s an integral part of Maydān’s beloved grilled
cauliflower dish (this page).
6 serrano peppers, seeds, ribs, and stems removed, chopped
1 bunch fresh cilantro, leaves and tender stems, chopped
1 bunch fresh flat-leaf parsley, leaves and tender stems, chopped
5 cloves garlic, chopped
1 cup (240 ml) extra-virgin olive oil, preferably Lebanese unfiltered, plus more for storage
¾ cup (180 ml) grapeseed or other neutral vegetable oil, plus more for storage
1 tablespoon cumin seed, ground
1½ teaspoons kosher salt, or to taste

Place the serranos, cilantro, parsley, garlic, olive oil, vegetable oil,
cumin, and salt in a food processor. Process until smooth.
Serve at room temperature. To store, transfer to a container with a tight-
fitting lid. Smooth the top and pour over enough olive or vegetable oil to
cover the surface. Cover the container and refrigerate up to 1 month.
Red Shatta
Hot Pepper Sauce
Makes about 2 cups (480 ml)
I mostly associate this spicy pepper sauce with Palestine though it is popular throughout the
region. Shatta can be made with red chiles, green chiles, or whatever mix you’d like. The
amount of heat in the sauce primarily depends on the types of chiles you use. We like to use
red Fresno chiles because once they turn red, they have both nice, balanced heat as well as a
lovely sweetness. And they’re delicious when roasted. If you want a little more heat, you can
swap out a small amount of the Fresnos for habanero, but don’t overdo it! Finally, shatta
can be chunky like a salsa or smooth, like this one. Go ahead and experiment with all of
these variables.
1¼ pounds (570 g) red Fresno chiles (see Note)
1 rounded tablespoon kosher salt (see Note)
1¾ tablespoons apple cider vinegar
2¼ teaspoons sugar

In a medium bowl, combine the roasted and unroasted Fresnos and the
salt, and then toss and stir to make sure the chiles are thoroughly coated
in salt. Transfer to an airtight nonreactive container or zip-top plastic bag
and refrigerate for at least 2 days and up to 5 days; once a day, stir the
chiles or massage them (if in a bag).
Transfer the chiles and their liquid to a blender. Add the apple cider
vinegar and sugar and process until smooth.
Refrigerate in a covered container up to 2 weeks.
Notes: Halve and roast half of the chiles as instructed on this page (you
can leave some or all of their seeds; there is no need to peel them); and
simply halve and remove the seeds from the other half of the chiles, but
don’t roast them.
I’ve adapted this recipe from the version that we make at Maydān, which
relies on weighing all the ingredients. This volume-based version works
very well for a small batch like this one, but if you want to make a larger
batch or experiment with different kinds of chiles, use the following
weight-based formula for best results: Weigh the trimmed, seeded, and
raw (not yet roasted) chiles in grams, then multiply that number by 0.03
(3 percent) to find the amount of salt (for instance, if the weight of the
chiles at this stage is 500 grams, you’ll add 15 grams salt to them,
because 500 x 0.03 = 15). When you’re ready to add the vinegar and
sugar a few days later, weigh the chiles and all their liquid in grams,
then multiply that number by 0.05 (5 percent) to find the amount (weight
in grams) of vinegar, and 0.02 (2 percent) to find the amount (weight in
grams) of sugar.
Sweet Tomato Jam
Makes about 2 cups (480 ml)
This is one of the most popular things at Maydān, and it’s also one of the very few sweet
items that isn’t a dessert. This tomato jam is such a customer favorite, in fact, that we put it
in jars for our takeout guests during the first Covid Christmas. Maybe it was the
comforting aroma of the cinnamon, or that it was a connection to what we call the “before
times,” or that it is extremely tasty with roasted meats, which people seemed to be eating a
lot of in late 2020, but no matter the reason, it made everyone very happy. And it certainly
doesn’t require a global pandemic to enjoy this at home now, especially considering how
easy it is to make. The jam goes especially well with the Ras el Hanout–Rubbed Duck
Breast (this page).
1 can (28 ounces / 795 g) whole plum tomatoes
3 tablespoons (45 ml) extra-virgin olive oil, preferably Lebanese unfiltered
½ medium onion, finely chopped
4 cloves garlic, finely chopped
1 tablespoon tomato paste
3 tablespoons (37.5 g) sugar
3 tablespoons (30 g) white sesame seeds, toasted (see below)
2 (3-inch / 7.5-cm) cinnamon sticks
2 tablespoons distilled white vinegar, or to taste
½ teaspoon kosher salt, or to taste

Pour the tomatoes and their juice into a large bowl and finely crush the
tomatoes with your hands; alternatively, process the tomatoes in a food
processor to chop them. Set aside.
In a large heavy-bottomed pot, heat the olive oil over medium heat. Add
the onion and cook, stirring frequently, until softened and translucent,
about 8 minutes. Stir in the garlic and cook until softened, about 1
minute. Add the tomato paste and cook, stirring, until darkened in color,
about 2 minutes.
Stir in the reserved tomatoes, then the sugar, sesame seeds, and
cinnamon sticks. Bring the mixture to a gentle simmer and cook until the
flavors have melded, 35 to 45 minutes, stirring frequently to prevent
sticking. Reduce the heat as necessary to keep the mixture at a gentle
simmer.
Remove the pan from the heat and stir in the vinegar and salt; taste and
adjust the seasoning.
Let cool completely. Refrigerate the jam in a tightly covered container up
to 2 weeks.
Toasting Seeds and Spices
In a cast-iron or other heavy skillet over medium-low heat, toast seeds or whole spices until
they smell fragrant and are lightly browned. Seeds will take 2 to 3 minutes and should be
stirred constantly; spices will take 30 to 60 seconds and should be stirred frequently.
Immediately transfer toasted seeds or spices to a plate to cool.
Lunch from a roadside stand in Oman
2

What We Eat Before We Eat

Mezze, Dips, and Spreads
I always laugh at how the spread my family puts out before dinner easily
includes enough food to be a full meal for most people. For us, though,
the many bowls and platters full of dips and spreads and olives and
pickles and bread are merely the warm-up to the major eating, which
only happens once we are all seated at the dinner table (Mom will never
embrace buffet-style meals). When the mezze is out, that’s when we
mingle and catch up with everyone, before we’re all in our designated
spots for dinner.
My own style of entertaining is a little less structured, and I consider the
dips, spreads, and pickles in this chapter fair game for any part of the
meal. The recipes are versatile and filling enough to have whatever way
works best for you, whether you’re eating your meal, or eating before
your meal. What’s especially wonderful about them is that most can be
made ahead of time—in some cases, quite far in advance—which means
I get to spend less time in the kitchen and more time with my company.
But none of this is possible unless you also provide something to eat it
with. Be sure to put out lots of that something, whether it’s sliced or torn
flatbread (which we always called Syrian bread in my house), baguette,
pita chips, crackers, fresh lettuce leaves, sliced cucumbers, or carrot
sticks. It can be anything edible, and it absolutely does not need to be
homemade!
IN THIS CHAPTER
Sabzi Khordan (Herb Plate)
Beet Borani
M’tabbal Dulu’ el-Selek (Swiss Chard Dip)
Labne with Dried Mint
Hummus, Three Ways
Muhammara (Walnut, Roasted Red Pepper, and Pomegranate Dip)
Mom’s Baba Ghanoush (Lebanese Eggplant Dip)
 Taktouka (Moroccan Roasted Pepper and Tomato Spread)
Bamia (Okra and Tomatoes)
Marinated Olives, Two Ways
Mouneh (Pickled Cucumbers, Turnips, and Green Tomatoes)
And to drink, Za’atar Martini

Lunch on the Mediterranean, Bartroun, Lebanon

The ruins in Baalbek, Lebanon

Markets of Muscat, Oman
Sabzi Khordan
Herb Plate
Serves 4
The name sabzi khordan comes from Iran, but I first had it in Georgia, where they serve the
platter of fresh cheese and herbs with delightful little pickled sprouts and/or flowers called
jonjoli. A plate of herbs, fresh onion, fresh or pickled vegetables, and sometimes a thick
cream or soft cheese is served in many parts of the Caucasus as well as Turkey and
Lebanon, though what exactly is on the plate changes depending on what’s in season. In my
experience, across much of the region the plate of herbs is left on the table throughout the
meal. Diners can customize each bite by picking off or scooping up any combination of
herb, onion, and, if included, cream or cheese they’d like to add to whatever else is in their
bread; these little extras heighten the flavor of everything that is being eaten. And, honestly,
it’s just refreshing to nibble on a bit of fresh herb as a palate cleanser at any time. I admit
to some frustration at Maydān, where we have yet to convince a majority of diners to
embrace using the things on this plate to add freshness and flavor to any bite throughout
the meal. Too often it just sits there, which is a real shame. We’re hopeful that if we just
keep trying, we might eventually create a little revolution of taste for our diners and win
over their hearts and minds.
Here I suggest the fresh ingredients that are generally easiest to find year-round in the
United States, but by all means use whatever is freshest and in season, and that has a flavor
you love. Interesting choices beyond what’s listed at left include chervil, chives, tarragon,
fennel fronds, lovage, shiso, Chinese celery, and cilantro flowers. You can make it as
elaborate (or simple) as you like, and feel free to omit the flavored cream.
For the cream (optional):
1 jar (6 ounces / 170 g) clotted cream or labne (see Note)
2 to 3 tablespoons whey from a jar of shanklish or other fresh cheese, such as mozzarella
(optional)
1 teaspoon freshly grated orange zest
1 tablespoon honey
Kosher salt
1 bunch green onions
¼ to ½ bunch fresh flat-leaf parsley, gently rinsed and dried
¼ to ½ bunch fresh mint, gently rinsed and dried
¼ to ½ bunch fresh dill, gently rinsed and dried

To make the cream, if using, in a medium bowl gently whisk together the
cream, whey, orange zest, honey, and salt to taste. (You’ll have about ¾
cup / 180 ml.) Cover and store in the refrigerator until ready to use, or up
to 4 days.
To prepare the green onions, trim their tops and ends and peel off and
discard any tough outer layer.
When ready to serve, if using the cream, scrape it into a small serving
bowl and place it on a serving platter. Arrange the green onions and
herbs on the platter.
Pass the platter around the table and encourage diners to take a little of
everything so that they can add bits of the cream, green onion, and herbs
to their bites of food in any combination they like.
Note: I’ve seen lots of different types of fresh cheese used in sabzi
khordan; clotted cream has a little less tang than labne, and either works
well here.
Beet Borani
Makes about 3½ cups (840 ml); serves 4 to 6
I grew up happily eating and truly loving beets. Then came our time in Russia. During
those three years I had so many bowls of borscht that this beet lover turned into a beet
loather. I knew it would require a miracle for me to ever again consider eating beets after
that. Happily, miracles can happen, and this one came in the form of a stunning Iranian
yogurt-and-beet dip, which tastes as good as it looks. This Iranian yogurt dip is a lot like the
m’tabbals from the Levant (this page). I believe the main difference between them is that
borani is made with yogurt and m’tabbal with tahini, but I’m sorry I’ve not yet been able to
travel to Iran to see for myself. Thankfully we have a few very dear Iranian friends in
Washington and Los Angeles, and over the years they have helped us understand a little
about how many of these cross-lingual dishes are served in their home country. You can
make either boranis or m’tabbals with all sorts of different vegetables, which makes both of
them excellent ways to use up veggies that might otherwise languish in your crisper drawer
or get tossed out. I’m especially fond of those made with spinach or eggplant, but none can
match the striking pink color of this one.
1½ pounds (680 g) red beets
Extra-virgin olive oil, preferably Lebanese unfiltered
1 clove garlic, minced
1 cup (250 ml) labne or, if unavailable, full-fat Greek yogurt
1½ teaspoons fresh lemon juice (optional if using the Greek yogurt)
Kosher salt
Fresh dill, for garnish
Black or white sesame seeds, for garnish
Bread or crudités, for serving

Preheat the oven to 425°F (220°C). Trim and scrub the beets. Place them
in a large cast-iron skillet and drizzle with olive oil just to coat. Cover
the skillet with aluminum foil and seal it around the ends of the pan.
Roast until very tender when pierced with a thin, sharp knife, about 1½
hours. Remove from the oven and let stand until cool enough to handle.
Peel, then coarsely chop the cooled beets. Place half of the chopped
beets in a blender with about half of the minced garlic. Purée until
mostly smooth. Add ¼ cup (60 ml) labne and purée until smooth.
Transfer to a medium bowl.
Repeat the process to purée the remaining beets and garlic. Whisk in any
remaining labne or yogurt by hand. Whisk in the lemon juice, if using.
Season with salt to taste. Garnish with the dill and sesame seeds. Serve
with bread or crudités.
Store the borani in a tightly covered container in the refrigerator up to 2
weeks.
M’tabbal Dulu’ el-Selek
M’tabbal Dulu’ el-Selek
Swiss Chard Dip
Makes about 3 cups (720 ml); serves 4 to 6
M’tabbal, which means “tossed” or “stirred” in Arabic, is a popular style of dip often made
with eggplant and tahini. If that sounds to you like another familiar dip from the region,
note that I’ve been told that baba ghanoush (Mom’s is on this page) is an eggplant salad
while m’tabbal is an eggplant sesame dip. We don’t have to worry too much about that
distinction because this version of m’tabbal is made with Swiss chard. Honestly it began at
Maydān as a clever way to use up a bunch of Swiss chard stems left over after the leaves
were used in another dish; we hate to waste anything edible if we can help it. Then it turned
into one of our guests’ favorite dips (and not only because it’s lactose-free—also because it’s
delicious)! For those of us who cook in a home kitchen, it’s generally easiest (and tastiest) to
use both leaves and stems, but don’t hesitate to use just those stems if the leaves have found
their way into a different pot.
2 large bunches Swiss chard
2 tablespoons neutral oil, such as canola or grapeseed
5 cloves garlic, sliced
Kosher salt
Juice of 1 lemon (about 3 tablespoons)
½ cup (120 ml) pourable tahini (sesame seed paste), preferably Beirut brand, stirred until
smooth before measuring
Toné (this page) or other flat bread, for serving
Crudités, for serving

Remove the stems from the Swiss chard leaves. Thinly slice the stems
and tear the leaves; set both aside separately.
In a large sauté pan, heat the oil over medium heat. Add the reserved
sliced Swiss chard stems and the garlic along with a couple pinches of
salt. Cook, stirring frequently, until softened, about 5 minutes; control
the heat so the garlic does not brown (you want it to be soft, not crispy).
Add the leaves and cook, frequently tossing them with tongs, until the
leaves are completely wilted and both leaves and stems are very tender.
Remove the pan from the heat and set aside until completely cool.
Transfer the cooled Swiss chard to a food processor. Pulse a few times to
finely chop the mixture. Add the lemon juice, ¼ cup (60 ml) water, and a
pinch of salt and process until puréed. With the food processor running,
stream in the tahini and process until smooth and blended.
Transfer to a bowl and cover and chill before serving or up to 3 days. Let
stand at room temperature a few minutes before serving with bread and
crudités.

Labne with Dried Mint (this page), Taktouka (this page)

Labne with Dried Mint
Makes about 2 cups (475 ml); serves 4 to 6
As ubiquitous as labne was in our Lebanese-American kitchen, I can’t recall ever being
persuaded to take even one bite of it. Other than mozzarella, which I ate by the fistful, I was
firmly a “no dairy” kid. I simply didn’t like it. Today, I like to eat all kinds of dairy (lactose
intolerance notwithstanding; see this page), but labne is the one I love the most. In this
mixture, the flavor of the dried mint and the texture from the whisking combine to make it
the most light and refreshing labne dip I’ve had. If I had to choose one thing and one thing
only to eat with the roasted lamb shoulder (this page), it would be this labne, every time.
Thankfully I’ve never been put in this position. One key to keeping the texture light is to
whisk gently; if you whisk too vigorously or too long, the sauce may turn soupy.
1 container (16 ounces / 455 g) labne
2½ tablespoons dried mint
1 teaspoon fresh lemon juice, or as needed
1 tablespoon extra-virgin olive oil, preferably Lebanese unfiltered
Kosher salt

In a medium bowl, gently whisk together the labne, mint, and lemon
juice. Whisking constantly at a moderate speed (remember, don’t whisk
too vigorously or the sauce may turn soupy), slowly stream in the oil.
Taste and add salt or more lemon juice as desired.
Cover and chill if not using at once and up to 4 days. Let stand at room
temperature for a few minutes before serving.
Hummus, Three Ways
Makes about 6 cups (1.4 liters); serves 10 to 14
Before I was tall enough to reach the countertops I had two important jobs in the kitchen:
running drained chickpeas through the Foley food mill and scraping out the tahini jar. I’m
not sure what qualified me for the first job (and today I use a food processor, as it is way
easier), but for the second one I’m pretty sure it was being the only person with arms that
were long and skinny enough, and a spirit that was obsessive enough, to get every last drop
of tahini from the bottom of the jar.
Perhaps it was all that time I spent with my arm in a tahini jar that made me particularly
sensitive to this particular ingredient, but I feel strongly that thick, over-tahini’d hummus is
terrible. I know there’s an argument to be made (and plenty make it) that using dried
chickpeas is the defining difference between good and great hummus, but I’ve learned that
even that important choice isn’t nearly as impactful as the tahini. My favorite brand is
Beirut, and it helps to make this hummus one of the smoothest and creamiest you’ll ever
have. This hummus is also one of the lightest I’ve had, thanks in part to blending a bit of
the chickpea cooking liquid (called aquafaba) into the finished hummus. The recipe here
yields hummus that is fantastic served simply, with nothing more than olive oil and sumac
on top. Or, if you’d like to jazz it up, two variations follow, one with fresh vegetables and
the other with pulled lamb. Hence the name, Hummus, Three Ways!
1 cup (250 ml) fresh lemon juice (from about 6 lemons)
½ cup (120 ml) extra-virgin olive oil, preferably Lebanese unfiltered, plus more for serving
6 cloves garlic
4 cups (740 g) cooked, drained chickpeas (see this page)
1 cup (240 ml) pourable tahini (sesame seed paste), preferably Beirut brand, stirred until
smooth before measuring
1½ teaspoons kosher salt, or to taste
¼ cup (60 ml) reserved cooking liquid from chickpeas, or as needed
Ground sumac, for garnish

In a blender, place the lemon juice, olive oil, and garlic and blend to
combine. Add the chickpeas and blend until very smooth. Add the tahini
(see Note) and process until well combined.
Season with salt and process to combine. Add up to ¼ cup (60 ml) of the
reserved chickpea cooking liquid and process; this creates some nice air
bubbles and lightens the texture of the hummus.
To serve, transfer to a serving bowl. Use the back of a spoon to make a
shallow divot in the surface of the hummus. Pour some olive oil into the
divot and sprinkle with sumac.
Store in a covered container in the refrigerator up to 5 days.
Note: If you’re using a chunky or very stiff tahini, it’ll probably work
better to transfer the chickpea mixture out of the blender and into a food
processor before adding the tahini. If using Beirut brand or another nice,
smooth, pourable tahini, doing it all in the blender is fine.
Beiruti Hummus
Makes about 4½ cups (1 liter); serves 6 to 8
The moment in Beirut when my Maydān team and I tasted this dish for the first time, we all
knew at once that we would be bringing it to the restaurant. The tomatoes, peppers, and
green onions mixed in with the creamy hummus were so fresh and crisp. The only caveat is
that this isn’t nearly as good when made with out-of-season regular tomatoes, which are far
too watery and make the whole thing a runny mess. That’s why I call for cherry tomatoes
here—to try to mitigate against this unpleasant result no matter what time of year it is. If
it’s the height of summer, however, you can (and should!) chop up the brightest, ripest
tomatoes you can find for this refreshing dip.
3 cups (720 ml) Hummus (this page)
1 cup (240 ml) quartered cherry tomatoes
½ cup (75 g) very thinly sliced shishito peppers (no need to seed them)
½ cup (50 g) very thinly sliced green onion, greens only (from 2 to 3 bunches)
Extra-virgin olive oil, preferably Lebanese unfiltered, for serving

Place the hummus in a large bowl. Just before serving, fold in the
tomatoes, shishitos, and green onions.
Transfer to a serving bowl. Drizzle over some olive oil just before
serving.
Once combined, this is best eaten the day it is made; the tomatoes in
particular may give up some liquid if stored.
Chickpeas
Makes about 6 cups (1 kg) drained chickpeas
Because chickpeas are used in so many different ways throughout the region (and this
book), I typically don’t salt them during initial cooking so that I have more control
over the seasoning when using them in a dish. Adding baking soda during cooking
helps the beans to cook more quickly. If you are preparing the chickpeas for a
particular recipe and you know this amount of dry will give you less or more than you
need, you can certainly double or halve the recipe as needed. Alternatively, you may
use the extras in another dish or put the chickpeas and enough of their cooking liquid
to cover them in a tightly closed container and freeze for up to 3 months.
***
1 pound (455 g) dried chickpeas
¾ teaspoon baking soda
***
Rinse and drain chickpeas and place in a large pot. Add 1½ quarts (1.4 liters) of water and
soak for 24 hours. (It’s fine to skip this step; the chickpeas will simply take longer to cook
—perhaps twice as long.)
Drain the chickpeas and return them to the pot. Add 3 quarts (2.8 liters) of water and the
baking soda. Bring to a boil over high heat. Partially cover the pot and boil gently until the
chickpeas are fork tender, 30 to 45 minutes, depending on the age of the chickpeas and how
you are using them. For the hummus, cook them until they are almost falling apart. For
Dango (this page) or a similar dish where they’ll be cooked further, cook the chickpeas until
just tender. For salads and other stand-alone purposes, cook until they are tender but still
keep their shape.
Let them cool in the cooking liquid. Store in the liquid in a tightly covered container in the
refrigerator up to 4 days; freeze up to 3 months. When draining the chickpeas before using
them in a dish, make sure to save some cooking liquid if it’s called for in the recipe.
Hummus bil Lahme
Hummus with Meat
Serves 8 to 12
Putting meat on top of hummus is such a great trick for quickly making a nourishing and
very tasty meal. I like spooning hashwee (the filling for the Kibbeh Sanieh, this page) on top
of hummus, and I’ve been known to quickly cook some onion and cubed lamb in butter to
eat the same way.
Now if you have a little bit of time, here’s another way to turn hummus into a full meal, and
this one is good enough to serve to company. Simmering pulled lamb in a mixture that
includes harissa and fresh orange juice makes the lamb melt-in-your-mouth delicious; it’s a
delectable way to use up any leftover pulled meat or poultry. I don’t think I’m giving away
state secrets by sharing that this combination of pulled lamb and hummus is former
president Obama’s favorite item on the Maydān menu. When he lived full-time in DC, we
always made sure to have it when he came in. In fairness, this was far easier to do for him
than for anyone else, since we always had plenty of warning before he ate with us!
4 cups (about 2 pounds / 940 g) pulled meat from Maydān’s Lamb Shoulder with Syrian
Seven Spice (this page ; see Note)
¼ cup (½ stick / 115 g) unsalted butter
½ cup (120 ml) Harissa (this page)
1 cup (240 ml) fresh orange juice (from about 3 oranges)
1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice
1 tablespoon kosher salt
4 cups (960 ml) Hummus (this page)

Place the pulled lamb in a large saucepan. Add the butter, harissa, orange
juice, lemon juice, and salt. Heat over low heat for 30 minutes.
To serve, place the hummus in a large shallow bowl and top with the
lamb. To plate this as individual servings, put about ⅔ cup (165 ml)
hummus in a small shallow dish or ramekin and top with about ½ cup (4
ounces / 115 g) pulled lamb.
Note: To pull the lamb, place the cooked shoulder in a large bowl and
use two forks to pull it apart; this is easier to do if the lamb is slightly
warmed first.
Muhammara
Walnut, Roasted Red Pepper, and Pomegranate Dip
Makes 4 cups (960 ml); serves 6 to 8
This is a staple on the Lebanese table, but it’s not one that I grew up with. This is funny to
me because my family loves and uses every ingredient in this dip. It might just be that no
one in my great-grandparents’ villages made anything like this, and so no recipe was
handed down. For me, the best part of this might be the sour note that the pomegranate
molasses gives. If you buy muhammara in a store, it’s typically quite chunky, but this one,
from Maydān’s menu, is much thinner and smoother, and I like it best that way.
13 ounces (370 g) walnuts (about 3¾ cups), toasted (see below)
2½ pounds (1.2 kg) red bell peppers (about 6), cored, seeded, roasted (see this page), and
chopped (see Note)
1 can (6 ounces / 170 g) tomato paste
⅔ cup (165 ml) extra-virgin olive oil, preferably Lebanese unfiltered, plus more for serving
⅓ cup (75 ml) pomegranate molasses, plus more for serving
1½ to 2 tablespoons fresh lemon juice
2½ tablespoons sweet paprika
5 cloves garlic, minced
Kosher salt
Chopped fresh chives, for serving

In a large bowl, toss the toasted walnuts and roasted peppers together.
In a medium bowl, whisk together the tomato paste, olive oil,
pomegranate molasses, 1½ tablespoons lemon juice, paprika, garlic, and
a few pinches of salt. Pour this liquid mixture over the walnuts and
peppers and toss to coat.
In a food processor, process the walnut-and-pepper mixture in batches
until the muhammara is blended but still a little chunky. Transfer each
batch to a bowl and stir the batches together as you go. Taste and adjust
the lemon juice and salt to taste.
Transfer to a serving bowl. With the back of a spoon, press a divot into
the top of the dip. Pour a little olive oil and pomegranate molasses in the
divot. Garnish with chives and serve.
Store the muhammara in a tightly covered container in the refrigerator up
to 1 week.
Note: There is no need to peel the peppers for this blended dip.
Toasting Nuts
Preheat the oven to 350°F (175°C).
Spread nuts on a rimmed baking sheet. Toast in the oven until the nuts smell fragrant and
are slightly browned, 5 to 7 minutes, stirring once or twice. Nuts won’t always look
browner on the outside even when they’re toasting on the inside, so I generally depend on
my nose before my eyes. If you’re not sure, carefully taste a nut. If it tastes toasted, take
them out.
Transfer the nuts to a plate to cool.
Mom’s Baba Ghanoush
Lebanese Eggplant Dip
Makes about 3 cups (720 ml); serves 4 to 6
Most recipes for baba ghanoush will look more or less like the one here, but the most
important quality in an excellent version isn’t in the ingredient list at all: smoke. If I can’t
taste the smoke, I think something is wrong. You need a live fire any way you can get it—
grill, fireplace, camping stove, even the flame on your gas-powered stovetop! One or more
whole eggplant sizzling directly on top of the burner was a regular sight in my house when I
was growing up, and in time I came to understand and appreciate why. It’s the difference
between good and great baba ghanoush.
2 medium eggplant (3 to 4 pounds / 1.4 to 1.8 kg)
3 to 4 tablespoons (45 to 60 ml) tahini (sesame seed paste), preferably Beirut brand, stirred
until smooth before measuring
2 cloves garlic, crushed with garlic press
1 teaspoon kosher salt, plus more as needed
Juice of 1½ to 2 lemons
Ground sumac or chopped fresh parsley, for garnish (optional)

Use a paring knife to cut several small slits all over the eggplant; this
releases the air and helps the eggplant cook evenly.
Remove the grate from the largest gas burner on the stovetop and turn it
on to high heat. Place the eggplant directly on the flame, either alongside
it or right on top of the burner cap; you can do both eggplant at the same
time if you have the space and the inclination. Use long-handled tongs to
turn the eggplant as needed and cook until the skin is charred all over
and they are very tender when poked with a sharp knife, about 30
minutes.
Alternatively, cook the eggplant over a medium-high grill, turning
occasionally, until cooked as described above.
Set the eggplant aside on a baking sheet or plate until cool.
Slice the eggplant in half lengthwise. Scoop out the cooked pulp and
place in a bowl; discard the skin. Mash the pulp with a fork or sturdy
silicone or rubber spatula; the consistency should be mashed but still
coarse.
Stir in the tahini, garlic, and salt. Add the lemon juice a little at a time,
tasting as you add it to ensure the mixture isn’t too tart; add more salt if
necessary.
Transfer to a serving bowl, sprinkle with sumac or garnish with parsley,
and serve. Or cover and refrigerate until needed or up to 1 week. For best
flavor, let the baba ghanoush sit out for about 30 minutes before
garnishing and serving.
Taktouka
Moroccan Roasted Pepper and Tomato Spread
Makes about 3 cups (720 ml); serves 4
Like the fresh tomato-and-pepper salad, Ezme (this page), and the rich, cooked tomato-
and-pepper dish, Shakshuka (this page), taktouka is a spread that highlights the ripe
tomatoes and peppers that are the backbone of so much of the cuisine from this part of the
world. Scented and flavored with spoonfuls of sweet paprika and toasted cumin, taktouka
(which you can see on this page) is typically served with generous servings of bread, which
you’ll want and need to finish up every last bit.
6 tablespoons (90 ml) extra-virgin olive oil, preferably Lebanese unfiltered, plus more for
serving
2½ pounds (1.2 kg) green bell peppers (about 6), cored, seeded, roasted (see this page),
peeled, and diced
1¼ pounds (570 g) ripe plum tomatoes (about 5), grated on the large holes of a box grater
½ large onion, thinly sliced lengthwise
3 cloves garlic, minced
2½ tablespoons sweet paprika
1½ tablespoons cumin seed, toasted (this page) and ground
1½ teaspoons kosher salt, plus more as needed
Chopped fresh flat-leaf parsley, for serving
Flatbread or sliced baguette, for serving

In a medium sauté pan with a lid, place the oil, peppers, tomatoes, onion,
garlic, paprika, cumin, and the salt. Bring to a simmer over medium heat.
Cover the pan and cook until the onion is softened and the tomatoes have
given up a lot of liquid, about 15 minutes; stir occasionally and adjust the
heat as necessary to avoid burning on the bottom of the pan.
Uncover the pan, increase the heat to medium-high, and simmer until the
liquid is reduced and the mixture is slightly thickened, about 20 minutes,
stirring occasionally to prevent sticking on the bottom of the pan. Taste
and add more salt if necessary.
Serve warm or cold. To serve, transfer to a serving bowl or platter and
smooth the top. Use the back of a spoon to lightly press a slight divot on
the surface of the taktouka and pour in some olive oil. Garnish with
parsley and serve with bread on the side.
Bamia
Okra and Tomatoes
Serves 6 to 8
Traditionally made with lamb throughout the region, Lebanese bamia is typically a hearty
okra-and-tomato stew. At Maydān, we serve this fresh and crisp all-vegetable mezze
version. Curiously I never tasted okra until I was an adult. I chalk it up to being a family of
Lebanese Midwesterners, emphasis on the last part. Okra just wasn’t on our radar. Maybe
that’s why I like this okra dish so much. When lightly roasted, it’s crunchy and flavorful,
with delightful little seeds that are fun to pop between your teeth.
2 pounds (910 g) fresh okra, cut lengthwise in half
3 cups (435 g) cherry tomatoes, quartered
2 medium onions, thinly sliced lengthwise
5 cloves garlic, sliced
1 tablespoon whole coriander, toasted (this page) and ground
2 teaspoons kosher salt plus more as needed
Extra-virgin olive oil, preferably Lebanese unfiltered
2 bunches fresh cilantro, leaves and tender stems, chopped
Juice of ½ to 1 lemon

Preheat the oven to 375°F (190°C).

In a large bowl, place the okra, tomatoes, onions, garlic, and coriander.
Add the salt and drizzle over about ¼ cup (60 ml) olive oil. Toss gently
until the vegetables are well coated with oil and the salt and coriander
are well dispersed.
Spread the vegetables on two rimmed baking sheets and roast until
softened and lightly browned in spots, about 15 minutes.
Transfer the roasted vegetables to a bowl and add the cilantro (keep a
little aside for garnish) and the juice of ½ lemon. Toss to combine, and
taste and adjust the seasoning with more lemon juice and/or salt.
Serve warm. Refrigerate leftovers in an airtight container up to 4 days.
Marinated Olives, Two Ways
We can buy lots of different kinds of seasoned olives at the store, but sometimes I prefer my
own combinations of flavors. Here are two of my favorites. I love to use the Moroccan spice
blend called ras el hanout on olives because they marry beautifully with the earthy
bitterness from spices like turmeric and mustard and the sweetness of spices like cinnamon,
mace, and allspice. And in the second recipe below, olives warmed with anise seed, caraway,
and olive oil take on a nutty, licorice-y flavor that storebought mixes don’t typically have.
Use any kind of unseasoned cured olives for these, such as a combination of Castelvetrano,
salt-cured black, and Zorzalena olives, or start with an already-combined “Tunisian” or
“Mediterranean” olive mix. Whichever olives you choose, make sure they’re unpitted (that
is, they still have the pits); this helps ensure they’ll hold their shape better.

Ras el Hanout Olives

Makes about 4 cups (620 grams)
1 to 1¼ pounds (455 to 570 g) well-drained mixed olives with pits
½ cup (120 ml) extra-virgin olive oil, preferably Lebanese unfiltered
½ cup (120 ml) neutral vegetable oil, such as grapeseed oil
½ cup (50 g) ras el hanout
2 cloves garlic, shaved or very thinly sliced
Zest of 1 orange, removed with a vegetable peeler and thinly sliced

Place the olives in a large bowl.

In a large glass measuring cup or another bowl, combine the olive oil,
vegetable oil, ras el hanout, garlic, and orange zest. Whisk until well
combined.
Pour the oil mixture over the olives and toss until very well and evenly
combined. Transfer to a glass or other container and cover tightly.
Refrigerate for at least 48 hours and up to 1 month.
Let stand at room temperature for at least 30 minutes before serving.

Roasted Anise and Caraway Olives

Makes about 4 cups (620 grams)
1 to 1¼ pounds (455 to 570 g) well-drained mixed olives with pits
¼ cup (25 g) anise seed
2 tablespoons caraway seed
1 cup (240 ml) extra-virgin olive oil, preferably Lebanese unfiltered
½ cup (120 ml) fresh lemon juice (from about 4 lemons)

Preheat the oven to 400°F (205°C).

Place the olives in a large bowl. Add the anise seed, caraway seed, oil,
and lemon juice and toss until well coated. Transfer to a rimmed baking
sheet and roast until the olives are hot and wrinkled, about 10 minutes.
Use a slotted spoon to transfer the olives to a serving bowl. Serve warm.
 Pickled Cucumbers (this page), Lift (this page), Ras el Hanout Olives (this page),
Pickled Green Tomatoes (this page), Roasted Anise and Caraway Olives (this page)
Mouneh
Pickled Cucumbers, Turnips, and Green Tomatoes
Every area in the world where humans have endured, it is thanks in part to our ingenious
methods of preserving fresh foods so there is something to eat when natural food sources
are scarce or simply dormant for the season. Some of these preservation techniques are
more toothsome than others, and pickling is certainly among the tastiest of all, which might
be part of why pickles, or mouneh, as they’re called in Lebanon, are such an important part
of the mezze table. Mouneh was an important part of our family’s table, too, but this might
be because we grew many more cucumbers than we could eat in salads (see below).
Whether you enjoy the idea of pickling your favorite vegetables in season to enjoy later or
you’re a year-round enthusiast of pickled anything, these three simple recipes will help you
transform your veggies from fresh to puckery goodness in very little time. And if you’re
already an experienced pickler, I hope you’ll find here some new ideas for flavor
combinations.

Pickled Cucumbers
Makes 2 (1-quart / 960-ml) jars
When I was a kid, we grew just one kind of cucumber and used it for eating and pickling.
It’s common to advise using “pickling” cucumbers these days, which are shorter and
broader than regular cucumbers, and have thinner skins. But the regular cucumbers make
great pickles, too.
2 pounds (910 g) pickling cucumbers, quartered lengthwise
4 sprigs dill
½ cup (120 ml) distilled white vinegar
1½ tablespoons apple cider vinegar
2 cloves garlic, smashed with the side of a chef’s knife or with a pan
2 tablespoons kosher salt
2 teaspoons coriander seed
2 teaspoons dill seed
1 teaspoon black peppercorns
2 juniper berries
2 whole cloves
2 bay leaves
Equipment: 2 sterilized 1-quart (960-ml) canning jars, lids, and rings (see this page)

Divide the quartered cucumbers and sprigs of dill between the two
canning jars. Push them in tightly, but do not fill more than ½ inch (12
mm) from the top of the jars.
In a small saucepan combine 2 cups (480 ml) water with the distilled
vinegar, apple cider vinegar, garlic, salt, coriander seed, dill seed,
peppercorns, juniper berries, cloves, and bay leaves.
Bring to a boil over medium heat. Reduce the heat and simmer for 10
minutes. Cover the pan, remove it from the heat, and let stand for 10
minutes.
Bring the mixture just back to a boil, then strain it into the jars, again
making sure that you don’t go higher than ½ inch (12 mm) from the top
of the jars. Discard the solids.
Tighten the lids on top of the jars and let come to room temperature.
Place the jars in the refrigerator for at least 2 days before eating the
pickles. Store in the refrigerator 6 months to a year.
Lift
Pickled Turnips
Makes 2 (1-quart / 960-ml) jars
I really didn’t want anything to do with turnips when I was a kid. Any other pickle was
fine, just not this one. It was always there, and I always avoided it. Then I grew up,
thankfully, and I learned how much there is to appreciate about earthy, tangy, crispy
pickled turnips. The addition of some white onion comes from my grandfather’s side. My
mother didn’t usually do it, preferring the simpler version from her mother’s family. But
many people like the extra layer of flavor the onion gives, so it’s here in case you’d like to
try it.
4 medium turnips (about 1½ pounds / 680 g), scrubbed, trimmed, and cut into small wedges
1 medium beet (about 6 ounces / 170 g), scrubbed and cut into 8 wedges
A few slices white onion (optional)
2 tablespoons kosher salt
1½ cups (360 ml) distilled white vinegar
Equipment: 2 sterilized 1-quart (960-ml) canning jars, lids, and rings (see this page)

Place a handful of turnip wedges into each jar, followed by 1 beet wedge
and a slice of onion, if using. Repeat these rows until you have used all
the ingredients. As you get closer to the top, you can push down on the
vegetables to make room for a few more, but don’t go higher than ½ inch
(12 mm) from the top of the jar.
Add 1 tablespoon salt to each jar.
In a small saucepan combine the vinegar with ¾ cup (180 ml) water.
Bring to a gentle boil. Divide the hot liquid between the jars.
Tighten the lids on top and place the jars in the refrigerator for at least 3
to 5 days before eating the pickles. Store in the refrigerator 6 months to a
year.
Pickled Green Tomatoes
Makes 2 (1-quart / 960-ml) jars
In my family, the only thing we did with unripe green tomatoes was wait for them to turn
red! Thankfully the lovely chefs at Maydān grew up pickling them, and this is how we do it
now.
2 pounds (910 g) unripened (green) tomatoes, each cut into 8 wedges
2 sprigs fresh dill
1 cup (240 ml) distilled white vinegar
4 cloves garlic
4 serrano peppers, halved lengthwise
4 bay leaves
2 tablespoons kosher salt
2 teaspoons sugar
Equipment: 2 sterilized 1-quart (960-ml) canning jars, lids, and rings (see this page)

Divide the tomato wedges and dill sprigs between the canning jars,
lightly pressing down if necessary to fit as many as possible into the jar,
but do not fill more than ½ inch (12 mm) from the top of the jar.
In a small saucepan, combine 1½ cups (360 ml) water with the distilled
vinegar, garlic, peppers, bay leaves, salt, and sugar. Bring to a boil, and
stir to be sure the sugar and salt are dissolved. Divide the liquid and all
of the aromatics between the jars, again making sure that you don’t go
higher than ½ inch (12 mm) from the top of the jars.
Tighten the lids on top of the jars and let come to room temperature.
Place the jars in the refrigerator for at least 2 days before eating the
pickles. Store in the refrigerator 6 months to a year.
Za’atar Martini
Serves 1; makes about 1 cup (240 ml) sumac oil, enough for almost infinite cocktails (see
Note)
Here is my spin on the classic martini, spiced up with a bit of Maydān flair by way of a little
salt and bitter. Cheers to that!
For the sumac oil:
½ cup (120 ml) untoasted sesame oil
½ cup (120 ml) avocado oil
2 tablespoons ground sumac
For each cocktail:
Ice, for shaking
2 ounces (60 ml) gin
1 ounce (30 ml) dry vermouth
1 barspoon brine from za’atar olives
3 drops sumac oil
Za’atar olive, for garnish
Equipment: Nick and Nora glass

To make the sumac oil, in a small saucepan, heat the sesame oil and
avocado oil over low heat until barely bubbling. Add the sumac and cook
for 3 minutes, stirring frequently.
Remove the pan from the heat and let cool completely. Strain the oil
through a fine-mesh sieve, then transfer to a dropper bottle. Keep at
room temperature for up to 1 month or refrigerate for up to 6 months (let
come to room temperature before using).
Fill a large cocktail mixing glass with ice. Pour in the gin, vermouth, and
olive brine. Stir several times until the outside of the glass feels too cold
to hold.
Place a za’atar olive in a Nick and Nora glass. Strain the drink into the
glass. Add 3 drops sumac oil. Serve cold, right away!
Note: Or, if infinite martinis are just too many martinis, you can drizzle
the sumar oil over the hummus (this page) or baba ghanoush (this page)
or use it in place of some of the oil when making muhammara (this page)
or chermoula (this page).
 MEZZE TABLE
When I was growing up, mezze were an integral part of every gathering
that involved food—and every gathering involved food. Before any
guests arrived, our large dining table would be laid with so many pickles,
dips, breads, and finger foods that it was nearly impossible to catch even
a glimpse of the pretty needlepointing on the tablecloth under all the
plates, bowls, and platters. This abundance certainly stemmed from the
sweet sentiment my mother carries with her that no one should ever be in
her home without something delicious to eat or sip in their hand. And it
underscored for my child self that in my family we take the business of
feeding people and eating very seriously—so much so that we serve a
full meal before the meal!
Like many people, I carried my favorite traditions from my childhood
into my adulthood, and I am proud to say that I have a very strong mezze
game. I came into this talent honestly, absorbing from Mom the
conviction that a person shouldn’t spend one moment in my home
without food or drink. But even more than that, a huge mezze spread
removes any obstacle to the most fun part of the party, which is settling
in and talking to my guests.
And unlike my family, in my home, mezze doesn’t always precede a
meal; sometimes it is the meal. I admit that this is sometimes because
I’m having so much fun that I completely forget to put dinner in the
oven. But it’s also because running my restaurants keeps me so busy that
I find that noshing with my friends is often a far more satisfying way to
spend my rare evenings at home, and there’s no need to ever break up the
fun by asking everyone to move and reassemble in a different part of the
house for a meal.
 Dips and spreads in Lebanon

TAWLE MENU
Sabzi Khordan (Herb Plate)
Beet Borani
M’tabbal Dulu’ el-Selek (Swiss Chard Dip)
Labne with Dried Mint
Hummus, Three Ways
Muhammara (Walnut, Roasted Red Pepper, and Pomegranate Dip)
Mom’s Baba Ghanoush (Lebanese Eggplant Dip)
Bamia (Okra and Tomatoes)
Marinated Olives, Two Ways
Mouneh (Pickled Turnips, Cucumbers, Green Tomatoes)
The Kelly Girls’ Tabbouleh
Toum
Syrian cheese
Basturma (spiced, cured beef)
Pita
Arak (anise-flavored, grape-based distilled spirit)
Salala, Oman
3

From the Fields

Sulta/Salads, Vegetables, and Dolmas
When my mom was a kid, her dad’s older brothers owned and operated a
fruit and vegetable stand at Detroit’s Eastern Market, which was a
bustling center of commerce for the wholesale food industry in the early
to mid-twentieth century. I think it makes sense that they ended up in the
produce business, considering that their own parents had been farmers in
their native Lebanon before emigrating to the United States in the very
early 1900s. Mom and her sisters have often talked about how, although
money was very tight when they were young, there were always plenty
of fruits and vegetables available in their house, thanks to a steady
supply of “seconds”—the bruised or blemished items that the uncles
couldn’t sell. Perhaps this would have turned other children off, but it
seems to have instilled in my mom an abiding sense that every main
meal must include both a cooked and a fresh vegetable. I guess it may
have happened, but I can’t recall a single night when we didn’t have both
as part of our dinner. Mom’s cooked vegetables and fresh salads were
deliciously simple, just like the recipes in this chapter.
IN THIS CHAPTER
The Kelly Girls’ Tabbouleh
Tomato Cucumber Salad
Fattoush (Summer Salad with Crisped Flatbread)
Patata Salata (Lebanese Potato Salad)
Salatet Malfouf (Mint Cabbage Salad)
Hinbe (Wilted Dandelion Greens Salad)
Shakshuka
Badrijani Nigvzit (Georgian Eggplant Rolls with Walnut Filling)
Maydān’s Grilled Carrots with Harissa
Potato Kibbeh
Batata Harra (Lebanese Spicy Potatoes)
Slow-Grilled Cauliflower with Tahina and Zhough
 Mchicha Wanazi (Spinach in Coconut Milk)
Stuffed Grape Leaves
Koosa (Stuffed Summer Squash with Lamb and Rice)
Lobio Mtsvanilit (Georgian Herbed Kidney Beans)
Green Beans with Cinnamon Tomato Sauce
Ta’ameya (Falafel)
And to drink, Empty Quarter (Juicy Carrot Cocktail)

Drinking wine in the mountains, Lebanon

Slicing fresh tomatoes for lunch in the fields, Lebanon
Grape harvest, Lebanon
The Kelly Girls’ Tabbouleh
Serves 6 to 8
This recipe comes from my grandma Ruth, who we called Sitti. Her father’s last name was
changed from “Khalil” to “Kelly” when he arrived at Ellis Island in 1905, and Sitti and her
three sisters were known as the “Kelly girls” their whole lives. Until I was an adult I don’t
think I’d ever made this tabbouleh for fewer than two hundred people. It was one of Mom’s
catering staples, and by the time I was a teenager I could whip up enough to serve hordes of
hundreds in a matter of minutes.
In this as in most dishes, Mom prefers curly parsley, whose leaves are easy to pluck from
the stems; but in Lebanon it’s always the flat-leaf, which I prefer for its flavor and texture.
The amounts here are the blueprint for our family’s tabbouleh, which has a nice balance of
everything, but I usually tweak the proportions of the main ingredients based on what time
of year it is. When tomatoes are in season I go heavy on them; when they’re out of season I
go heavier on the parsley; and when nothing is in season, I go heaviest on the bulgur. We
adapted this for Compass Rose simply by changing out the bulgur for freekeh; it’s delicious
that way, too. Aunt Joan added chopped Persian cucumber once and Mom and Aunt Jan
were utterly horrified; but I admit that I loved it, so try it if it sounds good to you.
1 cup (140 g) fine bulgur wheat
5 ripe red tomatoes, cut into dice
2 large bunches fresh flat-leaf or curly parsley, leaves and tender stems, finely chopped
1 cup (50 g) fresh mint leaves, finely chopped, or 1 tablespoon dried
1 bunch green onions, finely chopped
Juice of 3 lemons
¼ cup (60 ml) extra-virgin olive oil, preferably Lebanese unfiltered
Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper
Lettuce or red or green cabbage leaves, for serving (optional)

Rinse and drain the bulgur in a fine-mesh strainer and put it in a bowl.
Add cold water to cover by 2 inches (5 cm) and let stand until tender,
about 30 minutes.
In a large bowl combine the tomatoes, parsley, mint, and green onions.
Drain the bulgur through a fine-mesh strainer, and then squeeze it to
release as much of the water as possible.
Add the bulgur to the vegetables along with the lemon juice, oil, 1
teaspoon salt, and ½ teaspoon pepper and mix well. Taste and adjust the
seasoning. The tabbouleh can be served at once or covered and
refrigerated up to 2 days.
Transfer the tabbouleh to a serving bowl. Serve at once, with lettuce or
cabbage leaves, if using, to pick up the salad and create a bite, or a
bakoun, as Mom would say (see this page).
Tomato Cucumber Salad
Serves 6 to 8
I don’t know a country in this region of the world that doesn’t have their version of this
salad. In Georgia they add walnuts, and that extra crunch and tannic note can be really
nice. But this Lebanese one is closest to my heart. We grew cucumbers pretty much entirely
so we could eat this salad during the summer.
4 ripe tomatoes (about 1½ pounds / 680 g), cut in bite-size pieces
8 Persian cucumbers, sliced lengthewise in half and then crosswise into thin half-moons
1 medium onion, thinly sliced lengthwise
¼ cup (60 ml) extra-virgin olive oil, preferably Lebanese unfiltered, or to taste, or ¼ cup (60
ml) Sumac Vinaigrette (recipe follows)
1 tablespoon dried mint
2 teaspoons kosher salt
1 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper

In a large bowl, place the tomatoes, cucumbers, onion, olive oil, mint,
salt, and pepper.
Toss gently until all the vegetables are well coated in oil and mint. Serve.
Sumac Vinaigrette
Makes about 1½ cups (360 ml)
The tomato cucumber salad above that I grew up eating is a beautiful testament to
how delicious simplicity can be. Every now and then, though, I want to add a little
flair, and I replace the olive oil with this tangy dressing.
***
¾ cup (180 ml) fresh lemon juice (from about 3 lemons)
2 small cloves garlic, minced
1 tablespoon ground sumac
1½ teaspoons honey
Kosher salt
¾ cup (180 ml) extra-virgin olive oil, preferably Lebanese unfiltered
***
In a small bowl, whisk together the lemon juice, garlic, sumac, honey, and a couple pinches
of salt.
Whisking constantly, pour in the olive oil in a slow, steady stream. Continue whisking until
well blended.
Store in a tightly closed jar in the refrigerator up to 2 weeks. Shake or stir before using.
Fattoush
Summer Salad with Crisped Flatbread
Serves 2
Fattoush is commonly known as a “bread salad” but at its core it is truly a summer
vegetable salad, and it’s at its absolute best when beautifully ripe, in-season tomatoes and
cucumbers are used. Although lettuce plays a role, it’s not the star of this show. Fattoush
should be bold in both flavor and appearance. I like to think of it as a raucous celebration
of the height of summer, and this recipe as written here captures that spirit. And still,
sometimes I like to turn the dial to eleven and add whatever I have that I think will
highlight those tomatoes and cucumbers. If you have a garden of any size, from windowsill
to backyard, don’t be afraid to throw in any extra fresh herbs. Or, if you’re lucky enough
that your garden is host to purslane, don’t pull and toss it on the compost heap! This weed
is worth saving and eating, both for its good nutritional value and for its tang, which plays
especially well with the sumac and pomegranate molasses in this salad.
For the lemon-pomegranate dressing:
¼ cup (60 ml) rosé or sherry vinegar
2 tablespoons fresh lemon juice (from about 1 lemon)
2 tablespoons pomegranate molasses
1 tablespoon ground sumac
½ cup (120 ml) grapeseed oil
For the fattoush:
1 cup (180 g) coarsely chopped ripe tomatoes or quartered cherry tomatoes
1 cup (115 g) Persian cucumbers sliced lengthwise in half and then crosswise into ¼-inch (6
mm) half-moons
¼ cup (13 g) fresh mint leaves
¼ cup (13 g) fresh flat-leaf parsley leaves
¼ cup (30 g) Sumac Onions (recipe follows)
1 tablespoon ground sumac
Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper
3 cups (145 g) chopped gem or other tender lettuce
1 cup (65 g) torn and toasted flatbread (see Note)

To make the dressing, in a medium bowl whisk together the vinegar,

lemon juice, pomegranate molasses, and sumac. Whisking constantly,
add the oil in a slow, steady stream. Whisk until very well blended. Set
aside until needed.
To make the fattoush, in a large bowl, combine the tomatoes, cucumbers,
mint, parsley, sumac onions, sumac, and a pinch each of salt and pepper.
Toss gently to combine. Add just enough dressing to lightly coat all of
the ingredients and let stand for at least 15 minutes and up to 1 hour.
When ready to serve, add the lettuce and flatbread to the salad and toss
until everything is well dispersed. Taste and adjust the seasoning, and
serve.
Store leftover dressing in an airtight container in the refrigerator up to 1
month.
Note: To prepare the toasted flatbread, preheat the oven to 375°F
(190°C). Tear the bread into bite-size pieces and spread the pieces on a
rimmed baking sheet. Toast until lightly browned, stirring once or twice,
about 10 minutes. One 6-inch (15 cm) pita yields about 1 cup (65 g)
toasted pieces.
Sumac Onions
Makes about 5 cups (1.2 liters)
These tangy onions are a foundational item in Maydān’s kitchen. They are a snap to
make, they keep for ages, and they are a very welcome burst of flavor and color on so
many dishes. Sometimes mixed with fresh herbs (see below), sometimes on their own,
they appear on every kebab and most of the meat and fish dishes.
***
3 medium red onions, thinly sliced
1 tablespoon ground sumac
¼ cup (60 ml) distilled white vinegar, or as needed
***
In a large bowl, toss the onions with the sumac until well coated. Transfer them to a 6-cup
(1.4 liter) nonreactive container with an airtight lid.
Heat the vinegar in the microwave or on the stovetop until hot. Pour the hot vinegar over
the onions. Tightly close the container and shake it a few times to fully coat the onions in
vinegar.
Set aside for at least 2 hours before using. Tightly close and refrigerate up to 1 month,
giving the container a shake every now and then.
Sumac Onion and Herb Salad
Makes 3½ cups (840 ml)
***
2 cups (480 ml) Sumac Onions (above)
2 cups (480 ml) picked herb leaves, such as parsley and cilantro
***
In a medium bowl combine the sumac onions with the herbs. Toss gently to combine.
Use at once.
Patata Salata
Lebanese Potato Salad
Serves 6 to 8
My mom’s potato salad—with fresh and dried mint, Lebanese olive oil, and lots of lemon—
is the taste and smell of summer to me. For a long time this was the only kind of potato
salad I knew. My lips didn’t touch a mayonnaise-based potato salad until I was far past
childhood. Even now, when I have had plenty of opportunity to taste the creamy potato
salad that is so familiar to most Americans, I still prefer this one by a mile. I like to make a
batch of this on the weekend to have in my fridge so I can eat it for any meal, or even
between meals, all week.
6 medium all-purpose potatoes (2 pounds / 910 g), scrubbed
Kosher salt
1 large onion, thinly sliced lengthwise
1 tablespoon dried mint and/or 6 sprigs fresh mint, leaves chopped, plus a few mint sprigs
for serving
¼ cup (60 ml) extra-virgin olive oil, preferably Lebanese unfiltered
Juice of 2 lemons, plus more as needed
Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper

Place the potatoes in a large pot and cover with cold water by 2 inches (5
cm). Generously salt the water. Cover the pan and bring to a boil over
medium-high heat. Reduce the heat to a simmer and cook, partially
covered, until the potatoes are tender when pierced with a sharp knife, 15
to 20 minutes. Drain and set aside until cool enough to handle.
Peel the potatoes and cut them into 1-inch (2.5 cm) cubes. Place them in
a large bowl.
Add the onion and dried and/or fresh mint to the potatoes and very
gently toss the ingredients to combine them.
Add the oil, lemon juice, 1 teaspoon salt, and ½ teaspoon pepper and mix
well. Taste and add more lemon juice or salt and pepper as needed.
Garnish with fresh mint sprigs, if using.
Serve at room temperature. Store leftovers in an airtight container in the
refrigerator for up to 1 week; let come to room temperature (or close)
before serving for best flavor.
Refrigerate leftovers in an airtight container up to 4 days.
Salatet Malfouf
Mint Cabbage Salad
Serves 10 to 12
Like the potato in the Patata Salata (Lebanese Potato Salad, this page), here the cabbage is
primarily the medium that lets the lemon, mint, and olive oil do their thing. This salad is
very popular at potlucks or picnics because it’s refreshing, crunchy, and can stand on its
own or go with just about anything. Serve it wherever you’d typically serve a tangy green
salad. It might seem funny to use dried mint in a summer salad, but we were usually using
mint that my grandmother or aunt had dried themselves (see this page), and over the years
I’ve realized that I actually prefer dried mint in certain dishes, like this one and the potato
salad. Even with store-bought dried mint it’s delicious enough that we served it on our very
first menu at Maydān (and many menus since then). We opened during the winter, and we
wanted to offer a bright salad that was in season but would taste like summer. This fits the
bill perfectly.
1 cup (240 ml) fresh lemon juice (from about 4 lemons)
¼ cup (9 g) dried mint
1 small head green cabbage (about 1½ pounds / 680 g), quartered, cored, and shredded
1 small head radicchio (4 ounces / 115 g), cored and shredded (optional)
2 teaspoons kosher salt, plus more as needed
¼ cup (60 ml) extra-virgin olive oil, preferably Lebanese unfiltered, plus more for serving

In a large bowl, combine the lemon juice and mint. Add the cabbage,
radicchio (if using), and salt.
Toss with your hands, gently rubbing the cabbage to help soften it a bit.
Add the oil and toss to coat.
Cover and chill at least 2 hours and up to 12 hours. Before serving, taste
and adjust the salt if necessary and drizzle with a little more olive oil.
Serve cold or at cool room temperature.
Hinbe
Wilted Dandelion Greens Salad
Serves 2 to 4
There were times my dad wouldn’t drive more than a few feet past a field of dandelions
without hitting the brakes so that we could all pile out of the car to pick the wild greens.
Back home, he’d dump our haul into a big old-timey tub we kept outside and turn the
garden hose on them. Mom would take over from there. She’d leave them to soak for a bit
to remove some of the bitterness and get the dirt out, then she’d drain them well and wilt
them in lemon and olive oil. To this day I have to stop myself from impulsively shouting
“STOP!” whenever David and I pass a patch of dandelions while whizzing down the
interstate. The truth is that these days we’re more likely to eat the cultivated dandelion
greens from the store than the wild ones. I don’t soak the store-bought greens because
they’re typically less bitter than those greens Mom was working with. Also, sautéing them
for several minutes helps to tone down a lot of the bitterness and adding lemon juice and
fried shallots brings up great sweet and tangy notes. Don’t worry about the long cooking
time. Dandelion greens are tough; they can take it.
¼ cup (60 ml) extra-virgin olive oil, preferably Lebanese unfiltered
2 bunches dandelion greens (about 1 pound / 455 g total), rinsed well and sliced into 2- to 3-
inch / 5- to 7.5-cm lengths
3 cloves garlic, crushed with garlic press
½ teaspoon kosher salt, plus more as needed
Juice of 1 lemon, plus more as needed
1 tablespoon store-bought fried shallots

In a large sauté pan, heat the oil over high heat until very hot but not
smoking.
Add as many greens to the pan as will fit, and use tongs to toss and turn
them so that there is more room in the pan for the remaining greens. Add
the garlic and the salt and sauté until the garlic is fragrant, about 1
minute.
Reduce the heat and cook gently until the stems are tender and the
bitterness is tempered, about 15 minutes. Add the lemon juice, increase
the heat to high, and cook for another minute.
Remove the pan from the heat and let the greens cool to room
temperature. Taste and adjust lemon juice or salt if necessary. Top with
the shallots just before serving.
Shakshuka
Serves 4
When we first put this beloved pepper-and-tomato skillet dish on the menu at Compass
Rose, we quickly learned that many countries and people, including those from Israel,
Tunisia, Morocco, Yemen, and Palestine, all claim it as their own.
This is why now we say simply that shakshuka hails from the Middle East and North
Africa, like so many other lip-smacking dishes. Here, soft-cooked eggs are nestled in a
deeply spiced base of peppers, tomatoes, and onions. And our shakshuka has an additional
flourish that I believe makes it the best I’ve had—it’s topped with salty feta, herby zhough,
and tangy, creamy labne. Shakshuka begs to be served with a small mountain of toasted
bread so that every last bit of sauce and egg yolk can be soaked up.
1 tablespoon extra-virgin olive oil, preferably Lebanese unfiltered
1½ cups (165 g) diced onions
¼ cup (35 g) minced garlic (from about 8 large cloves)
2 cups (330 g) diced peeled (this page) plum tomatoes or canned peeled plum tomatoes (see
Note)
4 cups (600 g) diced drained jarred piquillo peppers
1 tablespoon ground turmeric
1 tablespoon sweet paprika
1½ teaspoons cumin seeds, toasted (see this page) and ground
2½ tablespoons Harissa (this page)
1½ tablespoons minced fresh flat-leaf parsley, plus chopped parsley for garnish
1 tablespoon minced fresh thyme
1 teaspoon kosher salt
½ teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
4 large eggs
¼ cup (40 g) crumbled feta
Zhough (this page), for serving
Labne or plain full-fat yogurt, for serving
Grilled or toasted bread, for serving

Preheat the oven to 375°F (190°C).

In a nonreactive ovenproof sauté pan or skillet, heat the olive oil over
medium heat until hot. Add the onions and cook until lightly browned,
about 10 minutes. Add the garlic and sauté until fragrant, about 2
minutes. Stir in the tomatoes and cook until the liquid has cooked out of
them, 4 to 5 minutes. Add the piquillos, lower the heat to medium-low,
and cook until reduced and thickened, about 15 minutes.
Stir in the turmeric, paprika, and cumin and cook for 1 minute. Stir in the
harissa and cook for 1 minute. Stir in the parsley, thyme, salt, and pepper.
Taste and adjust the seasoning with more salt or pepper.
With the back of a spoon make 4 shallow divots in the surface of the
mixture. Crack an egg into each divot. Sprinkle with the feta.
Bake until the egg whites are opaque but the yolks still wiggle when the
pan is tapped or moved, 8 to 10 minutes; note that the eggs will keep
cooking a bit after they are removed from the oven.
Dollop with spoonfuls of zhough and labne and sprinkle chopped parsley
on top. Serve at once, directly from the pan, with lots of grilled or
toasted bread.
Note: For best flavor, buy whole tomatoes in the can and chop them
yourself rather than buying already-diced tomatoes in the can.
Badrijani Nigvzit
Georgian Eggplant Rolls with Walnut Filling
Makes 16 to 18 rolls; serves 4 to 6
Here walnuts are transformed into a tangy, tasty spread that is rolled into pan-fried slices of
eggplant. The result is a vibrant contrast of crunchy-creamy textures and tangy-sweet
flavors. From the first time I tasted these in Moscow, where they were prepared by a lovely
Georgian woman, I haven’t stopped thinking about them. I’m almost always looking
forward to my next opportunity to eat them, which is why I’m grateful that my dear
Georgian friend Mamuka Tsereteli shared this easy recipe. Mamuka is a professor, wine
importer, and the unofficial cultural ambassador of Georgia in DC, and I feel lucky to call
him my friend.
2 cups (240 g) walnuts
3 cloves garlic, chopped
1 teaspoon dried blue fenugreek
1 teaspoon ground coriander
1 teaspoon sweet paprika
1 teaspoon ground dried marigold flower (optional, see Note)
1 teaspoon kosher salt, plus more as needed
3 tablespoons white wine vinegar
½ cup (120 ml) grapeseed or other neutral vegetable oil, or as needed
2 eggplant (about 2 pounds / 910 g total), sliced lengthwise ¼ inch (6 mm) thick
Pomegranate seeds, for garnish

Place the walnuts and garlic in a food processor and process until finely
chopped.
Transfer to a medium bowl and add the blue fenugreek, coriander,
paprika, marigold (if using), the salt, vinegar, and 3 tablespoons water.
Stir until well blended and moist enough to stick together when squeezed
between your fingers; add water 1 teaspoon at a time if the mixture is too
dry. Set aside.
Line a baking sheet with several layers of paper towels and set next to
the stovetop.
Heat 2 tablespoons of the oil in a large skillet over medium-high heat
until it shimmers. Add the eggplant slices in a single layer (do this in
batches) and fry until lightly browned on both sides, about 2 minutes per
side.
Transfer the slices to the paper towels and blot the top with more paper
towels to soak up excess oil. Lightly season with salt. Continue with the
remaining eggplant slices, adding more oil to the pan as necessary.
Spoon 1 to 2 teaspoons walnut mixture at the narrowest end of 1
eggplant slice. Roll up the slice to enclose the filling and place on a
serving platter. Repeat with the remaining eggplant slices and walnut
filling.
Garnish with pomegranate seeds. Serve at room temperature.
Note: Ground dried marigold flower has a sweet, floral taste and aroma.
It is sometimes called Imeretian saffron after the province of Imereti, and
it may even be labeled simply “saffron” if the producer is Georgian.
Maydān’s Grilled Carrots with Harissa
Serves 4
When we were developing the menu for Maydān, we wanted some vegetables that could
really hold up to the fire for our vegetarian and vegan audience, and carrots were always
high on our list of possibilities. At bars in Lebanon, a small dish of carrots soaking in fresh
lemon juice is often served along with your drink. They are about as far from beer nuts as
you can get, and still they absolutely deliver the crunch, tang, and sweetness of the best bar
snacks. Add some smoke and heat and you’ve got a home run (when in a bar, sports
metaphors work best), and that’s exactly what this dish is. The carrots’ natural sweetness is
amplified when steamed and grilled, and the tart lemon counteracts the spice of the harissa
and the char on the carrot. If you’re worried that not everyone will love the spiciness, serve
the harissa on the side. One insider tip that I must share is that we like to put these carrots
on the table at the same time as the cheesy, nutty, honeyed halloumi with dukkah (this page)
because the mix of flavors and textures is out of this world.
Kosher salt
1½ pounds (680 g) carrots, preferably all roughly the same thickness, peeled, if desired
Extra-virgin olive oil, preferably Lebanese unfiltered
Juice of ½ lemon
¼ cup (60 ml) Harissa (this page)
Flaky sea salt (such as Maldon), for garnish
Chopped chives, for garnish

Prepare a hot grill.

Meanwhile, in a pot with a steamer insert or in a covered sauté pan fitted
with an expandable steamer basket, add water to a depth of 2 inches (5
cm) and a couple generous pinches of kosher salt. Bring the water to a
boil. Add the carrots to the steamer insert or basket, cover, and steam
until they’re just shy of being al dente, or tender but firm to the bite,
about 20 minutes.
Transfer the carrots to a rimmed baking sheet or platter. Drizzle with a
bit of oil and salt them lightly.
Grill the carrots, turning them a few times, until lightly browned on all
sides. Transfer them to a serving platter.
Squeeze the lemon juice over the carrots. Drizzle the harissa back and
forth across the carrots—this is easiest to do if the harissa is in a squeeze
bottle or piping bag. (Alternatively, put the harissa in a small dish to pass
alongside the carrots.) Sprinkle with flaky salt and chives, and serve.
Potato Kibbeh
Serves 8 to 10
The term kibbeh is used broadly to refer to a dish in which meat or potato or another
vegetable is mixed with bulgur; from there it can be baked, fried, or served as is. The
defining characteristic of kibbeh is that bulgur; I’ve never known a kibbeh without it.
When I was growing up, what we called potato kibbeh was a lot like a shepherd’s pie, with
layers of potato and seasoned ground lamb baked in a casserole dish; except during Lent,
when the lamb was omitted and the potato and bulgur alone were still substantial enough to
fill everyone up. Then I went to Lebanon and tasted this kind of kibbeh, which is much
more like a vegetarian rendition of the beloved raw lamb dish called kibbeh nayeh (this
page), and I love it. Fine bulgur adds nubbly texture to the mashed potatoes, and abundant
fresh and dried herbs and green onions give it a bit of crunch and a lot of savory flavor.
1½ cups (210 g) fine bulgur
3 pounds (1.4 kg) all-purpose potatoes, peeled and cut into 2-inch (5 cm) pieces (see Note)
Kosher salt
1 tablespoon dried marjoram
½ cup (20 g) finely chopped fresh basil
1 bunch spring onions, white and green parts, finely chopped
1 teaspoon dried parsley
¾ teaspoon ground white pepper
Extra-virgin olive oil, preferably Lebanese unfiltered

Place the bulgur in a medium bowl and add cold water to cover by about
2 inches (5 cm). Let stand for 30 minutes. Drain thoroughly in a fine-
mesh strainer.
Meanwhile, place the potatoes in a large saucepan. Add cold water to
cover by 1 inch (2.5 cm) and a couple generous pinches of salt.
Bring to a boil over medium-high heat. Reduce the heat and simmer until
tender, 10 to 12 minutes.
Drain the potatoes and place them in a large bowl. Use a potato masher
to mash the potatoes while they are still hot.
Add the drained bulgur to the bowl with the potatoes.
Add the marjoram, basil, spring onions, parsley, white pepper, ½
teaspoon salt, and ¼ cup (60 ml) olive oil. Use your hands to knead the
mixture together until well combined; add more olive oil if the texture is
too dry.
Transfer to a shallow serving bowl. Use the back of a spoon to make a
shallow divot in the surface and drizzle some olive oil on top. Serve.
Note: For a fun and colorful alternative, substitute an equal weight of
peeled and seeded pumpkin for the potatoes. Coat the pumpkin lightly
with olive oil, season with salt, and roast in a 400°F (205°C) oven until
soft, 25 to 30 minutes. Proceed as directed.
Batata Harra
Lebanese Spicy Potatoes
Serves 6 to 8
Crisp roasted potatoes tossed with sautéed garlic, crushed red pepper, and lots of fresh
cilantro and lemon juice burst with flavor. I’m a firm believer that potatoes should always
be available on the table if it’s possible. I think people often assume that rice will be served
instead of potatoes alongside meat dishes like kebabs (pages 167–187), but actually batata
harra is usually on that table, too. I’m not really an either/or kind of person when it comes
to delicious carbohydrates. If you’re ever stuck in a rice-or-potatoes moment, remember
that you can always go with both!
3 pounds (1.4 kg) Yukon Gold or all-purpose potatoes (about 8 medium), peeled and cubed
3 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil, preferably Lebanese unfiltered
1½ teaspoons kosher salt, plus more as needed
1 teaspoon sweet paprika
4 cloves garlic, finely chopped
1 teaspoon red pepper flakes, or to taste
1 cup (40 g) chopped fresh cilantro
Juice of ½ lemon, plus more as needed
½ teaspoon freshly ground black pepper

Preheat the oven to 450°F (230°C). Line two rimmed baking sheets with
parchment paper or use ungreased baking sheets.
In a large bowl, toss the potatoes with 2 tablespoons olive oil, 1 teaspoon
salt, and the paprika. Spread the potatoes on the lined baking sheets.
Roast until tender and nicely browned, 30 to 35 minutes, flipping once or
twice.
Toward the end of roasting, heat the remaining tablespoon olive oil in a
medium skillet over medium heat. Add the garlic and cook until lightly
browned, 1 to 2 minutes. Stir in the red pepper flakes.
Transfer the roasted potatoes to a large bowl. Add the cilantro, lemon
juice, pepper, remaining salt, and the garlic and red pepper flakes. Toss
until well coated. Taste and add more lemon juice or salt if necessary.
Serve hot.
Slow-Grilled Cauliflower with Tahina and Zhough
Serves 4 as a main dish, 6 to 8 as a side
I have nothing against the cauliflower “steaks” that at one point seemed to be the only
alternative offered to vegetarians at restaurants across the nation. But at Maydān we
wondered why anyone would stop at a slice of cauliflower when you could have the whole
damn head? The chefs hang the marinated heads above the fire at the restaurant to slowly
cook them. At home we get the smoky, roasty effect by grill-roasting them over indirect
heat. Served with bright sauces and our tangy-sweet sumac onions and fresh herbs, it’s a
hearty main dish for up to four people or a side for more. But please don’t hesitate to
prepare this if you’re only feeding one or two people; it keeps beautifully in the refrigerator
up to a week.
1 cup grapeseed oil, plus more for grilling
1 tablespoon kosher salt
1 tablespoon ground turmeric
2 teaspoons nigella seeds
2 teaspoons ground coriander
2 medium to large heads cauliflower (2 to 2½ pounds / 910 g to 1.2 kg each), leaves and
stems trimmed
1 cup (240 ml) Tahina (this page), plus more for serving
1 cup (240 ml) Zhough (this page), plus more for serving
1 cup (240 ml) Sumac Onions (this page), plus more for serving
Flaky sea salt (such as Maldon), for garnish
½ cup (20 g) loosely packed mixed fresh herb leaves (such as cilantro, parsley, and mint)
Equipment: Smoking wood chunks, such as oak or apple (optional)

In a large bowl, whisk together the oil, salt, turmeric, nigella seeds, and
coriander. Add the cauliflower and gently turn until thoroughly coated.
Let stand at room temperature 1 hour.
Meanwhile, prepare a hot, two-zone fire in a charcoal grill with a lid:
Light a hot fire. When the coals are covered with gray ash, rake them to
one side of the grill, creating a cooler zone on the other side to use for
indirect cooking. Put a couple chunks of smoking wood, if using, on top
of the coals. Lightly grease the top grate with oil and put it in place.
Place the cauliflower on the oiled grate over the side without coals,
reserving any marinade. Cover the grill, arranging the lid so that the vent
is directly over the cauliflower; open the vent. Grill, covered, until the
cauliflower is tender and a skewer slides into the center with just a little
resistance, about 1 hour to 1 hour 15 minutes, brushing with any reserved
marinade and rotating 180 degrees halfway through cook time. Add
more charcoal to the fire as necessary to keep it hot and add smoking
chunks, if using, to keep the smoke going.
Transfer the cauliflower to the grate directly over the coals; grill,
uncovered, turning occasionally, until golden brown and lightly charred,
5 to 10 minutes.
Place the cauliflower heads on a serving platter. Drizzle the tahina and
zhough over the cauliflower heads and top with the sumac onions.
Sprinkle with flaky salt and herb leaves. Serve with bowls of tahina,
zhough, and sumac onions.
Mchicha Wanazi
Spinach in Coconut Milk
Serves 8
Zanzibar is a big part of Omani history, as we learned firsthand when we traveled to Oman
and were invited to cook with a family that owns a very well-known Zanzibari restaurant
there. The provenance of so many dishes from this part of the world can be hard to pin
down definitively. This dish is an exception, and its origin story is eye-opening. For roughly
150 years, until the middle of the nineteenth century, Zanzibar, off the coast of East Africa,
was the capital of the sultanate of Oman, almost 2,500 miles (4,000 kilometers) away. This
might help explain how coconuts found their way into Omani cuisine—today Oman palms
are the biggest producers of the fruit in the Gulf region—and why it was in Oman that we
learned how to prepare this wonderfully creamy, aromatic stew of fresh spinach, bell and
serrano peppers, and sweet shallots bathed in coconut milk laced with fresh ginger, garlic,
and nutmeg. Serve with plenty of pita or other flatbread to help wipe the bowls clean.
6 tablespoons (90 ml) extra-virgin olive oil, preferably Lebanese unfiltered
1¾ pounds (800 g) fresh spinach, rinsed well
4 teaspoons kosher salt
2 large red bell peppers, cored and thinly sliced
1 large green bell pepper, cored and thinly sliced
1 serrano pepper, seeded and thinly sliced
3 shallots, sliced (about 2 cups / 230 g)
2½-inch (6 cm) piece fresh ginger, peeled and thinly sliced into coins or finely chopped
4 cloves garlic, sliced
4 cans (13½ ounces / 400 ml each) coconut milk, preferably Chaokoh brand
2 teaspoons freshly grated nutmeg
Pita bread, for serving

In a large Dutch oven, heat 2 tablespoons of the oil over medium heat.
Add the spinach and a few pinches of the salt. Cook, using tongs to toss
the spinach, until wilted. Transfer the spinach to a strainer to remove
excess liquid. When cool enough to handle, chop the spinach and set
aside.
Return the Dutch oven to medium heat. Add 2 tablespoons of the oil to
the pan. Add the bell peppers and serrano pepper and cook, stirring until
the peppers are softened but still have some bite (they’ll cook a bit more
at the end, so you don’t want them to be too soft now). Transfer to a
bowl and return the Dutch oven to the heat.
Heat the remaining 2 tablespoons oil in the pan. Add the shallots, ginger,
and garlic and sauté until translucent, about 5 minutes. Add the coconut
milk and bring to a simmer, stirring and scraping the bottom of the pan to
deglaze.
Add the nutmeg along with the cooked spinach and peppers. Bring to a
simmer for 2 to 3 minutes, until the stew is thick enough to coat the back
of a spoon but loose enough that it wouldn’t stay put on a chip. Serve
with pita bread.

Learning to make Mchicha Wanazi, Oman

Stuffed Grape Leaves
Makes about 40 dolmas; serves 8 to 10
Fresh grape leaves are abundant in the wilds of suburbia. Many a home gardener will rip
them out without realizing how tasty those leaves could be with a bit of soaking and
stuffing. I remember vividly the day we stopped at the cemetery in Michigan where my
grandparents are buried and my mother quickly grew distracted by the lush grape vines
growing along a fence near Sitti and Giddo’s gravestones. Mom was certain that Sitti was
sending us a sign, apparently to make this dish, because that’s what we did with those
cemetery grape leaves.
The lamb here is optional, though in my family dolmas always contain meat; we seem to
have an aversion to meat-free things.
40 to 50 fresh or jarred grape leaves that are roughly the size of your hand, plus a few extra
for the pot (see Note)
1½ pounds (680 g) coarse ground lamb (optional)
1 cup (185 g) uncooked white rice, such as Ben’s Original, or a medium-grain rice such as
Arborio or Egyptian (use 3 cups / 555 g if omitting the lamb)
1 tablespoon kosher salt
1 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
Juice of 2 lemons
3 lemons, sliced, for cooking the dolmas
Extra-virgin olive oil, preferably Lebanese unfiltered, for the pot
Labne, for serving (optional)

If using fresh grape leaves, snip off and discard the stems, rinse them
well, and place in a large bowl. Cover with boiling water and let stand 15
minutes, until softened. Drain thoroughly. If using jarred grape leaves,
rinse and thoroughly drain them. Set aside any grape leaves that are torn
or too small to stuff.
In a large bowl, combine the lamb (if using), rice, salt, pepper, and the
juice of 1 lemon. Stir to mix the ingredients together. Have ready a
baking sheet or platter to hold the stuffed grape leaves.
Lay 1 grape leaf shiny side down on the work surface with the broad
base of the leaf closest to you. Place about 1 tablespoon of the meat and
rice mixture across the bottom of the leaf.
Fold the bottom of the leaf up to cover the filling. Fold in both sides,
then roll all the way up; the roll should be snug but not too tight, as you
want to leave room for the rice to expand as it cooks. Continue filling
and rolling the grape leaves until all of the filling is used.
Oil the bottom and sides of a large Dutch oven or other pot with a lid.
Line the bottom of the pan with grape leaves to cover it completely and
arrange half of the lemon slices on top; these will keep the dolmas from
scorching during cooking.
Place the stuffed grape leaves seam side down in the pan, arranging them
in even layers, and alternating the direction of each layer. When all the
dolmas are in the pot, arrange the remaining lemon slices on top. Place
an inverted plate on top to hold down the rolls.
Add water to cover and squeeze in the juice of the remaining lemon.
Bring to a gentle boil over medium heat. Cover the pan with the lid,
reduce the heat to low, and cook until the rice is tender, 45 to 60 minutes.
Using tongs, carefully remove the plate, then remove and discard the
lemon slices. Transfer the stuffed grape leaves to a baking sheet lined
with a kitchen towel.
Serve hot or warm, with a side of labne, if desired.
Koosa
Stuffed Summer Squash with Lamb and Rice
Serves 6 to 8
In Arabic, the word mashi means “to stuff,” and we really like to stuff things! Don’t fret if
you’re game to try this filling, or the one on the previous page, but neither grape leaves nor
koosa strike your fancy. You can use these fillings to stuff all sorts of items that might be
hanging out in your refrigerator crisper: mushrooms, eggplant, peppers, cabbage leaves,
you name it.
As far back as I can recall, it has been the rule in my family that we preserve summer
tomatoes and squash specifically so that we can have this dish at Christmas. These days I’ll
still sometimes preserve summer tomatoes to use year-round (see this page), as they really
do have far superior flavor to even the very best store-bought canned tomatoes, but I tend
to depend on my local markets for the squash. The best squash for koosa are shorter and
squatter and a lighter shade of green than standard zucchini; they are sometimes labeled as
koosa or kousa, but not reliably. I’ve had the best luck finding them at Asian markets. Once
you have the koosa in hand, you can use a butter knife and small spoon, as I do, to core
them, although I know some people swear by special zucchini corers available online and at
kitchen-supply stores.
As with most dishes that involve optional lamb, my mother only ever includes the meat, a
position her sisters generally agree with. But if you want to enjoy your Christmas dinner, I
recommend that you not ask about the cinnamon. Don’t get me wrong, it is extremely tasty,
and everyone agrees that it must go in the meat stuffing. The problems arise—and I assure
you, arise they do—when one asks whether or not to put cinnamon in the tomatoes as well.
Where some might see a simple difference of opinion, others recognize that taking a stand
on either side is akin to a declaration of war on whomever has taken a divergent position.
Believe me when I say that I truly do not wish to ruffle a single of my family’s many
feathers, but I take seriously my role as author of this collection of recipes and as such I
can’t simply walk away from the debate without picking a side, alas. So I’ll say first that the
cinnamon is delicious no matter how it shows up in this dish, and all of us do at least agree
that 2 tablespoons is a perfect amount for these proportions. But if you’re uneasy, add a
lesser amount first and taste as you go. Any amount is very good. (Also, I only put the
cinnamon in the meat stuffing, but you definitely did not hear that from me if anyone asks.)
12 to 18 green summer squash (koosa), each approximately 5 inches (12 cm) long
2 pounds (910 g) coarsely ground lamb (optional)
1 cup (185 g) uncooked white rice, such as Ben’s Original, or a medium-grain rice such as
Arborio or Egyptian (use 3 cups / 555 g if omitting the lamb)
¼ cup (½ stick / 115 g) unsalted butter, melted
2 tablespoons ground cinnamon
2 teaspoons kosher salt
1 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
¼ cup (60 ml) extra-virgin olive oil, preferably Lebanese unfiltered, or vegetable oil
1 medium onion, diced or thinly sliced
1 quart (960 ml) Open-Kettle Tomatoes (recipe follows) or 1 can (28 ounces / 794 g) whole
peeled tomatoes
Handful fresh spearmint leaves or ⅓ cup (12 g) dried mint

To prepare the koosa for stuffing, wash them gently with a vegetable
brush. Working with 1 koosa at a time, slice off the stem. Using a
zucchini corer or butter (table) knife, scoop out the flesh, leaving a ¼-
inch-thick (6 mm) shell, taking care not to poke through the skin. Rinse
to make sure that all the loose particles are out. Continue with all of the
koosa.
In a large bowl, place the lamb, if using, rice, melted butter, cinnamon, 1
teaspoon salt, and ½ teaspoon pepper. Use your hands to mix until well
combined.
Stuff the lamb mixture into each koosa; make sure to push the filling all
the way to the bottom of the hole you scooped out, do not pack too
tightly to leave room for the rice to expand. If there is any filling left
over, use it to stuff whatever else you can find in your crisper drawer—
mushroom caps, bell peppers, eggplant, almost anything can be stuffed—
or, if there is meat in the filling, roll it into little meatballs to cook in the
pot with the koosa, or reserve them for another use.
In an 8- to 10-quart (7.5 to 9.4 liter) pot, heat the oil over medium heat
until it shimmers. Add the onion and a pinch of salt and pepper and cook
until softened and translucent, about 8 minutes.
Add the tomatoes to the pan, breaking them up with your hands as you
add them if necessary. Pour a little water in the can or jar and swish it
around, then add it to the pot. Add the mint and the remaining teaspoon
salt and ½ teaspoon pepper. Bring to a simmer over medium heat and
simmer, uncovered, for 15 minutes to let the flavors meld.
Put the stuffed koosa and any extra meatballs in the pan with the
tomatoes. Add enough water to cover the koosa. Bring to a gentle boil
over medium heat. Cover the pan and cook at a gentle boil until the rice
is cooked and the koosa are tender, 45 to 50 minutes.
Serve the koosa with the tomato broth spooned over.
Open-Kettle Tomatoes
Makes about 5 (1-quart / 960-ml) jars
Perfect for koosa or to make Italian tomato sauce, or anywhere you would typically
use whole tomatoes or canned San Marzanos. If a recipe calls for tomato sauce,
however, these won’t work. Fresh basil and/or oregano can be added to each jar if
desired.
***
13 to 15 pounds (5.9 to 6.8 kg) ripe plum tomatoes, cored
3 tablespoons kosher salt (optional)
5 sprigs fresh basil or fresh oregano (optional)
Equipment: Canning pot, approximately 5 (1-quart / 960-ml) canning jars, lids, and
rims; canning tongs or long-handled tongs; large funnel
***
To peel the tomatoes, fill a large saucepan with water and bring it to a boil; reduce the heat
to keep the water at a simmer. Place a bowl of ice water next to the stove. Place 6 or more
tomatoes in the hot water at once and simmer for about 30 seconds. Use a spider or slotted
spoon to transfer the tomatoes to the ice water until cool enough to handle. Use a paring
knife to help you remove the tomato skin, starting at the cut where the core was. The skin
should come off easily; if it does not, place the tomato back in the simmering water.
Quarter the peeled tomatoes and transfer them to a large nonreactive pot. Add the salt, if
using.
Bring the tomatoes to a boil over medium-high heat. When foam forms on the top, skim it
off and discard. Turn down heat to a simmer for 45 minutes to 1 hour, until the juices have
cooked down a bit, stirring often to prevent sticking on the bottom of the pot.
Meanwhile, sterilize the cans and wash the lids and rings as described below.
When the tomatoes are ready, keep them over the heat as you fill the jars; they need to be
hot when they go into the jar.
Work quickly with one jar at a time so the jars stay hot.
Put a sprig of basil or oregano, if using, in the jar. Place the funnel in the jar and ladle in
tomatoes, filling up to the neck but leaving at least 1 inch (2.5 cm) from the top of the jar.
Wipe off the top rim of the jar with a clean, damp cloth. Place a lid on top of the hot jar and
tighten a rim around it. Continue to fill all the jars this way until all of the tomatoes are
used.
Place the jars in a draft-free area to cool for 24 to 36 hours. You will usually hear pinging as
the lids seal. Before storing the jars, check the seal on each one: Remove the rim and pick
up the jar by just the sealed lid; it should hold tight. Additionally, the lid should appear
inverted. If it can be pressed down and pops back up, it is not sealed.
Store any unsealed jars in the refrigerator and use within 4 days. Store the sealed jars in a
cool, dry place up to 1 year.
Sterilizing Jars for Canning
To sterilize jars for canning, run them through a full regular cycle in the dishwasher. Leave
the jars in the hot dishwasher until you are ready to fill them, or stand the clean, dry jars
upright on a rack in an oven preheated to 250°F (120°C).
Alternatively, bring a large pot of water to a boil. Carefully place the jars in the water on
their sides so they are both filled and surrounded by water. Boil for 5 minutes, then remove
the pan from the heat. Leave the jars in the hot water until ready to fill.
Wash the lids and rings in warm, soapy water and let air-dry.
When ready to fill, set a rimmed baking sheet lined with a kitchen towel next to the
stovetop. Remove the jars from the dishwasher, oven, or pot of water; use jar tongs or long-
handled tongs to carefully remove one jar at a time from the water, making sure to drain all
of the water out of it. Place the jars upright on the lined baking sheet.
Lobio Mtsvanilit
Georgian Herbed Kidney Beans
Serves 6 to 8
David and I were in Russia the first time we had beans cooked the Georgian way, with
plenty of blue fenugreek and fresh herbs. I will always associate the aroma from a bowl of
these beans with the warmth and hospitality of the Georgian people. The beans are served
as part of every supra (see this page), usually with a slightly dry Georgian corn flatbread
called mchadi. The beans themselves are delicious, but I confess that I prefer to eat them
with the kind of cornbread we make and buy in the U.S. (sweetened or unsweetened—
whichever you prefer will work well here), because it soaks up more of the fragrant broth
and is frankly just tastier in my opinion. For the best flavor and texture, I do truly
recommend starting with dried beans, but don’t hesitate to use cans if it means you’ll try
this sooner! This hearty stew is great for vegetarians and meat-eaters alike.
1 pound (455 g) dried red kidney or other beans (see Note)
¼ cup (60 ml) grapeseed or other neutral vegetable oil
1 large onion, finely chopped
6 cloves garlic, thinly sliced
2 tablespoons ground blue fenugreek or 2 teaspoons ground fenugreek
2 teaspoons Aleppo pepper flakes or ground ancho chile
2 teaspoons ground coriander
2 teaspoons kosher salt, plus more as needed
1 cup (40 g) chopped fresh cilantro, leaves and tender stems, plus more for garnish
½ cup (25 g) chopped fresh dill leaves, plus more for garnish
½ cup (25 g) chopped fresh mint leaves, plus more for garnish
Cornbread or flatbread, for serving (optional)

Rinse and drain the beans and place in a large pot. Add 2 quarts (1.9
liters) water and soak for 24 hours. (It’s fine to skip this step; the beans
will simply take longer to cook—perhaps twice as long.)
In a large Dutch oven or other large pot with a lid, heat the oil over
medium heat until it shimmers. Add the onion and garlic and cook until
very soft and lightly brown, about 8 minutes.
Stir in the fenugreek, Aleppo pepper, and coriander and cook until
fragrant, about 30 seconds.
Drain the beans and add them to the pot with 2 quarts (1.9 liters) water.
Bring to a boil over medium-high heat and boil gently for 10 minutes.
Reduce the heat and simmer, partially covered, until the beans are
softened and fully cooked, 1 to 3 hours, depending on the age of the
beans; add more water if necessary to keep the beans just covered with
liquid. Stir in the salt (it’s also fine to stir in the salt once the beans are
about three-quarters cooked).
Use a large fork or masher to mash about half the beans, adding water if
needed to make the mixture very creamy but not soupy. Turn off the heat
and stir in the cilantro, dill, and mint. Taste and add more salt if needed.
Cover to keep warm. Serve hot, garnished with cilantro, dill, and mint,
and with cornbread, if desired.
Note: You can replace the dried beans here with four 15-ounce (425-g)
cans of beans with their liquid. Add the beans with their liquid to the pot
at the same point above that you’d add the soaked and drained beans.
Cook until the beans are warmed through, about 5 minutes, then
continue with mashing the beans. Taste before adding any salt, as you
may not need all of what is listed here.
Green Beans with Cinnamon Tomato Sauce
Serves 4 to 6
This is, to me, the ultimate comfort food. I don’t think anything makes me happier than
these green beans served over Sitti’s rice. And together they are the perfect
accompaniments to Kibbeh Sanieh (this page). This basic recipe can be adapted a few
different ways as noted in the variations, below, to suit many tastes or needs. It can be
served with or without lamb or with eggplant in place of the green beans; all are extremely
tasty and very satisfying.
3 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil, preferably Lebanese unfiltered, or grapeseed oil
1 medium onion, thinly sliced lengthwise
1 teaspoon kosher salt
½ teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
2 pounds (910 g) green beans, trimmed and cut in half
1 can (28 ounces / 794 g) tomato sauce
1 to 1½ teaspoons ground cinnamon
Sitti’s Syrian Rice (this page , made with or without lamb)

In a Dutch oven or other broad, deep pan with a lid, heat the oil over
medium heat until it shimmers. Add the onion and a pinch of the salt and
pepper and cook until softened and translucent, about 8 minutes.
Add the beans, tomato sauce, cinnamon, the remaining salt and pepper,
and enough water to cover the beans. Cover the pan and bring to a boil
over medium heat.
Lower the heat and simmer until the beans are tender, 30 to 45 minutes.
Serve over rice.
Green Beans with Cinnamon Tomato Sauce and Lamb
Prepare the green beans with cinnamon tomato sauce, browning 1 pound (455 g) boneless
lamb leg or loin, cut into 1-inch (2.5 cm) cubes, in the oil with the onions.
Eggplant with Cinnamon Tomato Sauce
Prepare the green beans with cinnamon tomato sauce, replacing the green beans with 2
medium eggplant (3 to 4 pounds / 1.4 to 1.8 kg total), peeled and cut into 1-inch (2.5 cm)
cubes.
Sitti’s Syrian Rice (this page) and Green Beans with Cinnamon Tomato Sauce
Ta’ameya
Falafel
Serves 6 to 8
My first encounter with the glory known as make-your-own falafel bars was during some
very late nights in Amsterdam during college, and it’s possible that every encounter I’ve
had with falafel since then has been measured against this original, frankly unmatchable
experience, when I was presented with a pita full of falafel and more toppings and fillings
than I could ever fit into one sandwich. Unfortunately most of the falafel I had after that
was pretty ordinary, until I was introduced to these. I’d never had falafel made from fava
beans until Chef Omar Hegazi joined our team to open Kirby Club in Virginia. Omar is
originally from Egypt, where fava is more common in falafel than the chickpeas that
Americans are more used to. The other flourish that comes from these falafels’ Egyptian
roots is the quick dip into sesame seeds that each one gets before being fried.
These make a great light lunch or snack when they are served just with tahina. Or if you
want a heartier meal, you can serve with hummus and all the makings to turn them into full
pita sandwiches. There’s no wrong way to enjoy these!
1⅔ cups (250 g) dried split fava beans
½ cup (60 g) chopped onion
3 cloves (15 g) garlic, chopped
2 cups (50 g) fresh parsley leaves and tender stems, chopped
2 cups (50 g) fresh cilantro leaves and tender stems, chopped
2 teaspoons kosher salt
1 teaspoon ground coriander
Vegetable oil, for deep-frying
3 tablespoons (30 g) white sesame seeds
For serving (all optional except the tahina): Tahina (this page)
Pita bread halves
Hummus (this page)
Shredded cabbage
Sliced tomatoes
Mouneh (this page) or store-bought pickles
Lemon, cut into wedges

Place the fava beans in a large bowl and cover with water by 3 inches
(7.5 cm). Soak for 12 hours.
Drain the favas and transfer to a food processor. Add the onion, garlic,
parsley, cilantro, salt, and coriander. Process until loose and smooth, like
the consistency of pancake batter.
Pour the vegetable oil into a deep heavy pot (make sure the level of the
oil comes no less than 3 inches (7.5 cm) from the top rim of the pot).
Heat the oil to 350°F (175°C) according to a deep-fry thermometer.
Meanwhile, set a baking sheet lined with paper towels near the stovetop.
Using a small dough scoop (about ½ ounce / 15 ml), scoop up the fava
mixture. Generously sprinkle the exposed batter in the scoop with
sesame seeds. Drop the coated ta’ameya carefully in the hot oil. Cook for
3 minutes, or until golden brown. You can cook a few ta’ameya at a time,
but don’t crowd the pan.
Use a spider or slotted spoon to transfer the cooked ta’ameya to the
paper towels. Continue with the remaining batter and sesame seeds.
Adjust the heat as necessary to keep the oil at 350°F (175°C).
Serve with tahina for dipping. Or serve as a “make your own falafel” bar,
the way I loved them in Amsterdam: Set out a bowl of the falafel along
with a platter of halved pita breads and bowls or plates of tahina,
hummus, shredded cabbage, sliced tomatoes, pickles, and lemon wedges
and invite everyone to make their own sandwiches.
Empty Quarter
Juicy Carrot Cocktail
Makes 1 cocktail; carrot-apricot base makes enough for about 8 cocktails
When all else fails, this tasty cocktail is a surefire way to get your vegetables.
For the carrot-apricot base:
8 ounces (240 ml) carrot juice (from 8 to 10 medium carrots)
8 ounces (240 ml) apricot liqueur, such as Bitter Truth
1⅓ ounces (40 ml) Simple Syrup (recipe below)
For one cocktail:
Ice, for shaking
2 ounces (60 ml) tequila, such as Pueblo Viejo
2 ounces (60 ml) carrot-apricot base
¾ ounce (22.5 ml) fresh lime juice
Black Lime Salt (recipe below), for garnish
Equipment: Coupe glass

To make the carrot-apricot base, combine the carrot juice, apricot

liqueur, and simple syrup in a bottle or jar with a lid. Cover and shake to
combine. Refrigerate up to 1 week.
To make a cocktail, fill a cocktail shaker with ice. Pour in the tequila,
carrot-apricot base, and lime juice. Shake vigorously until the outside of
the shaker is uncomfortably cold.
Strain into a coupe glass. Sprinkle black lime salt on top and serve.
Simple Syrup
Makes 16 ounces (480 ml)
***
2 cups (400 g) sugar
***
In a medium saucepan, combine the sugar and 2 cups (480 ml) water.
Bring to a gentle boil over medium-high heat, stirring with a wooden spoon until the sugar
is dissolved.
Remove the pan from the heat and let cool.
Transfer to a jar and store in the refrigerator up to 2 weeks.

Black Lime Salt

Makes about ⅓ cup (45 g)
***
2 tablespoons ground dried black lime (see this page)
¼ cup (35 g) flaky sea salt (such as Maldon)
1 tablespoon sugar
***
In a skillet over medium heat, lightly toast the dried black lime until fragrant, about 1
minute.
Transfer to a small bowl. Add the flaky salt and sugar and use a fork to stir until well
blended. Spread the mixture on a rimmed baking sheet and let dry out at room temperature
for 2 hours.
Store in an airtight container at room temperature.
 LEBANESE HOLIDAY
Easter was especially important in our household since it was the only
holiday Mom hosted every year. She was the only one of her siblings
who had left Michigan, and since everyone else was still in the Detroit
area, they had a better argument for why our one household should travel
to them on major holidays than we did for why all the rest of them
should travel to us. So it was a huge celebration and a significant event
in our house. Between all her brothers and sisters, cousins, friends, and
neighbors, we hosted between thirty and fifty people every year. And
Mom doesn’t do buffets, so it was sit-down. Family style, sure, and at
several tables, but definitely not a buffet. This is how I learned to host a
dinner party. Well, a weekend party, really, since with almost everyone
staying overnight it was like camp, with kids sleeping on every available
part of the floor (under tables was not unusual). So Easter was a big deal
because of the large crowd, but also because of the food we served and
the time, energy, and travel it took to secure all the ingredients and
prepare everything for the feast. For the raw kibbeh nayeh alone it was
no easy feat in rural Ohio every year to find a source for high-quality raw
lamb and get it home safely, so this was definitely a special-occasion
dish. For the stuffed squash called koosa, we had to make sure we had
saved enough of the squash and tomatoes canned the previous summer
since the garden would not have produced any yet. And then there were
the desserts! While the rest of the year we’d end a meal with fruit—salad
made with home-canned fruit in the winter and simple fresh fruit in the
summer—Lebanese holidays were another matter altogether. There were
trays of homemade baklawa and walnut-filled sambousek, all prepared in
advance for Easter Sunday.

Eating with Aunt Jan and Mom

TAWLE MENU
Kibbeh Nayeh (Ground Raw Lamb with Bulgur)
Hummus, Three Ways
Mom’s Baba Ghanoush (Lebanese Eggplant Dip)
Stuffed Grape Leaves
Koosa (Stuffed Summer Squash with Lamb and Rice)
Patata Salata (Lebanese Potato Salad)
Sitti’s Syrian Rice
Green Beans with Cinnamon Tomato Sauce
Sfeeha (Meat Pies)
Fatayer bi Sabanekh (Spinach Pies)
Fruit Plate with Orange Blossom Syrup
Baklawa
Sambousek (Walnut-Filled Half-Moon Cookies)
A bakery in Lebanon
4

Carbs, Beautiful Carbs

Breads, Grains, and Legumes
When I was growing up, we used bread as a utensil at the dining table.
Until I traveled in this part of the world, I never knew how common this
practice is in Lebanon and elsewhere in the region. We thought it was
just a funny quirk of my mom’s that Dad enjoyed teasing her about.
Today, at the center of every table at Maydān is our Toné Flatbread (this
page), which we make to order in our clay oven. There are always forks
and knives available, but we really love when everyone eats with their
hands. When bread is at the center of your table it brings the meal
together, and the meal brings people together.
The bread was a hot topic when we first opened, because the bread is not
rice. People come to a place like ours, where we serve kebabs and all
manner of grilled things, and expect to be served rice. We cook primarily
on and in a wood-fired grill and clay oven, and these don’t lend
themselves to cooking up big pots of anything. But I do certainly love
rice and other grains and legumes and really carbohydrates in any form,
and I’m happy to share a number of those not-bread recipes in this
chapter as well. I must admit, though, that nothing would make me
happier than for you to try using flatbread as a fork in your house.
IN THIS CHAPTER
Toné Flatbread
Compass Rose’s Khachapuri (Georgian Cheese Bread)
Kartopiliani (Georgian Cheese-and-Potato-Filled Bread)
Talame with Za’atar (Za’atar Bread)
Fatayer bi Sabanekh (Spinach Pies)
Sfeeha (Meat Pies)
Tita’s Meat Pies (Lahme bi Ajeen)
Maqluba (Upside-Down Rice with Eggplant)
Tahdig (Persian Rice with Crisp Crust)
Sitti’s Syrian Rice
 Harissa Couscous
Mandi (Syrian Charcoal-Flavored Chicken Rice)
Itch (Armenian Bulgur Wheat Salad)
Dango (Garlic-Butter Chickpeas)
Imjaddarah (Lentils and Rice with Crispy Onions)
Kushari (Egyptian Elbow Pasta with Lentils, Chickpeas, and Rice)
Lahmajoun (Armenian Lamb Pizza)
And to drink, Euphrates (Maydān’s Favorite No-Booze Cocktail)

Baking lavash in Lebanon

Making sfeeha at a road side stand, Lebanon
My beloved man’ouche in Lebanon
Toné Flatbread
Makes 18 (6-inch / 15-cm) round flatbreads
We knew from the beginning of Maydān that the bread was going to be very important to
every meal, just as it is in all of the culinary cultures that inspired our menu. Our bread is
an amalgamation of several kinds of flatbread we tasted and baked throughout the region,
in Lebanon, in Turkey, and in Georgia, where women bake and sell bread along the sides of
some roads. In one village in Georgia near the Black Sea, there was a bread oven in front of
every hut and seemingly a woman at every oven, baking cinnamon-raisin loaves, the local
specialty, and literally waving the loaves at cars as they passed.
Just as the word and concept of the maydān is used in the many languages and countries in
the region, so too does similar yet distinct flatbread exist in all of these places. In fact
nothing else on our menu expresses our point of view about this region as fully as the bread
does. It is both practical and symbolic, and it is the culmination of everything I love about
this part of the world. We call it toné, which is what Georgians call the cylindrical stone
oven they use to cook their flatbread (photo on this page), an oven that is incidentally
reminiscent of the tandoors used to bake the flat roti in India. We, too, have a wood-fired
cylindrical oven, and this is the bread we bake within its walls and serve with every meal at
Maydān. Happily, you can make a very good rendition of this bread with a heated pizza
stone in a regular oven. And I encourage you to do as we do and urge diners to use it as
their utensil, to make each bite unique by pulling and dipping novel combinations of meat,
vegetable, herbs, and sauce from all the different dishes on the table.
1 tablespoon active dry yeast
1½ tablespoons honey
3 cups (720 ml) warm water (about 110°F / 45°C)
1½ tablespoons canola oil, plus more for the bowl
6 cups (810 g) bread flour, plus more for the work surface
2½ cups (315 g) whole-wheat flour
2 tablespoons kosher salt

In the bowl of an electric stand mixer fitted with the bread hook, whisk
together the yeast, honey, and warm water. Let stand until foamy, about 5
minutes. Stir in the oil.
In a separate large bowl, whisk together the bread flour, whole-wheat
flour, and salt. Turn the mixer on to low speed and gradually add the
flour mixture to the yeast mixture, until all the flour is incorporated,
about 8 minutes.
Increase the speed to medium-low and mix until the dough forms a ball
and pulls away from the sides of the bowl, 5 to 7 minutes.
Turn the dough out onto a lightly floured work surface. Knead a few
times, about 30 seconds.
Form the dough into a ball. Lightly oil a large bowl and transfer the
dough to the bowl, turning it over once or twice so it is coated in oil.
Cover with a kitchen towel and let stand in a warm place until doubled in
size, about 1 hour.
Place a pizza stone on the bottom rack of the oven and preheat the oven
to 500°F (260°C).
Lightly dust a work surface with flour. Punch down the dough and cut it
in half. Cut each half into 9 pieces (you’ll have 18 pieces total) and roll
each piece into a ball. Cover the balls with a towel and let stand 10
minutes.
Lightly dust a work surface with flour. Working with one ball at a time,
roll each one out into a 6-inch (15 cm) round that is about ¼ inch (6 mm)
thick. Arrange the rounds on a floured work surface or floured baking
sheets. Cover loosely with plastic wrap and let rise until puffy, about 25
minutes.
Using a lightly floured pizza peel or rimless baking sheet, slide 3 rounds
at a time onto the hot pizza stone and bake until the rounds have puffed
up and the bottoms are lightly browned, 4 to 5 minutes.
Serve immediately or wrap in aluminum foil to keep warm. Toné is best
the day it is made, but it can be reheated with pretty good results.
Wrap leftover bread tightly in aluminum foil and store at room
temperature up to 2 days or freeze up to 1 month (defrost at room
temperature). Reheat for 5 to 8 minutes in a preheated 300°F (175°C)
oven.
Teaching us how to bake using a toné oven
Compass Rose’s Khachapuri
Georgian Cheese Bread
Makes 3 (14- to 16-inch / 35.5- to 40.5-cm) cheese breads; 12 servings
For me, the experience of Moscow will forever be intertwined with falling in love with the
republic of Georgia. Georgians are so welcoming, and their food and wine go hand in hand
with their hospitality. The food of Georgia is very popular in Moscow and the appreciation
Muscovites have for the inexpensive, comforting dishes served in Georgian restaurants
reminds me of how people in many parts of the United States feel about our neighborhood
Mexican places.
In Moscow, I was first introduced to khachapuri, but I had many more opportunities to
become acquainted with it on my frequent trips to Georgia. Every region of the country
seems to have its own iteration of this delectable stuffed bread, and there’s relatively little
crossover between regions. This was just fine with me as I love them all, whether they are
filled or topped with beans or potatoes or cheese. If I had to pick a favorite, though, it
would be one I had in the port city of Batumi in the Adjara region of the country on the
Black Sea. Adjaruli khachapuri is boat-shaped, and its “hull” is filled with cheese before
baking. As soon as the bread boat comes out of the oven, the baker tops the melted cheese
with butter and egg yolk, then vigorously stirs the mixture with two forks until it emulsifies
into a liquid lava cheese pool. To eat this masterpiece, diners tear off pieces of bread from
the side of the boat and dip them into the pool of cheese (or you can simply slice it and eat
it).
If I’m honest, I can’t be completely sure that it wasn’t the memory of a piping hot, melty,
cheesy adjaruli khachapuri that really prompted the birth of my ambitions to open a
restaurant. That’s right: I opened a whole damn restaurant just to share the glory of
khachapuri with the people of DC. But first I had to figure out how to replicate or at least
approximate it here. I’ll never forget being at the Georgian embassy in Washington, DC,
and explaining to the ambassador there our plans to bring khachapuri to the city. The large
man studied me for a minute, then he leaned far back in his chair and declared in a deep,
accented voice, “You have problem.” I waited with bated breath, my mind racing through
the mountain of problems I’d already had securing every kind of permit to open my
restaurant and trying to imagine what sort of problems I hadn’t already faced or at least
considered. At last, the man continued, “Cheese is problem.” Ah. Challenge accepted. After
mountains of research and many thousands of khachapuris, we came up with a mix of
cheeses readily available in the U.S. to replace the Sulguni used in Georgia. This
combination has just the right saltiness, and its texture is closest to what you get on the
streets of Batumi. There must be forty different versions of khachapuri in Georgia, but we
make only this one. We do, however, make a lot of it, serving an average of twelve thousand
of these beloved “bread boats” every year.
For the dough:
1 tablespoon active dry yeast
1 teaspoon sugar
1 cup lukewarm water (about 110°F / 45°C)
3 cups (375 g) all-purpose flour, plus more for the work surface
1 teaspoon kosher salt
Extra-virgin olive oil, preferably Lebanese unfiltered, for the bowl
For the filling:
7 ounces (200 g) mozzarella, grated by hand
6 ounces (170 g) feta cheese, crumbled
5 ounces (140 g) ricotta cheese
For each khachapuri:
1 large egg, beaten
1 large egg yolk
1 tablespoon unsalted butter
Za’atar, preferably Z&Z brand (optional)

To make the dough, in a small bowl, combine the yeast, sugar, and
lukewarm water. Let stand until foamy, about 5 minutes.
In the bowl of an electric stand mixer fitted with the bread hook,
combine the flour and salt. Add the yeast mixture to the flour and mix on
low speed until the dough begins to ball up.
Turn the dough out onto a lightly floured work surface. Knead a few
times, about 30 seconds, using as little extra flour as possible.
Form the dough into a ball. Lightly oil a large bowl and transfer the
dough to the bowl, turning it over once or twice so it is coated in oil.
(The dough may be prepared to this point and placed in the refrigerator
overnight or up to 1 day; when ready to proceed, continue as directed.)
Cover the dough with plastic wrap and let stand in a warm place until
doubled in size, about 1 hour.
Lightly dust a work surface with flour. Cut the dough into 3 equal pieces.
Roll each piece into a ball. Cover the balls with plastic wrap and let
stand in a warm place for 1 hour.
Meanwhile, to make the filling, in a large bowl, fold together the
mozzarella, feta, and ricotta. Divide the filling into 3 equal portions. The
filling can be made in advance and stored in a covered container in the
refrigerator for up to 1 day or in the freezer for up to 1 month.
Place a pizza stone on the bottom rack of the oven and preheat the oven
to 475°F (245°C).
Lightly dust a work surface with flour. Working with one ball at a time,
roll it to an oval shape with the longer side running horizontally. Use
your hands to gently pull the dough at 9 and 3 o’clock and also at 12 and
6 o’clock into an oblong shape that is 14 to 16 inches (35.5 cm to 40.5
cm) long (at 9 and 3 o’clock) with a wider center that is 6 inches (15 cm)
across (at 12 and 6 o’clock).
Fold the end at 9 o’clock over itself and pinch it so it stays sealed.
Repeat with the end at 3 o’clock. Generously brush the beaten egg all
along the edge of the dough and both folded ends.
Break and scatter one cheese portion in the center of the dough; don’t
worry about making it perfect—it’ll melt and spread in the oven. Repeat
with the remaining dough balls and cheese.
Using a lightly floured pizza peel or rimless baking sheet, slide one
khachapuri at a time onto the hot pizza stone and bake until the edges are
golden brown, 5 to 6 minutes.
Place the khachapuri on a plate, place the egg yolk, butter, and za’atar, if
using, on top, and use two forks to stir and fold them into the melted
cheese. Continue stirring and folding until the cheese is uniformly
mixed; it should look a little like a pool of melted cheese inside a canoe
of bread. Serve hot, and invite diners to rip (the bread), dip (the bread
into the cheese), and enjoy!
Kartopiliani
Georgian Cheese-and-Potato-Filled Bread
Makes 2 (10-inch / 25-cm) stuffed breads; serves 8
I was at an open-air market in Tbilisi the first time I ever tasted warm bread stuffed with
potatoes. A woman carrying a bag of them handed one to me in exchange for some
Georgian lari. How she kept them all so hot in there, I will never know. And I will also
never forget it. Please don’t shy away from making this just because it’s made of buttery
potatoes and bread. Once in a while it’s good for the soul to go all in on deliciousness in just
this way.
For the dough:
¼ cup (60 ml) milk, heated to lukewarm (about 110°F / 45°C)
2 tablespoons sugar
1 tablespoon active dry yeast
1 cup (240 ml) labne
1 large egg, lightly beaten
2 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted and cooled, plus more for before and after baking
3½ to 4 cups (440 to 500 g) all-purpose flour, plus more for the work surface
1 teaspoon kosher salt
Extra-virgin olive oil, preferably Lebanese unfiltered, for the bowl
For the filling:
1½ pounds (680 g) all-purpose potatoes, peeled and cut into 2-inch (5 cm) pieces
Kosher salt
½ cup (1 stick / 115 g) unsalted butter
2 large onions, chopped
1 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper

To make the dough, in the bowl of an electric stand mixer fitted with the
bread hook (don’t attach the bowl to the mixer yet), combine the warm
milk and sugar and stir to dissolve the sugar. Sprinkle the yeast on top
and let stand until foamy, 5 to 10 minutes.
Heat the labne for 30 seconds in the microwave and stir it into the milk.
Stir in the egg and butter until well combined.
Place the bowl on the mixer and add 2 cups (250 g) flour and the salt.
Mix on medium-low speed until the flour is thoroughly incorporated,
scraping down the sides of the bowl as needed.
Add 1 cup (125 g) flour and continue to mix until thoroughly
incorporated, scraping down the sides of the bowl as needed. With the
mixer going, add the remaining flour ¼ cup (30 g) at a time, until the
dough comes together fully; you may not need all of the flour.
Increase the speed to medium and beat 5 to 10 minutes, until the dough
is tacky but does not stick to your hand or the kneading attachment.
Form the dough into a ball. Lightly oil a large bowl and transfer the
dough to the bowl, turning it over once or twice so it is coated in oil.
Cover the dough with plastic wrap and let stand in a warm place until
doubled in size, about 1 hour.
To make the filling, place the potatoes in a large saucepan. Add cold
water to cover by 1 inch (2.5 cm) and a couple generous pinches of salt.
Bring to a boil over medium-high heat. Reduce the heat and simmer until
tender, 12 to 15 minutes.
Drain the potatoes, then use a potato ricer to rice them into a large bowl.
Meanwhile, in a large skillet melt the butter over medium heat. Add the
onion and a pinch of salt and pepper and cook until soft and lightly
caramelized, about 20 minutes.
Add the cooked onion to the bowl with the mashed potatoes. Add the
pepper and salt to taste. Fold to combine; don’t overwork the filling. Let
cool to warm room temperature.
Place a pizza stone on the bottom rack of the oven and preheat the oven
to 400°F (205°C).
On a lightly floured work surface, divide the dough in half and form
each piece into a ball. Keep one ball covered while you work with the
other one.
Roll one ball of dough out to a 12-inch (30.5 cm) circle. Place half of the
potato filling in the center, spreading it out in an even layer, leaving a
border of about 3 inches (7.5 cm) around the outer edge.
Bring the edges together and pinch them to seal the dough completely,
trying not to allow any air to stay trapped inside the package. Sprinkle
the sealed side with flour and flip the dough over. Lightly push the round
out to about 10 inches (25 cm). Set it on a sheet of parchment or a lightly
floured surface, cover with plastic wrap or a kitchen towel, and let rise
30 to 45 minutes.
Repeat with the remaining dough and potato filling to make another
stuffed bread.
Brush the tops of the breads with some melted butter. Using a lightly
floured pizza peel or rimless baking sheet, slide the breads one at a time
onto the hot pizza stone and bake until the tops are browned and the
bottoms are lightly browned, about 15 minutes.
Brush the tops of the hot breads with melted butter. Serve hot.
Tightly wrap leftovers in aluminum foil and store at room temperature
for up to 2 days.
Talame with Za’atar
Za’atar Bread
Makes 10 (8-inch / 20-cm) rounds
There was a bakery in Toledo we’d go to regularly to stock up on pita and other flatbread
to bring back home to Ada. They had these delightful round breads topped with za’atar
that we call talame. We warm them up and eat them as is for breakfast. On my first trip to
Lebanon I realized that this bread is called man’ouche by most of the rest of the world, and
it is often rolled with Syrian cheese, mint, tomato, and cucumber. These delectable rolled
sandwiches are sold at man’ouche stands all over Lebanon, kind of like how hot dogs are
sold all over New York City, only better.
For the dough:
2 cups (480 ml) lukewarm water (about 110°F / 45°C)
¾ teaspoon active dry yeast
Pinch sugar
4 teaspoons vegetable oil, plus more for the bowl
6 cups (750 g) all-purpose flour
3 tablespoons white corn meal
1 teaspoon kosher salt
For the topping:
1½ cups (210 g) za’atar, preferably Z&Z brand
¼ cup (40 g) white sesame seeds
Extra-virgin olive oil, preferably Lebanese unfiltered

In the bowl of an electric stand mixer fitted with the bread hook,
combine the water, yeast, and sugar. Let stand until foamy, about 5
minutes. Stir in the oil.
In a separate bowl, whisk together the flour, corn meal, and salt.
Turn the mixer on to low speed and gradually add the flour mixture to
the yeast mixture, until all the flour is incorporated. Increase the speed to
medium-low and mix until the dough is smooth and pulls away from the
sides of the bowl.
Turn the dough out onto a lightly floured work surface. Knead a few
times, about 30 seconds.
Form the dough into a ball. Lightly oil a large bowl and transfer the
dough to the bowl, turning it over once or twice so it is coated in oil.
Cover with a kitchen towel and let stand in a warm place until doubled in
size, about 1 hour.
Place a pizza stone on the bottom rack of the oven and preheat the oven
to 475°F (245°C).
Lightly dust a work surface with flour. Cut the dough in half. Cut each
half into 5 equal pieces (you’ll have 10 pieces total) and roll each piece
into a ball. Cover the balls with a towel and let stand 30 minutes.
Meanwhile, to make the topping, in a small bowl, stir together the za’atar
and sesame seeds. Add enough olive oil to make a thick paste. Set aside.
Lightly dust a work surface with flour. Working with one ball at a time,
pat or roll each one out into an 8-inch (20 cm) round. Brush the tops of
the rounds lightly with olive oil. Generously spread the za’atar mixture
evenly on top of each.
Using a lightly floured pizza peel or rimless baking sheet, slide 3 rounds
at a time onto the hot pizza stone and bake until the rounds have puffed
up and the bottoms are lightly browned, 5 to 6 minutes. If desired, heat
in the broiler just to brown the tops. Serve hot or warm.
Wrap talame tightly in aluminum foil and store at room temperature for 1
day or freeze for up to 1 month. Defrost at room temperature; if desired,
warm in a preheated 300°F (150ºC) oven.
Fatayer bi Sabanekh
Spinach Pies
Makes about 40 (3-inch / 7.5-cm) pies
These little bites filled with lemony spinach come from one of my family’s most beloved
church cookbooks. Their great flavor comes from lots of lemon juice and olive oil. Don’t
skimp on that liquid, but do be sure to drain off any excess in each spoonful before filling
the dough. Then, use the leftover liquid as salad dressing, or do what my mom and aunts
do, and drink it! For the cheese version of these pies, see this page .
Dough for Sfeeha (this page)
2 pounds (910 g) trimmed fresh spinach, washed and well dried (see Note)
2 teaspoons kosher salt
2 large onions, finely chopped
½ teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
⅛ to ¼ teaspoon ground allspice
¾ cup (180 ml) fresh lemon juice (from about 6 lemons)
½ cup (120 ml) extra-virgin olive oil, preferably Lebanese unfiltered
½ cup (1 stick / 115 g) unsalted butter, melted, plus more for baking sheets if using

Make the dough, let it rise, and divide into 4 equal balls as for sfeeha.
Meanwhile, prepare the spinach filling. Chop the spinach and place it in
a bowl. Add the salt and use your hands to massage the salt into the
spinach. Set aside for 10 minutes.
Squeeze the excess liquid out of the finely chopped onion and place in a
bowl. Add the pepper and allspice.
Squeeze the spinach to remove as much liquid as possible. Add the
spinach to the bowl. Toss to evenly disperse the spinach, onion, and
spices.
Position a rack in the top third of the oven and preheat the oven to 400°F
(205°C). Grease two rimmed baking sheets or line them with parchment
paper.
On a lightly floured work surface, working with one ball of dough at a
time, roll out the dough to about ⅛ inch (3 mm) thick. Use a 4-inch (10
cm) round cutter to cut out rounds; set aside the dough scraps. Repeat
with the remaining dough. Combine the scraps, reroll, and cut out more
rounds (you’ll have about 40 rounds total).
In a bowl, whisk together the lemon juice and olive oil. When ready to
assemble the pies, pour the dressing over the spinach and toss to coat.
Spoon about 1 tablespoon filling into the center of each round, leaving a
border of about 1 inch (2.5 cm) all around. Make sure not to add too
much liquid to each one (let the filling drain a moment over the bowl
before filling the pastry).
To shape the fatayer, bring the sides of the dough up in 3 parts, and pinch
together the seams from the base to the top center, so that the package
forms a triangle, being sure to completely enclose the filling. Repeat
with the remaining dough rounds and filling.
Place the pies about 2 inches (5 cm) apart on the prepared baking sheets.
Brush the pies with melted butter. Bake one sheet at a time in the top
third of the oven until the crust is lightly browned, 20 to 25 minutes.
Transfer the fatayer to cooling racks to cool. Serve warm or at room
temperature. Store any leftover fatayer in a tightly covered container in
the refrigerator for up to 1 week.
Note: To get 2 pounds (910 g) trimmed and ready-to-go spinach, you
may want to start with as much as 2½ to 3 pounds (1.2 to 1.4 kg) of
spinach bunches.
Sfeeha
Meat Pies
Makes about 60 (2-inch / 5-cm) meat pies; 10 to 12 servings
In Lebanon there are many little shops where they only bake and sell sfeeha, including an
amazing stall in the souk in the city of Baalbek, where the old Roman ruins are a popular
tourist attraction. Theirs are the very best sfeeha I’ve ever tasted, and I’ve sampled my fair
share, usually pulling them piping hot out of paper boxes while strolling along dusty streets
on a summer day. No one buys fewer than a couple of dozen and then you’re meant to eat
them all day.
Truthfully there are so many different kinds of small hand pies in Lebanon and all of them
are so tasty, which made it hard to choose which ones to include here. The filling for these
specific little bites is very similar to what we’d use to fill other meat pies, except that sfeeha
contain tomato and other meat pies do not. Since my family usually makes a tomato-less
filling, I asked my friend Victoria to share the recipe her family in Chicago has traditionally
prepared. She graciously obliged, and I hope you’ll love it as much as I do. They are a little
labor intensive but get quicker to make as you get the hang of it.
For the dough:
1 package (2¼ teaspoons) active dry yeast
Pinch sugar
3 cups (720 ml) lukewarm water (about 110°F / 45°C)
½ cup (120 ml) vegetable oil or clarified butter (this page), plus more for the bowl
8 cups (1 kg) all-purpose flour, plus about 1 cup (125 g) more for kneading and more for the
work surface
1 tablespoon kosher salt
For the filling:
1 tablespoon unsalted butter
⅓ cup (45 g) pine nuts
12 ounces (340 g) ground 90/10 lamb or beef
1 large onion, finely chopped
½ cup (90 g) finely chopped seeded plum tomatoes
½ cup (18 g) fresh flat-leaf parsley leaves
3 cloves garlic, finely chopped with salt (see Note)
1¼ teaspoons kosher salt
3 tablespoons tahini (sesame seed paste), preferably Beirut brand, stirred until smooth
before measuring
1 teaspoon ground sumac
½ teaspoon ground allspice
½ teaspoon cayenne pepper or crushed red pepper or smoked paprika
¼ teaspoon ground cinnamon ¼ teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
½ cup (1 stick / 115 g) unsalted butter, melted, plus more for baking sheets if using
To make the dough, in the bowl of an electric stand mixer fitted with the
bread hook, combine the yeast, sugar, and ¼ cup (60 ml) of the warm
water. Let stand until foamy, about 5 minutes. Stir in the oil and the
remaining 2¾ cups (660 ml) water.
In a separate large bowl, whisk together the flour and salt.
Turn the mixer on to low speed and gradually add the flour mixture to
the yeast mixture, until all the flour is incorporated and the mixture
forms a smooth dough. Scrape down the sides and to the bottom of the
bowl from time to time. Continue to run the mixer for a few minutes
after that, 10 minutes from start to finish.
Turn the dough out onto a floured work surface; it will be very sticky.
Knead for about 1 minute, adding handfuls of flour (you may need up to
1 cup [125 g]) until the dough is smooth and no longer sticky.
Form the dough into a ball. Lightly oil a large bowl and transfer the
dough to the bowl, turning it over once or twice so it is coated in oil.
Cover the bowl with plastic wrap and let stand in a warm place until
doubled in size, about 1 hour.
Lightly dust a work surface with flour. Turn the dough out onto the
surface and divide it into 4 equal pieces. Shape each piece into a ball.
Cover the balls loosely with plastic wrap and let stand 20 minutes.
Meanwhile, to make the filling, in a skillet, melt the butter over medium
heat. Add the pine nuts and cook, stirring, until lightly browned and
fragrant, about 1 minute. Quickly transfer the nuts and butter to a dish to
stop the cooking; set aside to cool.
In a large bowl, combine the lamb, onion, tomatoes, parsley, garlic,
remaining salt, tahini, sumac, allspice, cayenne pepper, cinnamon, black
pepper, and the reserved pine nuts. Use your hands to combine the
ingredients, working the meat as little as possible.
Preheat the oven to 375°F (190°C). Grease two rimmed baking sheets, or
line them with parchment paper.
On a lightly floured work surface, working with one ball of dough at a
time, roll out the dough to about ⅛ inch (3 mm thick). Use a 3-inch (7.5
cm) round cutter to cut out rounds; set aside the dough scraps. Repeat
with the remaining dough. Combine the scraps and reroll and cut out
more rounds (you’ll have about 60 rounds total). If at any point the
dough springs back too much when you roll it, or the cut rounds shrink
excessively, cover the dough with plastic wrap or a kitchen towel and let
it rest for 10 to 20 minutes.
Spoon about 1 teaspoon filling into the center of each round and gently
pat it down so that there is a border of about 1 inch (2.5 mm) all around.
To shape the sfeeha, lift and pinch together the dough on two opposite
sides (at 9 and 3 o’clock). Turn the pastry 90 degrees and pinch together
the two other opposite sides. You should have a pretty square shape. If
the dough is very sticky, dip your fingers in a little flour.
Repeat with the remaining dough rounds and filling.
Place the pies about 2 inches (5 cm) apart on the prepared baking sheets.
Brush the pies with melted butter.
Bake one or two sheets at a time until the crust is lightly browned, about
20 minutes, swapping the sheets if necessary during baking to ensure
even browning.
Transfer the sfeeha to cooling racks to cool. Serve warm or at room
temperature. Store any leftover sfeeha in a tightly covered container in
the refrigerator up to 1 week.
Note: Chop the garlic, then sprinkle about ¼ teaspoon of the salt on top,
and continue to chop it very fine. When adding it to the other ingredients,
scrape it and any juices into the bowl together.
Tita’s Meat Pies
Lahme bi Ajeen
Makes about 60 (3-inch / 7.5-cm) or about 40 (4-inch / 10-cm) half-moon pies
The two previous pies are delicious, but it takes a bit of time to make the dough and fillings,
enough time that it puts them squarely in the category of special-occasion food for my
family. This is likely why many years ago Tita (that’s what we called my great-
grandmother) came up with these very tasty shortcut pies. Quickly cooking the lamb
eliminates the need to fuss with a raw meat filling, and a Bisquick dough considerably
shortens the time from bowl to oven to plate. Don’t fret if there is leftover filling; it makes a
great topping for hummus (this page).
1½ pounds (680 g) ground lamb
½ cup (1 stick / 115 g) unsalted butter, cut into pieces
1 medium onion, minced
1 teaspoon kosher salt
1 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
¼ cup (35 g) pine nuts, toasted (this page)
4 cups (520 g) Bisquick
2 cups (250 g) all-purpose flour
2 cups (480 ml) milk
½ cup (1 stick / 115 g) unsalted butter, melted, plus more as needed and for baking sheets, if
using

Brown the lamb in a frying pan until no longer juicy. Add the butter,
onion, salt, pepper, and pine nuts. Cook until the onions are soft, about 8
minutes. Remove from the heat and let cool to room temperature.
Preheat the oven to 425°F (220°C). Butter two rimmed baking sheets or
line them with parchment paper.
In a large bowl, stir together the Bisquick and flour. While stirring, add
the milk gradually. Mix and knead the dough until combined and soft.
Divide the dough in half.
On a lightly floured work surface, working with one piece of dough at a
time, roll the dough ⅛ inch (3 mm) thick.
Use a round 3- to 4-inch (7.5 to 10 cm) cutter to cut out rounds; reroll the
scraps if necessary. Repeat with the remaining dough (you’ll have about
60 smaller or 40 larger rounds).
Spoon about 1 tablespoon filling into the center of each round; use a
little less than 1 tablespoon for the smaller rounds and a little more for
the larger rounds. Fold the top half down to cover the filling and the
bottom half, forming a half-moon shape. Gently press to seal the edges
together. Repeat with the remaining dough rounds and filling.
Place the pies ½ inch (12 mm) apart on the prepared baking sheets.
Brush each pie with melted butter. Bake until lightly browned on both
the top and the bottom, 12 to 15 minutes.
Serve warm or at room temperature. Store leftovers in an airtight
container in the refrigerator up to 3 days or in the freezer up to 1 month.
Defrost at room temperature and reheat and recrisp in a preheated 300°F
(150°C) oven.
Maqluba
Upside-Down Rice with Eggplant
Serves 6
In September 2019, David and I were invited to visit Karam House in Reyhanli, Turkey, a
tiny town on the border with Syria. The house is run by the Karam Foundation, an
organization based in Chicago whose primary mission is to care for Syrian refugee youth in
Turkey and Jordan. Their objective at Karam House is manifold and critical: to meet the
educational, social, and emotional needs of the children and young people who have been
displaced from their homeland because of the brutal, protracted civil war there. For one
incredible week we taught the kids a few American dishes and learned some delicious
Syrian dishes and so very much more from them. I can’t imagine a more moving and
instructive experience than we had there with those resilient kids. Plus we prepared the
most amazing food together. It included this showstopper, layered rice and meat and
eggplant that is turned out onto a platter and topped with a crown of buttered, toasted nuts.
The trick is to get it out of the pan perfectly, a task so daunting to the students that many of
them had to call their moms (also safely in Turkey) for guidance. I would never make light
of any of what these kids have lived through, and yet somehow their simple act of calling
their moms for cooking advice was as poignant and touching as anything else I heard or
learned that week. By the way, please don’t be afraid to try this! The key to success is a
good, nonstick pot; you can find inexpensive and reliable ones online.
Karam is run by founder and CEO Lina Sergie Attar, who very kindly shared recipes for
many of the dishes we made together, including this one, which was featured in a cookbook
Karam themselves put together several years ago to highlight many of the incredible
women they have helped over the years. This recipe originally came from a woman named
Um Haythem, who was born in Syria in 1910 and became a certified obstetric nurse and the
mother of six children, as well as being well known among her friends and family for her
Ramadan specialties.
1 medium eggplant (about 1 pound / 455 g), stem trimmed, sliced lengthwise 3/8 inch (1 cm)
thick
½ cup (120 ml) extra-virgin olive oil, preferably Lebanese unfiltered, plus more as needed
Kosher salt
1 pound (455 g) stew beef (chuck or round), cut into 1½-inch (4 cm) cubes
2 large onions, 1 quartered and 1 finely chopped
1½ teaspoons Baharat (this page)
3 cups (720 ml) boiling water
8 ounces (225 g) ground beef
3 cups (570 g) Egyptian rice or other medium-grain rice, such as Arborio
5 tablespoons (70 g) unsalted butter
¼ cup (30 g) cashews
¼ cup (30 g) slivered almonds
¼ cup (35 g) pine nuts
Equipment: 6-quart (5.7 liter) nonstick pot

Preheat the oven to 425°F (220°C).

Place the eggplant slices in a single layer on a baking sheet and brush
each side with olive oil, using about ¼ cup (60 ml) total, and season very
lightly with salt. Bake until nicely browned on the bottom, 15 to 20
minutes. Flip the slices over and continue baking until browned on the
other side, 5 to 10 minutes. Set aside until needed.
Meanwhile, in a medium saucepan, heat 2 tablespoons of the olive oil
over medium-high heat until shimmering. Add the cubed beef with the
quartered onion, ¾ teaspoon Baharat, and 1 teaspoon salt; stir to coat all
the ingredients with oil. Increase the heat to high and cook until the meat
is browned, stirring frequently, about 10 minutes.
Add the boiling water, cover the pan, reduce the heat, and simmer until
tender, about 1 hour. Strain, reserving meat and broth separately; discard
the onion.
In a sauté pan, heat the remaining 2 tablespoons olive oil over medium
heat until shimmering. Add the chopped onion and cook, stirring often,
until softened and translucent, 6 to 8 minutes. Add the ground beef with
the remaining ¾ teaspoon Baharat and 1 teaspoon salt and cook,
breaking up the meat, until browned, about 5 minutes. Set aside.
To assemble the maqluba for cooking, in a 6-quart nonstick pot, evenly
spread the ground beef across the bottom. Evenly scatter the beef cubes
on top. Arrange the eggplant slices on top of the beef so that the narrow
ends overlap across the center of the pan and the rounded ends run 2 to 3
inches (5 to 7.5 cm) up the side of the pan. When all the slices are
arranged, they’ll make a sort of flower or star pattern.
Evenly scatter the rice on top, using it to keep the eggplant slices in
place. Try to make sure that very little rice finds its way between the
parts of the eggplant that are against the pan and the pan sides. This will
ensure that you can see the eggplant when the maqluba is turned out.
Measure the reserved broth and add enough water to bring the total to
4½ cups (1 liter). Gently pour the broth over the rice (again, do this
slowly so that the rice doesn’t move too much). Add 3 tablespoons (40 g)
of the butter. The liquid should go about 1 inch (2.5 cm) over the top
layer; add more water if necessary.
Cover the pot and cook over medium-low heat until the rice is cooked
and all the liquid is absorbed, 30 to 35 minutes. Set aside, covered, for 10
minutes then uncover.
Meanwhile, melt the remaining 2 tablespoons butter in a cast-iron or
other heavy skillet over medium heat. Add the cashews and cook,
stirring, until just beginning to brown, about 6 minutes. Add the almonds
and cook, stirring, until the almonds are just beginning to brown, 2 to 3
minutes. Add the pine nuts and cook, stirring until all the nuts are golden
brown, about 1 minute. Remove the nuts from the pan. Set aside.
Place a large round serving dish over the uncovered pot. Carefully flip
over the pot so the meat is now on the top and the eggplant slices are
visible around the perimeter. Sprinkle with the browned nuts and serve
warm.
Tahdig
Persian Rice with Crisp Crust
Serves 10 to 12
After so many of our Persian guests talked to us proudly about this beloved rice dish with a
beautiful crispy top, we actually figured out how to cook it on the fire at Maydān, but it’s
sufficiently challenging that we only do it for special events.
For home cooking, my dear Persian friend Sameen, who lives in Los Angeles, gave me her
recipe. There are various ways to achieve the delectable crisp crust that is the hallmark of
this dish, and this method, which uses oil and labne in the crust and employs a towel
wrapped around the lid to trap steam inside (a specially made damkesh can be used
instead), is one of the more authentic ones, which is part of why I was especially eager for
her recipe. I can’t stress enough that a straight-sided 6-quart (5.7 liter) pan is truly
necessary for best results.
4 cups (720 g) long-grain basmati rice
3 tablespoons kosher salt
Vegetable oil
¼ cup (60 ml) labne or plain full-fat yogurt
¼ teaspoon crumbled saffron plus 1 tablespoon warm water (optional; see Note)
1 tablespoon unsalted butter
Pomegranate seeds, for garnish (optional)
Equipment: 6-quart (5.7 liter) nonstick pot

Put the rice in a bowl and rinse until the water runs clear. Drain well.
Fill a 6-quart (5.7 liter) nonstick pot with water. Add the salt and bring to
a boil.
Add the drained rice to the boiling water with 2 tablespoons oil. Cook
until the rice is nearly fully cooked but still has a slight chew, about 10
minutes. Drain the rice and rinse with cold water to stop the cooking.
Rinse and dry the pot. Pour in ¾ cup (180 ml) oil and add the labne.
Whisk to combine and evenly disperse the labne; it’s fine if it looks
separated.
Add a little more than 2 cups (350 g) of the cooked rice to the pot and
pat it down to form a flat layer at the bottom of the pot. Add the
remaining rice in an even layer on top.
Cut the butter into several pieces and scatter them on top of the rice.
Cover the pot and cook over high heat for 4 minutes.
Reduce the heat to medium-low. Wrap a kitchen towel around the outer
rim of the pot and lid to cover the gap between them and catch the
escaping steam. Cook for 30 minutes.
Remove the pot from the heat and carefully unwrap it (the towel will be
hot, so be careful). Uncover the pot. Run a thin butter knife or offset
spatula around the outer edge of the rice. Place a large serving plate
upside-down over the pot. Holding both the plate and the handles of the
pot, quickly flip them in a single motion to unmold the tahdig onto the
plate. If any of the crispy topping remains in the pan, simply scrape it out
and top the rice with it, and tell everyone that it’s exactly as you intended
it to be. Garnish with pomegranate seeds, if using. Serve hot or warm.
Note: If you’d like to add saffron to the crisp topping, dissolve it in the
warm water. Add to the oil and labne and whisk together.
Sitti’s Syrian Rice
Serves 6 to 8
Rice cooked with ground lamb and pine nuts (which you can see on this page) is what we
called simply “rice” in my house, and it was a staple dish that Mom made several nights a
week. Note that the lamb in this recipe is certainly optional, and though Mom may not
agree, I think it’s quite delicious with or without it. While it may come as a surprise to rice
purists, my mom and her siblings rely on Ben’s Original (which is the much-improved,
modern name for what was called “Uncle Ben’s” back then). I don’t know where the
reliance on the brand came from, but it was ubiquitous across generations of my family, as
my grandmother and her sisters also kept a healthy supply of the stuff in their pantries. I
gained a little insight into this curious habit when we went to my grandfather’s village in
Lebanon and my cousin’s wife insisted that the best choice was what she called “Egyptian
rice.” I’d heard this before, from friends with close ties to or who had learned to cook in
Lebanon. When I finally tracked it down on a subsequent trip to Lebanon, I saw that it
resembles and cooks up like Arborio rice, which is to say that it’s a quite fluffy, white rice,
perfect for using in the many rice dishes my family loves. Perhaps that’s the standard that
my relatives were trying to emulate and that’s what led them to rely on a rice that also
yields very fluffy results every time.
3 tablespoons unsalted butter
1 pound (455 g) coarsely ground lamb (optional)
1 stalk celery, finely chopped
¼ cup (35 g) pine nuts, toasted (see this page)
2 cups (370 g) white rice, preferably Ben’s Original, or a medium-grain rice such as
Arborio or Egyptian
4 cups (960 ml) good-quality low-sodium chicken broth
2 teaspoons kosher salt
½ teaspoon ground cinnamon, or to taste

In a large saucepan, melt the butter over medium heat. Add the lamb, if
using, celery, and pine nuts and cook, stirring occasionally, until the meat
is browned. Stir in the rice until it is very well combined with the meat.
Add the chicken broth, salt, and cinnamon.
Bring to a boil. Stir once, cover the pan, and lower the temperature to a
simmer. Cook until the rice is tender and the broth is absorbed, 15 to 20
minutes; if the liquid is absorbed before the rice is cooked, add a little
water.
Let stand, covered, for 10 minutes. Fluff the rice and serve.
Harissa Couscous
Serves 4 to 6
When we developed the Tunisian Chicken Skewers (this page) for Compass Rose, we knew
we would serve it with a traditional accompaniment of couscous, but we wanted the
couscous to be something special on its own, so we folded in some harissa we made. This is
not the harissa that we created at Maydān a few years later (this page), first and foremost
because it didn’t exist yet; but even if it had, I don’t think we’d have used it in this dish. For
a couscous to go with the smoky Tunisian chicken, this slightly sweeter and milder harissa
fits the bill beautifully. And I’m certainly not breaking conventions by having two different
harissa recipes in this book; in Tunisia and Morocco there are infinite variations of the
sauce. You can see how we serve this couscous in the photo on this page .
For the sweet harissa:
Kosher salt
1 medium carrot, peeled and sliced ½ inch (12 mm) thick
1 red bell pepper, roasted (see this page) and coarsely chopped
½ habanero chile or 2 serrano peppers, halved, seeds and ribs removed, and chopped
1 clove garlic, minced
1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice, plus more if needed
1 teaspoon tomato paste
2½ teaspoons coriander seed, toasted (see this page) and ground
1¼ teaspoons caraway seed, toasted (see this page) and ground
Pinch ground cloves
Extra-virgin olive oil, preferably Lebanese unfiltered, for storing
For the couscous:
1½ teaspoons extra-virgin olive oil, preferably Lebanese unfiltered
1 strip orange zest, removed with a vegetable peeler
1 clove garlic, crushed with garlic press
1 (3-inch / 7.5-cm) cinnamon stick
1 bay leaf
½ teaspoon kosher salt
1 cup (195 g) couscous
¼ cup (60 ml) hot water, or as needed
¼ cup (13 g) chopped fresh flat-leaf parsley

To prepare the harissa, fill a small saucepan a few inches deep with water
and add a generous pinch of salt. Bring to a boil. Add the sliced carrot,
reduce the heat, and simmer until tender, about 20 minutes.
Drain the carrot and place it in a food processor. Add the roasted bell
pepper, habanero, garlic, lemon juice, tomato paste, coriander, caraway,
and cloves. Process until the mixture is almost puréed with a bit of
texture; it’s okay if it’s a little chunky. Taste and adjust the seasoning
with salt or lemon juice.
The harissa can be made in advance. To store, transfer it to a container
with a tight-fitting lid. Smooth the top and pour over enough olive oil to
cover the surface. Cover the container and refrigerate up to 1 month.
To prepare the couscous, in a medium saucepan put the olive oil, orange
zest, garlic, cinnamon stick, bay leaf, salt, and 1½ cups (360 ml) water.
Bring to a boil over high heat.
Place the couscous in a medium metal bowl. Pour the boiling water and
all the aromatics into the bowl with the couscous and stir to combine.
Cover the bowl tightly with plastic wrap, being careful because the bowl
will be hot. Let stand for 10 minutes. (The plastic wrap might form a
dome; once the dome depletes the couscous should be ready.)
Uncover the couscous and fluff it with a fork; remove and discard the
orange zest, cinnamon stick, and bay leaf.
In a separate small bowl, carefully whisk together the harissa and ¼ cup
(60 ml) hot water. It should be pourable; add water as needed if it is not.
Pour about half of the thinned harissa over the couscous and add the
parsley. Stir and toss to combine. Taste and add more harissa if desired,
or adjust the seasoning with salt.
Serve hot, warm, or at room temperature.
Mandi
Syrian Charcoal-Flavored Chicken Rice
Serves 4 to 6
When we were learning about Syrian food from the kids at Karam House in southern
Turkey (see this page), there was a moment when a couple of the students came to get me
specifically to show me a technique they somehow knew would surprise me. When I reached
the stove, I witnessed a truly charming method of smoking food that I’d never seen before.
The chicken and rice were cooked and put in the pan together, then a block of charcoal was
lit aflame and placed inside a little bowl tucked into the rice. They put the lid in place and
left it for several minutes. The result was beautifully smoked and very flavorful chicken and
rice. The method is so simple and the results so delicious that I can’t believe I’d never seen
it before.
For the chicken:
1 roasting chicken (about 4 pounds / 1.8 kg)
2 tablespoons Baharat (this page)
1½ teaspoons kosher salt
½ teaspoon ground turmeric
2 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil, preferably Lebanese unfiltered, or more as needed
For the rice:
3 cups (540 g) basmati rice
2 teaspoons Baharat (recipe follows)
2 teaspoons kosher salt
1½ teaspoons ground turmeric
2 bay leaves
For serving:
1 tablespoon grapeseed or other neutral vegetable oil for the bowl
1 tablespoon extra-virgin olive oil, preferably Lebanese unfiltered, or more as needed
¼ cup (25 g) sliced almonds
¼ cup (35 g) raisins
Ezme (optional; this page)
Equipment: Chunk of charcoal; small metal bowl or aluminum foil for charcoal

To spatchcock the chicken for even roasting, place it breast side down on
a cutting board. Starting at the neck end, use poultry shears or a sharp
boning knife to cut along one side of the backbone toward the tail,
stopping your cut about two-thirds of the way down the length of the
backbone. Repeat on the other side of the backbone. Now cut down the
last bit of length on either side to completely remove the backbone.
Flip the chicken over and press down hard on center of the breast to
make it lie flat. Tuck the wing tips under the wing bone.
In a small bowl, combine the Baharat, salt, turmeric, and oil. Stir into a
thick but spreadable paste; add more oil if necessary to achieve this
consistency. Rub the paste all over the chicken. Place uncovered in the
refrigerator for at least 1 hour and up to 24 hours.
Preheat the oven to 450°F (230°C).
Place the flattened chicken, breast side up, on a rack in a roasting pan.
Roast for 15 minutes. Reduce the oven temperature to 350°F (175°C)
and roast until the juices run clear when the thickest part of the thigh is
pierced with a sharp knife, 35 to 45 minutes. Remove from the oven and
let stand for 5 to 10 minutes. Cut the chicken in half down the length of
the breastbone. Set aside.
Meanwhile, to cook the rice, rinse the basmati until the water runs clear.
Drain well.
Pour 4½ cups (1 liter) water into a large Dutch oven or other heavy pot
with a tight-fitting cover and add the Baharat, salt, turmeric, and bay
leaves. Bring to a boil. Stir in the rice and return the water to a boil.
Cover the pot, reduce the heat, and simmer for 15 minutes, until the
water is absorbed and the rice is just tender to the bite. Remove from the
heat and let stand, covered, for 5 minutes.
Have ready a small metal bowl or make a small bowl out of several
sheets of aluminum foil.
Place the charcoal briquette on the gas flame, directly on the electric
rings of the stovetop, or in the broiler until bright red and very hot.
Uncover the pot and fluff the rice; remove and discard the bay leaves.
Place the two chicken halves side by side on top of the rice. Tuck the
small bowl between the chicken halves and nestle it in the rice. Pour
about a tablespoon of vegetable oil into the bowl. Use tongs to carefully
transfer the hot charcoal into the bowl. Immediately cover the pot and let
stand for 10 minutes.
To make the garnish, in a small skillet, heat the olive oil over medium-
low heat until shimmering. Add the almonds and cook, stirring, until
lightly browned, about 2 minutes. Use a slotted spoon to transfer the
almonds to a small dish to cool. Add the raisins to the oil and cook,
stirring, for 2 minutes. Add to the plate with the almonds and set aside.
Just before serving, uncover the pot and remove the dish of charcoal. Cut
the chicken into pieces, arrange them on top of the rice, and sprinkle
with fried raisins and almonds. Serve, passing the ezme in a separate
bowl.
Or you can bring the whole pot to the table so that everyone can enjoy
the smoky and dramatic uncovering. Cut the chicken into pieces and
serve with the smoky rice. Top each serving with fried raisins and
almonds. Pass the ezme separately.
Baharat
Makes about 1 cup (95 g)
The word baharat means “spices” in Arabic, and it is also the name given to this
mixture of warm spices. Variations of the mix are used liberally throughout this part
of the world; this is Maydān’s version of the blend. For very bold flavor and longer
shelf life, grind as many of the spices as possible yourself before mixing them together,
but it’s also absolutely fine to use pre-ground spices.
***
¼ cup (25 g) sweet paprika
¼ cup (25 g) ground cumin
2 tablespoons freshly ground black pepper
2 tablespoons ground coriander
1 tablespoon ground nutmeg
1 tablespoon ground cinnamon
1½ teaspoons ground cardamom
1½ teaspoons ground cloves
***
In a small bowl, stir together the paprika, cumin, pepper, coriander, nutmeg, cinnamon,
cardamom, and cloves. Store in an airtight container in a cool, dark place for up to 6
months.
Itch
Armenian Bulgur Wheat Salad
Serves 6 to 8
I first had this hearty and very flavorful dish on our first research trip for Maydān. Earthy
bulgur is brightened by pomegranate molasses and crunchy shishitos and green onions.
One bite and I knew the dish was coming home with us.
1½ cups (210 g) medium bulgur wheat
Kosher salt
3 cups (720 ml) boiling water
¼ cup (60 ml) red pepper paste (see Note)
6 tablespoons pomegranate molasses, plus more for serving
¼ cup (60 ml) extra-virgin olive oil, preferably Lebanese unfiltered
2 tablespoons tomato paste
2 tablespoons fresh lemon juice (from about 1 lemon)
1 tablespoon Aleppo pepper flakes
2 cups (300 g) sliced shishito peppers
1 cup (110 g) sliced green onions, white and green parts
½ cup chopped tomato, for serving (optional)

Place the bulgur and ½ teaspoon salt in a medium bowl. Pour over the
boiling water, cover the bowl with plastic wrap, and set aside until the
bulgur is tender but still chewy and the water is absorbed, about 25 to 30
minutes.
Drain the bulgur using a fine-mesh strainer and then squeeze it to release
as much of the water as possible. Use a fork to fluff the bulgur and
spread it on a rimmed baking sheet to cool completely.
In a separate bowl, whisk together the red pepper paste, pomegranate
molasses, olive oil, tomato paste, lemon juice, Aleppo pepper flakes, and
½ teaspoon salt.
Place the cooled bulgur into a large bowl and toss with the dressing,
shishito peppers, and most of the green onions (set some aside for
garnish). Taste and season with salt if necessary. Transfer to a serving
dish. Drizzle over some pomegranate molasses and garnish with the
remaining green onions and tomatoes, if using. Serve.
Note: Use a mild red pepper paste, not chili paste or Indonesian sambal
oelek or Korean gochujang (although both of those taste amazing). If
you can’t find mild red pepper paste, drain a small jar of piquillo or
other mild red peppers and puree them.
Dango
Omani Garlic-Butter Chickpeas
Serves 6 to 8
We always have this very simple Omani dish on the winter menu at Maydān because it’s
warming and full of comforting flavors, like butter and garlic and a little kick of chile. It’s
very similar to a Lebanese dish called balila, but I prefer dango because everything tastes
better with butter. Since the star of the show here is the chickpeas, I urge you to follow the
super simple method on this page for cooking your own from dried. The butter gives the
dango’s brothy sauce a beautiful, velvety texture.
6 tablespoons (85 g) unsalted butter
5 cloves garlic, finely chopped
¾ teaspoon Aleppo pepper flakes
⅛ teaspoon sweet paprika
4 cups (750 g) barely cooked, drained chickpeas (this page ; see Note)
⅓ cup (75 ml) fresh lime juice (from 4 to 6 limes), plus more as needed
1½ tablespoons kosher salt, plus more as needed
½ teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
Extra-virgin olive oil, preferably Lebanese unfiltered, for serving
Ground sumac, for serving

In a large saucepan, melt the butter over medium heat. Add the garlic
and sauté until softened and very fragrant, about 1 minute. Add the
Aleppo pepper and paprika and cook until fragrant, about 30 seconds.
Stir in the chickpeas, lime juice, salt, pepper, and 3 cups (720 ml) water.
Bring to a gentle boil, then reduce the heat and simmer, uncovered, until
the liquid is reduced by about half and the chickpeas are very tender,
about 1 hour.
Taste and add more lime juice or salt as needed. Transfer to a serving
dish. Drizzle over some olive oil and sprinkle with sumac. Serve hot.
Note: Follow the directions on this page to cook the chickpeas until just
barely done. They’ll continue to cook as you prepare them here.
Imjaddarah
Lentils and Rice with Crispy Onions
Serves 6 to 8
This dish demonstrates beautifully how humble ingredients often hold the greatest, most
rewarding surprises. Lentils and rice are perfectly fine and very common partners. It’s
when you top them with a generous pile of fried onions that their union comes close to pure
bliss.
3 large onions
6 tablespoons (90 ml) extra-virgin olive oil, preferably Lebanese unfiltered
1 cup (190 g) brown lentils, rinsed and picked through
1 cup (185 g) long-grain white rice
1½ teaspoons kosher salt
1 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper

Dice one of the onions and thinly slice the other two onions. Set aside
separately.
In a large saucepan, heat 2 tablespoons of the oil over medium heat.
Add the diced onion and cook, stirring, until translucent, about 5
minutes.
Add the lentils, rice, 1 teaspoon salt, ½ teaspoon pepper, and 3½ cups
(840 ml) water to the pan and bring to a boil. Cover the pan, reduce the
heat, and simmer until the rice and lentils are cooked, about 30 minutes.
Remove the pan from the heat and let stand, covered, for up to 10
minutes.
Meanwhile, heat the remaining 4 tablespoons (60 ml) oil in a sauté pan
over medium heat. Add the sliced onion and remaining ½ teaspoon salt
and ½ teaspoon pepper and cook, stirring occasionally, until golden
brown, 15 to 20 minutes.
To serve, stir the lentils and rice thoroughly and pour onto a serving
platter. Top with the sautéed onions and any oil in the pan. Serve warm.
Kushari
Egyptian Elbow Pasta with Lentils, Chickpeas, and Rice
Serves 6 to 8
Kushari is a traditional and very delicious Egyptian street food. For years a longtime
bartender at Compass Rose named Mo, who is originally from Egypt, exhorted us to add it
to the menu. He talked so longingly about this fantastic plate of carbs layered one on top of
the other that soon enough we did indeed add it. But no matter how hard we pushed it,
Americans just weren’t going for it. Perhaps its ingredients don’t hint enough at all the
flavor and texture that the full dish delivers. I don’t know the reason, but we did eventually
pull it from the menu. I’ve never given up on kushari, though, and I don’t regret a thing. It
is at its absolute best when you deep-fry the onion for the dish yourself, but if that step is
enough to dissuade you from trying it, please don’t let it! Simply pan-fry some onion as for
Imjaddarah (this page) or use store-bought fried onions instead.
For the fried onions:
Canola oil, for deep-frying
1 large onion
⅔ cup (80 g) all-purpose flour
Kosher salt
For the tomato sauce:
1½ tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil, preferably Lebanese unfiltered
1 pound (455 g) plum tomatoes, diced
½ cup (55 g) diced onion
1½ tablespoons tomato paste
4 cloves garlic, finely chopped
1½ tablespoons cumin seed, ground
1 teaspoon kosher salt
½ teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
2½ tablespoons distilled white vinegar
For the rice:
2 tablespoons unsalted butter
1¾ ounces (50 g) thin vermicelli or crushed angel hair pasta (about ¼ cup)
½ cup (95 g) brown lentils, rinsed and picked through
1 cup (220 g) short-grain white rice
2½ teaspoons cumin seed, ground
2 teaspoons kosher salt
½ teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
For the pasta:
8 ounces (225 g) uncooked elbow pasta
Kosher salt
Extra-virgin olive oil, preferably Lebanese unfiltered
For the chickpeas:
1½ cups (175 g) cooked, drained chickpeas (this page) or 1 can (15 ounces / 425 g)
chickpeas, with their cooking or canned liquid
Kosher salt

To prepare the fried onions, in a deep heavy pot such as a Dutch oven,
pour canola oil to a depth of 3 inches (7.5 cm); make sure that the
surface of the oil is at least 3 inches (7.5 cm) below the top rim of the
pan. Heat the oil to 300°F (150°C) according to a deep-fry thermometer
over medium heat, about 30 minutes. Line a baking sheet or platter with
paper towels and place next to the stovetop.
While the oil is heating, peel the onion, cut it in half, and slice it as thinly
as possible. Toss the sliced onions in the flour and shake to remove the
excess flour.
Carefully drop a couple of handfuls of onions in the oil. Don’t crowd the
pan; do this in batches. Cook until deeply browned, 3 to 4 minutes,
carefully flipping over the onions with a spider or slotted spoon once or
twice so that they cook evenly.
Using the spider or slotted spoon, transfer the onions to the paper towels.
Season with a few pinches of salt. Continue with the remaining onions
and set aside.
To prepare the tomato sauce, heat the olive oil in a large sauté pan over
medium heat until it shimmers. Add the tomatoes and diced onion and
cook until the onion is softened and the tomato has cooked down, about
15 minutes.
Stir in the tomato paste, garlic, cumin, salt, and pepper and cook over
medium heat for 10 minutes. Add 2 cups water (480 ml) and bring to a
low simmer. Simmer for 15 minutes. Stir in the vinegar and return to a
simmer. As soon as the sauce comes to a simmer, turn the heat off.
Use an immersion blender to blend the tomato mixture until smooth. Set
aside and keep warm.
To prepare the rice, melt the butter in a medium saucepan over medium
heat. Add the vermicelli and cook, stirring, until golden brown, about 5
minutes. Add the lentils and 2 cups (480 ml) water and bring to a gentle
boil. Reduce the heat and simmer for 10 minutes.
Add the rice, cumin, salt, pepper, and 1 cup (240 ml) water. Increase the
heat to medium-high and bring to a simmer. Reduce the heat, cover the
pan, and simmer until the rice and lentils are tender and the liquid is
completely absorbed, about 25 minutes. Uncover and let stand for 5
minutes. Fluff with a fork.
To prepare the pasta, bring a medium saucepan of salted water to a boil.
Add the pasta and cook until al dente, about 11 minutes, or as directed on
the package. Drain well, drizzle over some olive oil, and toss to coat. Set
aside.
Meanwhile, gently warm the chickpeas in their liquid. Add salt to taste.
Drain them and set them aside, kept warm.
To serve, spread the fluffed rice mixture on a serving platter. Top with
the pasta and about half of the tomato sauce, then the chickpeas, and
finally finish with about half of the fried onions. Serve, passing the
remaining tomato sauce and fried onions separately.
Lahmajoun
Armenian Lamb Pizza
Makes 4 (10-inch / 25-cm) pizzas
This highly seasoned minced or ground lamb spread on flatbread (which you can see on this
page) makes a great snack or quick lunch and it’s always a welcome addition to a big feast.
Lahmajoun is honestly delicious in any setting, and especially so at a very cool Armenian-
owned shop called Ichkhanian that’s been operating in Beirut forever. Their lahmajoun,
which you can order drizzled with pomegranate molasses if desired, is among the best in the
city. That’s the main reason I love the place, but I would be remiss if I didn’t mention that
part of what makes it so fascinating is its location. During the Lebanese Civil War from
1975 to 1990, the Green Line, which was a line of demarcation that separated the
predominantly Muslim part of Beirut from the predominantly Christian part of the city,
ran directly in front of the building that houses Ichkhanian. And the building has the bullet
holes to prove it.
For the crust:
½ recipe of the dough for Toné Flatbread (this page), prepared through the first rise
For the topping:
1 large onion, chopped
¼ cup (35 g) chopped roasted red pepper (this page or use drained store-bought)
2 tablespoons tomato paste
1¾ teaspoons ground allspice
1¼ teaspoons Aleppo pepper flakes
1¼ teaspoons kosher salt
1 pound (455 g) very cold ground lamb
⅓ cup (45 g) pine nuts (optional)
All-purpose flour, for rolling out the dough
Extra-virgin olive oil, preferably Lebanese unfiltered
Pomegranate molasses, for serving (optional)

Divide the rested dough into 4 equal balls. Cover the balls with a towel
and let stand 10 minutes.
Place a pizza stone on the bottom rack of the oven and preheat the oven
to 500°F (260°C).
To prepare the topping, place the onion, red pepper, tomato paste,
allspice, Aleppo pepper flakes, and salt in a food processor and process
just until chopped and well blended. Add the lamb and pulse a few times
just to blend the ingredients lightly.
Transfer the mixture to a large mixing bowl. Add the pine nuts, if using,
and use a spatula to combine the mixture evenly (do this even if you
don’t add the pine nuts). Divide the mixture into 4 equal portions—leave
them in the bowl if desired—and refrigerate until needed.
Lightly dust a work surface with flour. Working with one ball at a time,
roll out each ball into a 10-inch (25 cm) round and set aside, loosely
covered with plastic wrap, while you roll the others.
Transfer one rolled-out round to a piece of parchment or a lightly floured
baking peel or rimless baking sheet (this will make it easier to transfer it
to the oven). Brush it lightly with olive oil and use a silicone or rubber
spatula to spread one portion of the lamb mixture on top, spreading right
to the edge of the dough.
Slide the pizza onto the hot pizza stone and bake until the edges are
lightly browned, 4 to 5 minutes. Continue with the remaining dough
balls, brushing each one with olive oil before topping with a portion of
lamb.
Just before serving, drizzle over some pomegranate molasses, if using.
Serve.
Euphrates
Maydān’s Favorite No-Booze Cocktail
Serves 1
Our guests come from all over the world as well as our neighborhood, and many of them
don’t drink alcohol for all sorts of reasons. But it’s not just teetotalers who are responsible
for the popularity of this drink. The Euphrates is almost as popular with people who love a
good boozy cocktail as it is with everyone else.
Ice, for mixing and serving
3 ounces (90 ml) gin alternative
1½ ounces (45 ml) Mint Simple Syrup (see recipe at right)
1½ ounces (45 ml) fresh lime juice
Fresh mint leaf and fresh mint sprig, for garnish
Lime wheel, for garnish
Equipment: Highball glass and cocktail pick

Fill a cocktail shaker with ice. Add the gin alternative, syrup, and lime
juice. Shake vigorously to chill the drink.
Fill a highball glass with ice. Strain the drink into the glass. Skewer the
mint leaf and lime wheel on a cocktail pick. Garnish with the pick and
fresh mint sprig. Serve.
Mint Simple Syrup
Makes 16 ounces (480 ml)
***
2 cups (400 g) sugar
2 cups (100 g) fresh mint leaves
***
In a medium saucepan combine the sugar, mint leaves, and 2 cups (480 ml) water.
Bring to a gentle boil over medium-high heat, stirring with a wooden spoon until the sugar
is dissolved.
Cover the pan and remove it from the heat. Let stand 15 minutes.
Strain and discard the mint leaves. Let cool.
Transfer to a jar and store in the refrigerator up to 2 weeks.
 GEORGIAN SUPRA
Among the best things about our time in Moscow was learning more
about the delightful people of Georgia, for whom hospitality and
generosity are second nature, especially their tradition of supra, an hours-
long dinner led by a tamada, or toastmaster. On our first trip there, our
charming local guide, Dato, invited David and me to a supra at one of his
favorite restaurants. When we arrived, our hostess led us straight out the
back and through the door of one of several little wooden huts outside
the main restaurant built specifically for supras. Dato cheerfully
described the evening to come, that he would be our tamada for the
evening, leading each of twelve toasts throughout the meal, and how the
kitchen would send out a feast of dishes as they were ready. Pork
skewers called mtsvadi; khinkali, piping hot meat dumplings; platters of
fresh herbs and pickled vegetables, including jonjoli, the super sour
pickled flowers that are a staple of the Georgian pantry; plus the eggplant
rolls, badrijani nigvzit, and chicken in creamy satsivi sauce, two of the
incredible walnut dishes I’d first enjoyed early in our stint in Moscow
(this page); and then different variations of khachapuri. The food didn’t
stop coming for more than two hours; dishes only cleared when every
morsel was gone from them, new plates simply balanced on top of those
already set unless something needed refreshing, like when the remaining
now-cold khinkali were whisked back to the kitchen, where they were
browned in hot butter and returned to us, now crisped and warm. And
every few minutes, Dato would refill our glasses with wine or the strong
Georgian brandy called chacha and deliver another toast—to God, to
Georgia, to children, to the deceased, to David and me, and on and on
until I lost count, wrapped in the warmth of the cozy little hut and the
people in it, full of food and wine and chacha and happiness. I had fallen
in love with this country and its people and the tradition of hospitality
that is woven into the fabric of their whole lives. And floating above it
all was the delightful aroma of blue fenugreek, which since then has
been, to me, the scent of Georgia.

TAWLE MENU
Badrijani Nigvzit (Georgian Eggplant Rolls with Walnut Filling)
Khinkali (Georgian Meat-Filled Dumplings)
Chicken Satsivi (Chicken in Walnut Sauce)
Gebjalia (Georgian Cheese Rolls with Mint)
 Lobio Mtsvanilit (Georgian Herbed Kidney Beans)
Compass Rose’s Khachapuri (Georgian Cheese Bread)
Kartopiliani (Georgian Cheese-and-Potato-Filled Bread)
Adjika (Georgian red pepper sauce)
Chef Darnell at the hearth at Maydān
5

Food on a Stick
Kebabs
Compass Rose was founded on the culinary theme of street food, which
is often presented on a stick. Countless times over the years, David and I
have gotten lost in big cities and small towns alike, and no matter where
we are, we almost always find delicious and cheap food threaded onto a
stick . . . kebab shops in Lebanon, mishkak in Oman, or almost anywhere
in Turkey, where the entire restaurant culture is based on kebabs. I’ve
even developed a hypothesis about kebabs in the places I’ve been in this
part of the world. I am convinced that they are the gateway to each
country’s flavor palate, and that if you stop at a kebab stand on the side
of the road just inside the border of any country in this area, the spices
used to season what you’re eating will be what you taste throughout your
visit there. Though I haven’t been able to test this hypothesis in a
scientifically rigorous way, I continue to collect data by eating as many
kebabs as I can wherever I go, including right here in the U.S. It’s
fascinating how even in countries where there is a big wealth disparity,
the people on the streets eating kebabs come from every part of society,
no matter their means. Kebabs are a kind of equalizer both within and
between these different countries and cultures. And in my experience,
they’re also a really approachable way to introduce people to new spices
and flavors. One important thing that not everyone knows, though, is that
flatbread is the ideal tool for pulling the components off the skewers and
daubing them in sauces to make each of your individual bites, or bakoun,
as my mom would say (see this page).
IN THIS CHAPTER
Lahme Mishwe (“Grilled Meat” Lamb Kebabs)
Aleppo Lamb Kebabs (Grilled Minced Lamb Kebabs)
Beef Koobideh (Persian Minced Beef Kebabs)
Omani Beef Tenderloin Kebabs
Kebab bel Karaz (Cherry Kebabs)
Armenian Pork Skewers
 Tunisian Chicken Skewers
Omani Shrimp Kebabs
Persian Swordfish Kebabs
Shish Taouk (Chicken Kebabs)
And to drink, Dead Sea (Sweet-and-Sour Margarita)

Shawarma maker, Oman

Mishkak stand, Muscat, Oman
Cooking with grandmas, Oman
Lahme Mishwe and Aleppo Lamb Kebabs (this page)
Lahme Mishwe
“Grilled Meat” Lamb Kebabs
Serves 6 to 8
Summertime during my childhood included many evenings eating lamb kebabs that had
been grilled in our backyard. Always joined on the skewers by wedges of onion and
occasionally by red and green bell pepper as well, the chunks of lamb were seasoned only
with salt and pepper. I still adore simply seasoned lamb, but when we put lamb kebabs on
the menu at Maydān, naturally the chefs wanted to add a little something more. Chefs do
love marinades, and here are two favorites from the kitchen, a tangy saffron-and-yogurt
affair and a deep, cumin-y one that Chef Darnell Thomas brought back with him from
Lebanon. He learned it with whiskey, from my chef friend Bethany (see this page) but since
so many of our guests follow a halal diet, which does not include alcohol, we were happy to
learn that it is just as good without the booze.
2 pounds (910 g) lean lamb, cut into 1½- to 2-inch (4 to 5 cm) cubes (see Note)
Yogurt Saffron Marinade or Whiskey (or Not) Marinade (recipes follow; optional)
Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper
3 sweet onions, cut into thick wedges
1 pint (340 g) cherry tomatoes (optional)
3 bell peppers, one each red, yellow, and green, or any color, cored and cut into 1½-inch (4
cm) pieces (optional)
8 ounces (225 g) cremini mushrooms, stems removed, caps halved if large (optional)
Vegetable oil, for the grill
For serving:
Flaky sea salt (such as Maldon)
Ezme (this page)
Toum (this page)
Flatbread
Equipment: 4 to 6 skewers; if bamboo or wood, soak them in water for 30 minutes before
using.

If using the marinade, put the lamb chunks in a nonreactive bowl or

ziptop plastic bag and pour over the marinade. If using a bowl, toss to
coat and cover the bowl with plastic wrap. If using the bag, seal it and
massage the outside of the bag to make sure the meat is well coated in
marinade. Refrigerate for at least 1 hour and up to overnight.
If not using the marinade, generously season the lamb cubes with salt
and pepper.
Prepare a hot grill.
Thread the lamb and onions on the skewers, as well as the cherry
tomatoes, bell peppers, and mushrooms, if using. Season the threaded
kebabs with salt and pepper.
Lightly grease the grill grate with oil and add the skewers. Grill, rotating
the kebabs every few minutes, until the meat and vegetables are browned
in parts, 10 to 12 minutes for medium-rare.
Transfer the cooked kebabs from the grill directly to a platter and
sprinkle with flaky salt. Serve, passing bowls of ezme and toum and the
flatbread separately.
Yogurt-Saffron Marinade
Makes about 2 cups (480 ml)
***
¼ teaspoon crushed saffron threads
1 tablespoon rose water
½ cup (120 ml) labne
½ cup (120 ml) extra-virgin olive oil, preferably Lebanese unfiltered
2 tablespoons fresh lime juice (from about 1½ limes)
1½ teaspoons honey
½ yellow onion, thinly sliced lengthwise
6 cloves garlic, crushed with a garlic press
Grated zest of 1 orange
1 teaspoon kosher salt
½ teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
¼ teaspoon ground turmeric
***
In a small dish, combine the saffron and rose water. Let stand at least 5 minutes to dissolve
the saffron.
In a medium bowl, place the labne, olive oil, lime juice, honey, onion, garlic, orange zest,
salt, pepper, and turmeric. Add the saffron and rose water, and stir to combine.
Use or store in an airtight container in the refrigerator for up to 4 days.
Whiskey (or Not) Marinade
Makes about 2 cups (480 ml)
***
½ cup (120 ml) labne
⅓ cup (75 ml) extra-virgin olive oil, preferably Lebanese unfiltered
¼ cup (60 ml) whiskey or water
1 white onion, chopped
½ bunch green onions, white and green parts, thinly sliced
4 cloves garlic, chopped
2 tablespoons fresh lemon juice (from about 1 lemon)
1 tablespoon ground cumin
½ tablespoon freshly ground black pepper
½ tablespoon sweet paprika
¾ teaspoon Aleppo pepper flakes
***
In a blender, place the labne, oil, whiskey, white onion, green onion, garlic, lemon juice,
cumin, black pepper, paprika, and Aleppo pepper flakes. Blend until the ingredients are
chopped and well combined.
Use or store in an airtight container in the refrigerator for up to 4 days.
Syrian Seven Spice
Makes about ¾ cup (70 g)
Lebanon and Syria may be very close geographic neighbors, but when it comes to
using spice, the distance between them is significantly wider. This blend of seven spices
is a great example; it is uniquely Syrian. The region in Lebanon my grandmother is
from is very close to Syria. They have and use all of the spices in this mix, but they
don’t combine them this way, which is why I had never seen these familiar spices
blended until I traveled to the region and tasted Syrian food.
***
¼ cup (30 g) freshly ground black pepper
¼ cup (30 g) smoked Spanish paprika, preferably La Chinata sweet
2 tablespoons ground coriander
1 tablespoon ground cloves
2 teaspoons ground nutmeg
2 teaspoons ground cinnamon
1 teaspoon ground cardamom
***
In a small bowl, stir together the pepper, paprika, coriander, cloves, nutmeg, cinnamon, and
cardamom. Store in an airtight container in a cool, dark place for up to 6 months.
Aleppo Lamb Kebabs
Grilled Minced Lamb Kebabs
Serves 6 to 8
In Syria, these kebabs (see the photo on this page) are extra delicious because they often
contain fat from the tail of Awassi sheep, which are bred in part for their wonderful
backsides. Here in the States, I go to a Lebanese butcher and ask them to grind some lamb
shoulder or another cut that is nicely marbled with fat. Mixing the ground meat in a stand
mixer for several minutes gives the meat a pleasing springiness when it’s grilled. Be sure the
meat is very cold when it goes into the mixer.
6 tablespoons minced garlic
3 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil, preferably Lebanese unfiltered, plus more for the grill
2½ teaspoons Syrian Seven Spice (recipe on previous page)
2 pounds (910 g) very cold ground lamb
2¾ teaspoons kosher salt
½ teaspoon baking soda (see Note)
Vegetable oil, for the grill
Flaky sea salt (such as Maldon), for serving
Sumac Onion and Herb Salad (this page), for serving
Equipment: 6 to 8 skewers; if bamboo or wood, soak them in water for 30 minutes before
using.

In a blender combine the garlic, oil, and Syrian Seven Spice and blend
until smooth.
Put the lamb in the bowl of an electric stand mixer fitted with the paddle
attachment. Add the garlic mixture, salt, and baking soda to the bowl.
Mix on medium-low for 2 for 3 minutes, scraping down the sides of the
bowl, until the mixture is thoroughly blended and tacky to the touch.
Wet your hands with cold water and divide the meat into 6 to 8 equal
portions and mold each around a skewer like a corndog. Transfer the
skewers to a baking sheet or platter. Cover and refrigerate until ready to
grill (up to 4 hours).
Prepare a hot grill.
Lightly grease the grill grate with vegetable oil and add the skewers.
Grill, rotating the kebabs every few minutes, until evenly browned and
slightly charred in parts, 5 to 10 minutes.
Sprinkle with flaky salt and serve with the Sumac Onion and Herb Salad.
Note: Adding baking soda to the ground meat for kebabs helps to bind
together the ground meat and keep the mixture light.
Beef Koobideh
Persian Minced Beef Kebabs
Serves 6 to 8
People who like saffron love these kebabs, and with good reason, as the saffron really shines
through beautifully. As with the Aleppo Lamb Kebabs (this page), be sure the ground beef
is very cold before it goes into the mixer.
¼ teaspoon crushed saffron threads
1 tablespoon boiling water
1½ yellow onions, cut into wedges
3 cloves garlic, chopped
2 pounds (910 g) very cold 80/20 ground beef
2¾ teaspoons kosher salt
2¼ teaspoons freshly ground black pepper
¼ teaspoon baking soda
Vegetable oil, for the grill
Flaky sea salt (such as Maldon), for serving
Sumac Onion and Herb Salad (this page), for serving
Equipment: 8 to 10 skewers; if bamboo or wood, soak them in water for 30 minutes before
using.

In a small dish, combine the saffron and boiling water. Set aside.
Process the onion and garlic in a food processor until very finely
chopped. Transfer to a sieve and drain for 20 minutes. Press out any
excess liquid.
Put the ground beef in the bowl of an electric stand mixer fitted with the
paddle attachment. Add the onion and garlic. Mix on low for 1 minute to
mix thoroughly. Add the reserved saffron-infused water, salt, pepper, and
baking soda. Mix on low until well combined, about 2 minutes.
Scrape down the sides of the mixer. Increase mixer speed to medium-low
and mix for 9 minutes, until the mixture is thoroughly mixed and tacky
to the touch.
Wet your hands with cold water, divide the meat into 8 to 10 equal
portions, and mold each around a skewer like a corndog. Transfer the
skewers to a baking sheet or platter. Cover and refrigerate until ready to
grill (up to 4 hours).
Prepare a hot grill.
Lightly grease the grill grate with oil and add the skewers. Grill, rotating
the kebabs every few minutes, until evenly browned and slightly charred
in parts, 5 to 10 minutes.
Sprinkle with flaky salt and serve with the Sumac Onion and Herb Salad.
Omani Beef Tenderloin Kebabs
Serves 4 to 6
When we returned from Oman with a package of a delightful spice mix we’d had there, we
asked a local spice merchant to help us recreate the blend. He did so beautifully, using
whole spices so we could grind it as needed at Maydān. Here, I’ve brought the quantities
down and converted a few of them to the ground versions that are more likely to be in your
spice cabinet. This is a long list of individual spices, but combining them creates a warm
and tangy blend to rub on any kind of meat before grilling.
For the Omani spice mix:
3½ teaspoons cumin seed, ground
3½ teaspoons fennel seed, ground
1 tablespoon ground ginger
1 tablespoon Aleppo pepper flakes
2¾ teaspoons ground cinnamon
2½ teaspoons ground nutmeg (see Note)
2½ teaspoons coriander seed, ground
2½ teaspoons pink peppercorns, ground
2¼ teaspoons ground turmeric
2 teaspoons black peppercorns, ground
2 teaspoons ground cardamom
2 teaspoons ground dried black lime (see this page)
1½ teaspoons whole cloves, ground
5 whole star anise, ground
For the Omani marinade:
¼ cup (24 g) Omani spice mix from above
6 tablespoons grapeseed oil
2 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil, preferably Lebanese unfiltered
4 cloves garlic, crushed with a garlic press
2½ pounds (1.2 kg) beef tenderloin, cut into 2-inch (5 cm) pieces
2 tablespoons Omani spice mix from above
Kosher salt
Extra-virgin olive oil, preferably Lebanese unfiltered, plus more for the grill
Flaky sea salt (such as Maldon), for serving
Equipment: 4 to 6 skewers; if bamboo or wood, soak them in water for 30 minutes before
using

To make the spice mix, in a small bowl, combine the ground spices:
cumin, fennel, ginger, Aleppo pepper, cinnamon, nutmeg, coriander, pink
peppercorn, turmeric, black peppercorn, cardamom, dried black lime,
cloves, and star anise. Stir together until very well blended. This makes a
scant 1 cup (90 g). Store in a dark place in an airtight container up to 6
months.
To make the marinade, in a small bowl, combine the Omani spice mix
with the grapeseed oil, olive oil, and garlic. Stir until well blended. Put
the beef pieces in a bowl or zip-top plastic bag and pour the marinade
over them. Stir or rub the bag to coat all of the pieces in marinade.
Refrigerate 1 hour or up to 24 hours.
When ready to cook, remove the meat from the refrigerator and thread
on skewers. Pat the meat dry and sprinkle with 2 tablespoons Omani
spice mix and generously season with salt.
Prepare a hot grill.
Lightly grease the grill grate with oil and add the skewers. Grill, rotating
the kebabs every few minutes, until the meat is browned in parts, 8 to 10
minutes for medium-rare.
Transfer the cooked kebabs to a platter, sprinkle with flaky salt, and
serve.
Note: If your nutmeg is whole, cut a kernel in pieces and grind it in a
spice grinder. Do not grate the nutmeg because grated nutmeg is much
lighter than ground, so you’d need much more of it than what’s called for
here.
Spiced Beef Tenderloin Kebabs: For a quicker and also very tasty
version of these kebabs, replace the marinade with double the spice
blend from Ribeye with Georgian Dry Rub (this page) or ¼ cup (24 g)
ras el hanout. Rub the beef all over with the spices and put the pieces in a
covered bowl or zip-top bag. Refrigerate 1 hour or up to 24 hours. When
ready to cook, thread on skewers as instructed and generously season
with salt. Continue as directed above.
Kebab bel Karaz
Cherry Kebabs
Serves 6
Many people use the word kebab to mean food that is cooked on a skewer, but in this region
the term is used for any grilled meat, whether it’s whole or ground and formed into a patty
or sausage. The inimitable Lina Sergie Attar, founder and CEO of the Karam Foundation
(this page), shared her family’s cherry kebab recipe so I could include it in this collection. It
comes from her mom, Safa, who learned it from her own mother, and this is especially lucky
for us because Lina has told me that families often prefer to keep the spices they use in their
cherry kebabs a closely guarded secret. This specialty of Aleppo relies on dark sour cherries
that grow in northern Syria for their unique sweet-and-sour flavor. Here in the U.S., the
sour, or tart, cherry season is a fairly short period in June and July. Thankfully they freeze
very well, so I recommend buying in season and freezing them to make this dish any time of
year. Don’t use regular sweet cherries for this dish, for they are far too sweet and the sauce
will be cloying. The sauce should be tangy and tart; if the sour cherries are on the sweeter
side, add a bit of lemon juice to balance it out.
For the meatballs:
2 pounds (910 g) 80/20 ground lamb or beef
2 tablespoons pine nuts, toasted (this page) and finely chopped
1 teaspoon Syrian Seven Spice (this page)
2 teaspoons kosher salt
½ teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
For the cherry sauce:
3 pounds (1.4 kg) fresh or frozen sour cherries, thawed if necessary and pitted; or 2 pounds
(910 g) sour cherries and 1 jar (16 ounces / 454 g) sour cherry jam
½ cup (100 g) sugar (unless using the sour cherry jam), plus more to taste
Fresh lemon juice, plus more to taste (optional)
2 tablespoons unsalted butter
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon, plus more for serving
1 teaspoon kosher salt
For serving:
2 to 3 pitas, cut into triangles
2 tablespoons pine nuts, toasted (see this page)
½ cup (25 g) chopped fresh flat-leaf parsley

Preheat the oven to 350°F (175°C).

Put the lamb in the bowl of an electric stand mixer fitted with the paddle
attachment. Add the pine nuts, Syrian Seven Spice, salt, and pepper to
the bowl. Mix on medium-low for 2 to 3 minutes, until the mixture is
thoroughly blended and tacky to the touch.
Scoop up small amounts of the lamb mixture and roll into 1-inch (2.5
cm) balls; wet your hands with water if the mixture is sticking to them.
Arrange them without crowding on a rimmed baking sheet.
Bake the meatballs until cooked through, about 10 minutes. Set aside.
Meanwhile, process 2 pounds (910 g) cherries in a food processor until
finely chopped. Transfer them to a large Dutch oven or other heavy pot.
Add the remaining 1 pound (455 g) whole cherries or the jar of jam, if
using, and ½ cup (100 g) sugar, if using. Bring to a gentle simmer over
medium-high heat, reduce the heat to medium, and simmer until the
syrup is thickened and silky, 45 to 50 minutes. Taste and add lemon juice
or more sugar to adjust the tang-to-sweet ratio.
Add the butter, cinnamon, and salt along with the cooked meatballs.
Simmer until the meat is well coated in the sauce and the flavors are
melded, 10 to 15 minutes.
To serve, place the pita triangles on a large platter. Arrange the meatballs
on top and drizzle with any cherry sauce still in the pot. Garnish with the
pine nuts, parsley, and a pinch of cinnamon.
Armenian Pork Skewers
Serves 4 to 6
To drive from Tbilisi, Georgia, to Yerevan, Armenia, you must take the twistiest, turniest,
most terribly scary mountain road I’ve ever been on. I can’t believe anyone is allowed to
drive it. There is one truly redeeming feature on this death trap, though: the man at the
kebab stand located on the side of the road midway between the two cities. He cooks pork
kebabs, which are simply seasoned and lip-smackingly good. I’ve had them both on and off
that road, and I can attest that it’s not purely the joy of being alive that makes them so
unforgettable. To recreate them, I turned to my dear friend from graduate school Bella,
who grew up in Armenia. Use well marbled pork; lean pork isn’t nearly as good here.
2½ pounds (1.2 kg) pork butt or shoulder (the fattier the better), cut into 1½- to 2-inch (4 to
5 cm) pieces
1 white onion, thinly sliced, plus 1 white onion, thinly sliced just before serving
1 tablespoon kosher salt
1 tablespoon sweet paprika
1 tablespoon dried summer savory
Vegetable oil, for the grill
Thin lavash, for serving
Leaves from 1 bunch fresh flat-leaf parsley, chopped, for serving
Flaky sea salt (such as Maldon), for serving
Equipment: 4 to 6 skewers; if bamboo or wood, soak them in water for 30 minutes before
using

Place the pork in a bowl with half of the thinly sliced onions. Season
with the salt, paprika, and summer savory. Use your hands to mix the
ingredients together until the pork is thoroughly coated in seasoning and
the onion is evenly dispersed. Cover and refrigerate 2 to 3 hours.
When ready to cook, thread the pork on skewers.
Prepare a hot two-zone fire in a charcoal grill with a lid: Light a hot fire.
When the coals are covered with gray ash, rake them to one side of the
grill, creating a cooler zone on the other side to use for indirect cooking.
Lightly grease the top grate with oil and put it in place.
Place the skewers over direct heat and grill the pork, turning often, to
lightly brown on all sides, 1 to 2 minutes per side.
Transfer the skewers to the ambient heat side (away from the direct
heat). Cover the grill, arranging the lid so that the vent is directly over
the skewers; open the vent. Cook until tender, 10 to 15 minutes.
Spread the lavash on a platter or in a serving bowl and put the cooked
pork on top. Scatter with the freshly cut onion and parsley, sprinkle with
flaky salt, and serve.
Tunisian Chicken Skewers on a bed of Harissa Couscous (this page)
Tunisian Chicken Skewers
Serves 4
These have been on the Compass Rose menu almost without a break since the very first day
we opened in 2014. The few times we’ve pulled them, our guests definitely noticed, and none
more than my husband. It’s one of his favorite dishes and not only because the tender,
spiced chicken is delicious; David is the reason these particular skewers are on the menu in
the first place. During the Arab Spring he and his NPR producer waited in Tunisia for
several weeks for the Libyan government to let them enter the country to cover the
uprisings there. By the time they were finally granted visas, David had fallen hard for these
chicken skewers, an affection that only deepened during their dreary and often nerve-
wracking stay in Tripoli, where he ate so badly that he lost almost twenty pounds.
After making the marinade mixture, be sure to hold some of it back as directed to use as a
dipping sauce for the grilled skewers.
2 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil, preferably Lebanese unfiltered
½ small onion, thinly sliced
1 red bell pepper, seeded and chopped
½ cup (120 ml) drained mild Peppadew peppers, plus ¼ cup (60 ml) brine from the jar
½ cup (75 g) raisins
¼ cup (60 ml) pomegranate molasses
¼ cup (40 g) roasted unsalted peanuts
¼ teaspoon cayenne pepper
Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper
1½ pounds (680 g) skinless, boneless chicken thighs, cut into 1½-inch (4 cm) pieces
Harissa Couscous, for serving (optional, this page)
Equipment: 4 to 6 skewers; if bamboo or wood, soak them in water for 30 minutes before
using.

In a medium nonstick skillet, heat the olive oil over medium-low heat.
Add the onion and cook, stirring occasionally, until lightly caramelized,
about 20 minutes.
Transfer the onion and oil to a blender. Add the bell pepper, Peppadew
peppers and brine, raisins, pomegranate molasses, peanuts, and cayenne
to the blender. Purée until smooth. Add 1 teaspoon salt and ½ teaspoon
black pepper and pulse once or twice to combine. Set aside about 1 cup
(240 ml) for serving with the chicken.
Place the chicken in a medium bowl. Pour over the remaining marinade
and rub the marinade into the pieces of chicken. Cover and refrigerate
for at least 30 minutes and up to 3 hours.
Light a medium-high grill. Thread the chicken onto the skewers (discard
the marinade) and season with salt and pepper.
Grill the skewers, turning often, until lightly charred and cooked
through, 10 to 12 minutes.
Pour the reserved dipping sauce into four small dishes. Serve the
skewers with the dipping sauce and Harissa Couscous, if using.
Omani Shrimp Kebabs
Serves 6 to 8
We visited Oman during one summer, and it was so hot that practically nothing happened
during the day. When the sun finally went down, we were delighted to find that many little
mishkak stands that sell kebabs were open then. In Muscat, Oman, we were told that the
best food was in fact in an area by the airport known for its street stalls. There we saw
vendor after vendor with the same thing: kofta (ground meat) and regular kebabs. What
stuck out above all the other tastes were the shrimp kebabs we got at one stand—they had a
kind of fire to them.
We were determined to get the recipe from the very confused proprietor, who gamely
entertained our many questions while we scribbled down notes in the dark, but mostly he
couldn’t fathom why we cared so much. Between our notes and what we managed to
communicate between us using only the common language of food, we figured out that their
marinade included tamarind, lime, and local chiles. A bit of trial and error upon our return
to DC led to this recipe for the best grilled shrimp I’ve ever had. I love using dried black
limes, which add a zesty sourness to dishes and drinks. These limes are dried whole, and
many of them turn black during the process, though don’t be alarmed if you see much paler
ones. They can be found whole and ground in Lebanese, Persian, and Indian grocery stores
and online. Before grinding whole limes yourself, break them up first by crushing them
under a heavy pot.
1 quart (960 ml) grapeseed or canola oil
6 whole dried arbol or guajillo chiles, stems removed
7 dried black limes
10 cloves garlic, chopped
3 tablespoons tamarind paste or concentrate
3 pounds (1.4 kg) peeled, tail-on (16/20) shrimp
Flaky sea salt (such as Maldon), for serving
Lime wedges, for serving

Equipment: 10 to 12 skewers; if bamboo or wood, soak them in

water for 30 minutes before using.
In a blender combine the oil, chiles, dried black limes, and garlic. Blend
until the ingredients are very well broken down, so that there are no big
chunks of lime or garlic. Add the tamarind paste and pulse until well
combined. Set aside ½ cup (120 ml) of the marinade.
Place the shrimp in a large bowl and pour the remaining marinade over
them. Stir gently so that all of the shrimp are coated in marinade. Cover
and marinate in the refrigerator for at least 30 minutes and no more than
3 hours.
Prepare a medium-high grill.
Thread the shrimp on the skewers, being careful not to push them too
close together. Grill for 1 to 2 minutes per side, until the shrimp are
opaque and pink. Remove them from the grill and brush them with the
remaining marinade.
Sprinkle with flaky salt and serve with lime wedges.
Persian Swordfish Kebabs
Serves 6
As a native-born Midwesterner I really empathize with people who don’t enthusiastically
enjoy eating all kinds of fish. I’m sure it’s different today, but when I was a kid in the
eighties fresh fish just wasn’t a thing we had. These citrusy fish kebabs are a delicious way
to enjoy fish off the grill and help the fish-averse to love it; at the restaurant we also do
these kebabs with salmon or monkfish, depending on what’s available.
For the marinade:
1 cup (240 ml) grapeseed or other neutral vegetable oil, plus more as needed
½ cup (120 ml) extra-virgin olive oil, preferably Lebanese unfiltered
¼ cup (60 ml) fresh orange juice (from about 1 orange)
2 cups (80 g) chopped fresh cilantro
1 onion, peeled and quartered
4 cloves garlic, peeled
2 serrano peppers, chopped
2 tablespoons coriander seed, ground
2 tablespoons ground dried black lime (see this page)
2¼ teaspoons ground turmeric
½ teaspoon black peppercorns, ground
2 pounds (910 g) swordfish, cut into 2-inch (5 cm) pieces
For the finishing glaze:
½ cup (120 ml) fresh orange juice (from about 2 oranges)
½ cup (20 g) chopped fresh cilantro
½ cup (1 stick / 115 g) unsalted butter, cut in pieces
Vegetable oil, for the grill
Flaky sea salt (such as Maldon), for serving
Equipment: 4 to 6 skewers; if bamboo or wood, soak them in water for 30 minutes before
using.

To make the marinade, in a food processor, place the oils, orange juice,
cilantro, onion, garlic, serranos, ground coriander, ground lime, turmeric,
and pepper. Process until a grainy paste is achieved, adding more oil as
needed to thin the mixture and keep it moving.
Put the swordfish in a bowl and add the paste. Use your hands to rub the
paste all over the pieces of swordfish. Cover the bowl and refrigerate for
at least 30 minutes and up to 2 hours.
Meanwhile, to make the finishing glaze, combine the orange juice and
cilantro in a small saucepan. Bring to a simmer over medium heat and
cook until the orange juice is reduced by half. Stir in the butter until
melted. Set aside.
Prepare a medium-hot grill. Thread the swordfish on the skewers.
Lightly grease the grill grate with oil and add the skewers. Grill, rotating
the kebabs every few minutes, until the fish is browned in parts, 8 to 10
minutes.
Transfer the cooked kebabs from the grill directly to a platter. Brush with
the finishing glaze and sprinkle flaky salt on the kebabs. Serve.
Shish Taouk
Chicken Kebabs
Serves 4
With some time to kill before our flight at the very end of one of our trips to Beirut we
ended up at a hotel bar, crowded around a platter piled with chicken kebabs and flatbread
and toum and potatoes and pickles. It was perched atop a tiny, wobbly table many times
smaller than it should have been, and yet, as precarious as the whole setup was, it was very
easy to enjoy every delicious bite. The warm feelings that flooded through us as we ate
every last morsel on that platter inspired us to make sure we always have shish taouk on the
menu at Maydān. I like to think that a fellow traveler who needs to fill a few hours before
their flight out of DC might have a similar experience with us one evening. I always make
this with boneless chicken thighs, which are in my opinion far tastier (and cheaper!) than
boneless chicken breasts, but there is absolutely no reason beyond that for me to insist that
you do as I do. Use whatever you have or enjoy the most.
For the marinade:
¾ cup (180 ml) Toum (this page)
2 teaspoons fresh lemon juice
1 teaspoon pomegranate molasses
1½ tablespoons cumin seed, toasted (see this page) and ground
2 teaspoons whole fenugreek seed, toasted (see this page) and ground
2 pounds (910 g) skinless boneless chicken thighs or breasts, cut into 1½- to 2-inch (4 to 5
cm) pieces
Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper
For serving:
Sumac Onion and Herb Salad (this page)
Toum (this page)
Batata Harra (this page)
Mouneh (this page) or store-bought pickles
Salatet Malfouf (this page)
Equipment: 4 to 6 skewers; if bamboo or wood, soak them in water for 30 minutes before
using

To make the marinade, in a medium bowl combine the toum, lemon

juice, pomegranate molasses, cumin, and fenugreek and stir until well
blended.
Add the chicken and stir to coat the pieces very well. Marinate in the
refrigerator at least 4 hours and up to overnight.
Light a medium-high grill. Thread the chicken onto the skewers (discard
the marinade) and season with salt and pepper. Grill the skewers, turning
often, until lightly charred and cooked through, 10 to 12 minutes.
Serve the shish taouk with Sumac Onion and Herb Salad on top or
alongside and pass the toum, batata harra, mouneh, and salatet malfouf
separately.
Dead Sea
Sweet-and-Sour Margarita
Makes 14 (5-ounce / 150-ml) cocktails
The beautiful color of this cocktail brings to mind the gorgeous body of water (not actually
a sea, but rather a salt-rich lake) for which it is named. And naturally our Dead Sea isn’t
merely a pretty sip; its fruity, spicy flavor profile is bold enough that it can stand on its own
and food-friendly enough that it’s a great partner to almost any dish, and especially with
the kebabs in this chapter. We make a big yield here because the whole batch can be mixed
and poured out of a pitcher if you’re serving a crowd. Or the batch can be kept in the
refrigerator for up to one glorious and very tasty month. If you’d prefer to have less on
hand, simply cut the recipe in half (or more).
Urfa biber, which makes up part of the salt rim, is a dried chile pepper from Turkey named
for the town it comes from. It has a raisiny flavor and color, with deep, not sharp, heat
that’s a very pleasant component in a cocktail.
For the passion fruit base:
1 pound (455 g) passion fruit purée
6 ounces (180 ml) Simple Syrup (this page)
2 serrano peppers, chopped
For the drink:
1 (750 ml) bottle joven mezcal
1 (375 ml) bottle blue curaçao
5 ounces (150 ml) Ancho Reyes Verde Liqueur
6 ounces (180 ml) fresh lime juice (from 10 to 12 limes)
For rimming the glasses:
2 tablespoons Aleppo pepper flakes
2 tablespoons urfa biber flakes
2 tablespoons kosher salt
1 lime, cut in half
For serving:
Ice
Dehydrated or fresh orange slices, for garnish
Equipment: Rocks glasses, for serving

To make the passion fruit base, in a medium saucepan, combine the

passion fruit purée, simple syrup, and chopped serrano peppers. Heat
over medium heat until the mixture reaches a light simmer, then remove
from heat. Cover and let stand for 30 minutes. Strain through a fine-mesh
sieve and store in a tightly covered container in the refrigerator for up to
1 week.
To make the drink, in a large bowl combine the passion fruit base with
the mezcal, curaçao, Ancho Reyes, lime juice, and 1½ cups (360 ml)
water and whisk until thoroughly blended. Transfer to bottles or other
containers and store in the refrigerator for up to 1 month.
To make the rim salt, in a small bowl combine the Aleppo pepper flakes,
urfa biber, and kosher salt. Use a fork to stir thoroughly. Set aside until
ready to serve.
To serve, pour the rim salt onto a small plate. Rub the cut side of a lime
around the outside of a glass, then lightly turn the rim in the rim salt. Fill
the glass with ice. Pour the drink over and garnish with a dehydrated or
fresh orange slice.

Drew at the bar

A cafe in the harbor, Muscat, Oman
6

You Don’t Eat Meat?!

It’s Okay, I Make Lamb (Meat, Poultry, Fish, and Shellfish)
Before I write a single word to introduce the recipes on the following
pages I must give credit where it is due. The title of this chapter comes
directly from the scene in the heart-warming movie My Big Fat Greek
Wedding, when the bride-to-be introduces her vegetarian fiancé to her
mother. The mother reacts to this news with disbelief and horror before
quickly regaining her composure and reassuring her future son-in-law
that it’s perfectly okay if he doesn’t eat meat, because she makes lamb.
When we first heard these lines, my entire family burst out in the kind of
laughter that erupts when the circumstances being portrayed are deeply
familiar to you. We all swore that the scriptwriter must have been a fly
on the wall in my mom’s kitchen any time one of us told her that one of
our guests for dinner didn’t eat meat. There is simply always, always
lamb on the table.
I think her insistence on serving lamb was more than just stubbornness.
Mom and Dad were practically the queen and king of lamb in our area.
That’s not hyperbole and not only because there really was a Sheep
Queen (as well as a Beef Queen, Pig Queen, and so on) named at the
Hardin County Fair every year. Years before anyone had ever heard of
“getting to know your local farmer” at the market, for instance, Mom had
basically cold-called a number of the farmers in the area demanding to
know why every time she was on the highways of rural Ohio she passed
dozens of sheep grazing on farmland and yet she couldn’t find an ounce
of decent lamb to cook at the grocery store. All that regular consumers
could get their hands on in those days was gamy mutton, which is
nothing at all like the sweet lamb that Mom had grown up eating, thanks
to the Lebanese butchers in Detroit. Soon enough she’d arranged to buy
lambs directly from those farms and have them slaughtered and
butchered just for us. And to increase demand for more of this succulent
lamb, she would go to the annual fair every year and teach people how to
cook it; this was actually a two birds, one stone situation for Mom, since
she showcased this lovely, tender lamb in an array of Lebanese dishes
that no rural Ohioan had probably ever tasted before they crossed Mom’s
path.
Not to be outdone, Dad, meanwhile, was for many years the president of
the Lamb Improvement Association in Hardin County, an organization
dedicated to teaching people how to breed and cook lamb. Once the guys
at the association figured out how good Mom was at cooking the meat,
they brought her in to do demos for them, too.
So the lamb love runs deep in my family, and I’m not immune. For years
no matter where I lived, one of my main objectives, always, was to
figure out where I could get the best lamb in the area. In Moscow, my
main sources of good lamb were what the expats called the Central Asian
markets, or rynoks in Russian—so-called because the farmers at the
markets sell vegetables from their respective central Asian countries—
and a very close friend who was a diplomat at the Australian embassy
and thus had access to shipments of great lamb. Until quite recently, it
was pretty rough for consumers in the U.S. to get decent lamb unless
they lived near a Costco (which consistently had superior lamb for years
before other groceries caught on; so kudos to you, lamb buyers of
Costco). In recent years, I’ve become determined to encourage the
breeding of the phenomenal Awassi sheep (this page) in the U.S. As of
this writing, there are exactly two farms in the States breeding them, one
each in North Carolina and California. It’s probably not too surprising to
learn that starting my own Awassi sheep farm is in fact on my bucket list.
All of that is to say that, whew, lamb isn’t just a food to us; it’s a true
passion. But that is not to take anything away from the other satisfying
proteins in this chapter! There is of course beef, and chicken, and duck,
and even some fish and seafood. Growing up in the Midwest, we didn’t
eat any fresh fish at all, so it took me a little while to find seafood dishes
that I liked, let alone loved enough to include here. But I did find them!
And I hope very much that you will find the recipes as delicious as I do.
Mom’s cooking featured in the local Ada Herald, 1985
 Showcasing Dad’s sausage-making hobby in the Ada Herald, 1998

Dad and I in the Ada Herald, 1988

IN THIS CHAPTER
Kibbeh Nayeh (Ground Raw Lamb with Bulgur)
Kibbeh Sanieh (Baked Ground Lamb with Bulgur)
Maydān’s Lamb Shoulder with Syrian Seven Spice
Lamb Chakapuli (Georgian Braised Lamb Stew with Tarragon)
Khinkali (Georgian Meat-Filled Dumplings)
Ribeye with Georgian Dry Rub
Ras el Hanout–Rubbed Duck Breast
Roasted Turmeric Chicken
Chicken Satsivi (Chicken in Walnut Sauce)
Sayadieh (Grilled “Fisherman’s Catch” with Chermoula and Tahina)
Roasted Whole Fish with Spicy Cabbage
 Balik Ekmek (Mackerel Sandwiches)
Octopus, Two Ways
And to drink, Compass Rose Cocktail (Sparkling Wine and Pomegranate)

Christina and I lunching in Lebanon

Fish market, Muscat, Oman
Kibbeh Nayeh in the world
Kibbeh Nayeh
Ground Raw Lamb with Bulgur
Makes 8 to 12 servings

Preparing rose petals to make kibbeh

My mom learned how to make kibbeh nayeh from her own mother, who came from the west
Beqaa region in Lebanon. Mom typically uses little to no spice, so that the full flavor of the
lamb comes through. If you’re a fan of dishes like carpaccio, sashimi, and tartare, this will
blow your mind. To the uninitiated it might seem like this is a pretty straightforward dish to
make. But that is definitely not the case. Even in my mom’s own family, among her sisters
and cousins, battle lines are drawn in an instant if someone chooses the wrong side in
debates about the bulgur-to-meat ratio, amount and proportion of individual spices, or
whether rose petals are in or out. One constant, no matter which side you’re on, is that
everyone is careful not to let the meat get too warm. Some joke that the Christian Lebanese
serve their kibbeh nayeh with the sign of the cross pressed into the surface to give thanks
for the food, and also as a little prayer that it doesn’t kill anyone. If you order your lamb
from a Lebanese butcher counter, it’s fine to have them grind it. If not, it’s better to get a
bone-in leg and grind it yourself; Mom would definitely approve.
In 2019, I traveled to northern Lebanon with two of my aunts to visit my maternal
grandfather’s village. There we were delighted to meet some distant cousins. The very first
dish we had with them was kibbeh nayeh. It felt so appropriate to all of us, as we, too, back
in Ohio and Michigan, have always served it for special occasions. One big surprise,
however, was that my cousins served the kibbeh with harissa (this page), though they had
not heard the word and did not know that it’s a staple in Tunisia and Morocco. The meal
and that moment has stayed with me as an example of the many threads that tie the people
and customs of these vast lands together, even as the countries in the region are often at
odds, and even war. Lebanon has always been a safe place for refugees; the country has
taken in so many evacuees from conflict, and the food shows it. Somebody from North
Africa likely came to this tiny village at some point and taught someone how to make
harissa, and now everyone here serves it with their kibbeh nayeh!
During our visit, I bought some kamouneh, which is the spice mix they grind and use for
their kibbeh. While eating their kibbeh with harissa is to be unique to them, this spice mix
is more universal, and seems similar to the spices we had in the kibbeh throughout the
country. When I returned home, I asked a friend to translate the label on the package and
poured the mixture onto a baking sheet to individually identify each spice and herb. Then
we reverse engineered the mixture, which complements the lamb (or goat) beautifully for
those who appreciate spice more than Mom does.
For the kibbeh seasoning (optional):
1 tablespoon ground allspice
1 tablespoon ground cinnamon
1 tablespoon ground cumin
1 tablespoon ground dried rose petals
1 tablespoon dried mint leaves
1 tablespoon dried marjoram
1 cup (140 g) fine bulgur wheat
1 medium onion
2 pounds (910 g) boneless leg of lamb, finely ground
1¾ tablespoons kosher salt, plus more as needed
Freshly ground black pepper
For serving:
Extra-virgin olive oil, preferably Lebanese unfiltered
Harissa (this page ; optional)
White onion, sliced
Fresh herbs, such as mint (optional)
Pita

To make the optional kibbeh seasoning, in a small bowl mix together the
allspice, cinnamon, cumin, rose petals, mint, and marjoram. Set aside
until needed or store in a tightly covered container in a cool, dark place
up to 6 months.
Place the bulgur wheat in a medium bowl and add cold water to cover by
about 2 inches (5 cm). Let stand for 30 minutes. Drain through a fine-
mesh strainer, and then squeeze it to release as much of the water as
possible.
Meanwhile, grate the onion on the fine teeth of a box grater.
In a large bowl, mix the onion and up to 2 tablespoons kibbeh seasoning,
if using, with the ground lamb. Add the drained bulgur, the salt, and
pepper to taste. Knead until well combined and softened, dipping your
hands in ice water to cool them down if they get too warm; this may take
several minutes.
Pat the mixture into an oblong or round shape, depending on the shape of
your serving plate. Transfer to the plate and decorate the surface with the
tines of a fork or the bowl of a spoon if desired.
If not eating at once, place in the refrigerator until serving (and once
served, put the kibbeh nayeh back in the fridge after it’s been out for an
hour or two).
Serve with olive oil, harissa, if using, sliced onion, fresh herbs, if using,
and pita.
Kibbeh Sanieh
Baked Ground Lamb with Bulgur
Serves 12 to 16
In my family we refer to a mixture of butter, lamb, onion, and pine nuts as hashwee, and it
is at the base of many of our favorite dishes, like Sitti’s Syrian Rice (this page), and this one,
which Mom called “Mediterranean Meatloaf” on her restaurant menu. Whenever she made
this dish, she’d make a little extra hashwee and serve it the next morning with scrambled
eggs. This is a practice I heartily endorse, though I’m personally partial to serving warmed
hashwee on top of hummus (this page) and calling it a meal. Definitely adjust the cinnamon
and other warm spices here to your taste; in Lebanon they tend to use more cinnamon in
savory dishes than we do in the U.S.
For the kibbeh:
3 cups (420 g) fine bulgur wheat
2 medium onions
2 pounds (910 g) ground lean lamb, beef, or a combination
1 teaspoon kosher salt
½ teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
¼ teaspoon ground allspice
¼ teaspoon ground cinnamon, nutmeg, cloves, or cumin
For the filling:
2 tablespoons unsalted butter
½ cup (65 g) pine nuts
1 pound (454 g) ground lamb or beef
4 medium onions, finely chopped
1 teaspoon kosher salt
½ teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
⅛ teaspoon ground cinnamon or allspice (optional)
¾ cup (180 ml) extra-virgin olive oil, preferably Lebanese unfiltered, or melted clarified
butter, plus more for greasing the pan

To make the kibbeh, place the bulgur wheat in a medium bowl and add
cold water to cover by about 2 inches (5 cm). Let stand for 30 minutes.
Drain through a fine-mesh strainer, and then squeeze it to release as
much of the water as possible.
Meanwhile, grate the onions on the fine teeth of a box grater.
In a large bowl, mix the onions with the ground lamb. Add the drained
bulgur, salt, pepper, allspice, and cinnamon. Knead until well combined
and softened, dipping your hands in ice water if necessary to cool them
down; this may take several minutes. Set aside.
To make the filling, in a skillet melt the butter over medium heat. Add
the pine nuts and cook, stirring, until lightly browned and fragrant. Add
the meat, onions, salt, pepper, and cinnamon, if using, and sauté until the
meat has lost its pink color and the onion is softened, 10 to 12 minutes.
Remove from the heat and set aside.
Preheat the oven to 400°F (205°C). Grease a 17 by 11½-inch (43 by 29
cm) baking pan.
Spread one-half of the kibbeh in the prepared baking pan. Spread the
filling evenly over this layer, patting down lightly. Cover the filling with
the remaining half of the kibbeh. Dip your hand in ice water and smooth
the surface.
Cut the kibbeh into small diamond shapes. Loosen the edges of the
kibbeh from the sides of the pan with a knife dipped in ice water. Pour
the oil or clarified butter on top of the kibbeh by the spoonful, being sure
to cover the entire surface.
Bake until lightly browned, 35 to 40 minutes. Store leftovers in an
airtight container in the refrigerator up to 1 week.
Maydān’s Lamb Shoulder with Syrian Seven Spice
Serves 8 to 10
The flavor of this shoulder is so divine that I simply can’t apologize about the amount of
time it takes to prepare; it’s worth every second. When we serve this at Maydān it feels like
an event. After they are cooked sous vide the shoulders are tied up and hung above the fire
where over the next several hours their spiced outsides are transformed into a flavorful
crust around the meltingly tender meat (you can see them on this page). We present the
entire bone-in shoulder piled high with sumac onions and herbs and all the sauces (I’ll add
a shout-out here that I think the labne with dried mint and toum are the two absolute must-
haves with this). And this is definitely the moment to serve lots of flatbread for you and
your guests to use as your utensils so that you can concoct as many individual bakouns (see
this page) as you can eat!
Leftovers are just as delicious as the main event; two of our favorite next-day dishes are the
pulled lamb served on top of creamy hummus (this page), or rolled in flatbread with shatta
and pickles and whatever else sounds good to you.
⅓ cup (80 g) kosher salt
½ cup (110 g) packed light brown sugar
1 bone-in lamb shoulder (4½ to 5 ½ pounds / 2 to 2.5 kg) or boneless lamb shoulder (3 to 4
pounds/1.4 to 1.8 kg), tied
½ cup (48 g) Syrian Seven Spice (this page)
For serving:
2 cups (720 ml) Sumac Onion and Herb Salad (this page)
Flatbread
Labne with Dried Mint (this page)
Toum (this page) and/or your preferred sauce
Equipment: Cryo-vac or zip-top bag; sous vide circulator (optional)

Combine the salt and sugar. Rub the mixture on the lamb shoulder and
place in the refrigerator for at least 30 minutes and up to 3 hours.
Rinse the shoulder under cold water and pat it dry. Rub all over with the
seven spice.
Place the lamb in a cryo-vac or zip-top bag. Sous vide at 200°F (90°C)
for 18 hours. (Alternatively, place the lamb in a baking dish, cover the
pan tightly with aluminum foil, and roast in a 275°F (135°C) oven until
very tender when pierced with a fork, about 8 hours.)
Remove the bag from the water or the baking dish from the oven and let
stand until cool enough to handle.
Meanwhile prepare a hot grill.
Remove the shoulder from the baking dish or the bag, pat it dry, and grill
on all sides until the outside is seared and crisped.
Place on a platter. Top with Sumac Onion and Herb Salad. Serve with
flatbread and your favorite sauces.
Lamb Chakapuli
Georgian Braised Lamb Stew with Tarragon
Serves 6
The simplicity of this stew is belied by its flavor, which is defined by the prodigious amount
of fresh tarragon. Until I had chakapuli in Georgia, it had never occurred to me that all a
homestyle lamb stew needed to be extraordinary was a bushel of tarragon (yes, I’m
exaggerating, but only a little). This is a time to use tarragon from your backyard or to
procure it at a farmers’ market; you’d need a shopping cart full of those tiny little packs
that hang in many produce departments to achieve the amount you need here. Don’t let it
scare you away, though. Tarragon and lamb are a match made in heaven and this recipe is
the path to paradise. This recipe is another from my dear friend Mamuka (see this page),
whose generous spirit abounds, as does his enthusiasm for sharing the culture of his
country.
2¼ pounds (1 kg) boneless lamb shoulder, cut into 2- to 3-inch (5 to 7.5 cm) pieces
1 bottle (750 ml) dry white wine
Kosher salt
2 large onions, chopped
Leaves from 7 ounces (200 g) fresh tarragon stems, very coarsely chopped
2 bunches cilantro, leaves and tender stems, finely chopped
½ to 1 bunch flat-leaf parsley, finely chopped (optional)
1 bunch spring onions, white and green parts, finely chopped
Up to 1 serrano pepper, seeds and ribs removed, finely chopped
1 cup (240 ml) tkemali sauce (sour plum sauce, see Note)

Put the lamb in a large pot and add the wine and a couple of pinches of
salt. Bring to a boil over medium heat. Reduce the heat and simmer for
15 minutes, stirring occasionally. Add the onion and simmer for 10
minutes.
Add the tarragon, cilantro, parsley, if using, spring onions, serrano,
tkemali sauce, and 4 cups (960 ml) water and stir to combine. Bring to a
boil, then cover the pot, reduce the heat to a simmer, and cook until the
lamb is very tender, 1 to 1½ hours.
Taste and adjust the salt if necessary. Serve hot.
Note: Tkemali sauce is made from the sour plums that are a major
component of Georgian cooking. I’ve never seen the equivalent in fresh
sour plums here, but bottled tkemali sauce can be found at Georgian and
Russian markets and online. It adds a sour and sweet flavor that really
brightens this dish and wherever it’s added.
Khinkali
Georgian Meat-Filled Dumplings
Makes about 24 dumplings; serves 4 to 6
Since my first bite of these little dumplings, I’ve been a devoted fan. I even took a class in
the mountains of Georgia dedicated solely to making them, though I will probably never
achieve the nineteen individual pleats on each dumpling that many insist are de rigueur.
Serve these with lots of freshly ground black pepper, and to do it the Georgian way, instruct
everyone to bite the dumplings off the little dough hat at the top of each one, and leave the
hats behind. The winner is whoever has the most hats, and an excellent prize is a box of
leftover khinkali that they can fry in butter for breakfast the following morning.
For the dough:
4 cups (500 g) all-purpose flour, plus more for kneading and rolling out the dough
2 teaspoons kosher salt
2 large eggs
1 cup (240 ml) lukewarm water (about 110°F/45°C)
For the filling:
8 ounces (225 g) 80/20 ground beef
8 ounces (225 g) ground pork (not too lean, if possible)
1 medium onion, finely chopped
2 cloves garlic, finely chopped
1 bunch fresh cilantro, leaves and tender stems, finely chopped
¼ cup (½ stick / 55 g) unsalted butter, melted and cooled
2 teaspoons kosher salt
¾ teaspoon caraway seed, ground
¾ teaspoon coriander seed, ground
½ teaspoon freshly ground black pepper, plus more for serving
¼ teaspoon cayenne pepper

To make the dough, in a large bowl, whisk together the flour and salt.
Make a hole in the center of the flour and add the eggs. Use a fork to
beat the eggs; it’s fine if some flour gets mixed in with them.
Continue to beat with the fork while you pour in the warm water and
combine it with the eggs. Stir with a wooden spoon, combining more
flour into the liquid with every stroke until a dough forms; turn it out
onto a lightly floured work surface and knead until the dough is smooth
and elastic. Place the dough in a lightly oiled bowl, cover with plastic
wrap, and set aside while you make the filling.
To make the filling, in a large bowl, place the beef, pork, onion, garlic,
cilantro, butter, salt, caraway, coriander, black pepper, cayenne pepper,
and 1½ cups (360 ml) water. Use your hands or a spatula to mix just until
combined; don’t overmix.
On a lightly floured work surface, divide the dough into 3 equal pieces
and roll each of them into a ball; keep them covered with plastic wrap
while you work. Set a parchment-lined baking sheet nearby and lightly
dust it with flour.
Working with one ball at a time, roll the dough out ¼ inch (6 mm) thick.
Using a 2-inch (5-cm) round cutter, cut out 8 rounds, rerolling and
cutting scraps as necessary (you’ll have about 24 rounds total).
Roll out each dough round to a 4- to 5-inch (10- to 12-cm) round. Place
about 1 tablespoon filling in the center and pleat the dough edge all the
way around to enclose the filling. Pinch the pleats together to seal and
gently twist the top to seal the filling inside. Place the khinkali on the
floured parchment paper and cover loosely with plastic wrap. Continue
with the remaining rounds and filling, and then with all the remaining
dough balls and filling.
Bring a large pot of generously salted water to a boil over high heat. Add
several khinkali to the water and stir carefully to make sure they aren’t
sticking to the bottom of the pot. Boil gently until the meat is cooked and
the dough is al dente, 5 to 7 minutes.
Use a spider to transfer the cooked khinkali to paper towels and keep
warm. Continue until all the khinkali are cooked.
Serve hot with plenty of black pepper.
Ribeye with Georgian Dry Rub
Serves 2
The lovely republic of Georgia is the inspiration for so much of what I do in my restaurants,
at home, and here in this book. The way this ribeye came to be is just one example of the
magic that happens in the wake of Georgian hospitality. As part of our “cooking with
grandmas” research trip before opening Maydān, we stayed with friends in a small village
in mountainous western Georgia. When we’d made the arrangements, we had no idea that
our visit was going to overlap with their hosting a very large wedding anniversary party.
Mortified, we tried to make plans to be elsewhere during the event, but our hosts would not
have it. Reluctantly we agreed, but only if they allowed us to cook something for the party.
Off they went to find us some meat while we built a fire for cooking. When they returned,
they proudly presented something they were sure would thrill us Americans: a beef ribeye.
It was an exquisitely gracious gesture, and we were touched and eager to match their
enthusiasm with a finished dish that would demonstrate our gratitude to be included in this
special event. However, this meat was nothing like the bright red, beautifully marbled
ribeye from home, and it definitely hadn’t been stored in a refrigerator. We began to worry
that making the ribeye palatable might be too tall an order. With a bit of digging through
our hosts’ spice collection, we found salvation: blue fenugreek. Unique to Georgia, blue
fenugreek is related to the Indian fenugreek more common here in the U.S., but it has a
sweeter, warmer aroma and flavor. We mixed up a simple dry rub of blue fenugreek and
adjika (ground dried chile, see Note on this page) and massaged it into the ribeye then put
the seasoned meat over the fire. The result was rich, delicious, and positively transporting.
This rub is excellent on all sorts of cuts of meat, including rugged Georgian mountain cow.
1 tablespoon ground blue fenugreek
2 teaspoons gochugaru (Korean red chili flakes) or 1½ teaspoons Aleppo pepper flakes
1 (16-ounce / 455-g) bone-in ribeye steak, at least 1½ inches (4 cm) thick
Vegetable oil, for the grill
1 tablespoon kosher salt

In a small dish, stir together the blue fenugreek and gochugaru.

Two to twenty-four hours before you start cooking, pat the steak dry and
rub on the fenugreek and gochugaru blend. Place, uncovered, in the
refrigerator.
When ready to cook, prepare a hot grill and oil the grate.
Thirty minutes before cooking the steak, remove it from the refrigerator
and place it at room temperature. Season both sides generously with
kosher salt.
Grill the steak for 5 to 6 minutes on each side, or until an instant-read
thermometer reads 120°F (49°C).
Remove the steak from the grill and let it rest for at least 6 to 8 minutes.
Slice against the grain ¼ inch (6 mm) thick and serve.
Ras el Hanout– Rubbed Duck Breast
Serves 2
It used to be that the best, and maybe even the only, way to enjoy duck breast was when it
was prepared by a skilled chef in a restaurant kitchen. Then sous vide circulators became
more commonplace, and now the secret to those chefs’ success is available to all of us. And
that secret is cooking the seasoned duck sous vide until the meat is exactly medium-rare and
then slowly and gently rendering the fat just under its skin while simultaneously browning
it to crispy perfection.
2 boneless duck breasts (7 to 8 ounces / 200 to 225 g each), trimmed of any extra outer fat
4 teaspoons ras el hanout
2 teaspoons kosher salt
Flaky sea salt (such as Maldon), for serving
Sweet Tomato Jam (this page), for serving
Equipment: Cryo-vac or zip-top bag; sous vide circulator

Rub the meaty side of the breasts with ras el hanout.

Place the duck breasts in a cryo-vac or zip-top bag. Sous vide at 130°F
(55°C) for at least 45 minutes and up to 4 hours.
Take the duck breasts out of the bag and dry them thoroughly with paper
towels. If not finishing immediately, place the duck breasts on a cooling
rack in the refrigerator up to overnight.
About 30 minutes before finishing, set the breasts on the counter to come
to room temperature. Season both sides of the breasts with kosher salt.
Place the breasts skin side down in a cast-iron pan over medium-low
heat. Cook until well browned, about 20 minutes, spooning off the
rendered fat as it accumulates.
Increase the heat to medium and flip the breasts over. Cook for 1 to 2
minutes, just to sear the meaty side; an instant read thermometer should
read 130°F (55°C) for medium-rare. Transfer the breasts to a cutting
board, placing them skin side up, and let rest for 5 to 7 minutes.
To serve, cut each breast crosswise into about 8 slices and arrange the
slices on plates or a platter. Sprinkle with flaky salt, and serve with the
sweet tomato jam.
Roasted Turmeric Chicken
Serves 4
The generous amount of turmeric used here gives this chicken a vibrant yellow color and
bursting flavor to match. At Maydān, we present the whole chicken to the table, plated on
top of our Toné bread to absorb every drop of scrumptious juice, with a bowl of toum to
brighten each bite with a burst of garlicky goodness. This dish was inspired by the
delectable chickens we’ve eaten at Barbar, a fun and energetic 24/7 restaurant in Beirut,
and on the sides of many roads in Morocco and Tunisia.
1 roasting chicken (about 4 pounds / 1.8 kg)
For the turmeric brine:
1 small onion, quartered
1 head garlic, cut in half crosswise through the equator
½ cup (70 g) ground turmeric
¼ cup (16 g) whole coriander seed, crushed with mortar and pestle or very coarsely ground
¼ cup (70 g) kosher salt
2 tablespoons sugar
1 tablespoon whole cardamom pods, very coarsely ground
1 cinnamon stick (3 inches / 7.5 cm), cracked in several pieces
For the turmeric paste:
6 tablespoons (90 ml) grapeseed oil
2 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil, preferably Lebanese unfiltered
Scant ½ cup (30 g) whole coriander seed, ground
1 tablespoon ground turmeric
8 cloves garlic, finely chopped with kosher salt (see Note)
1 tablespoon kosher salt
Toum (this page), for serving
Flatbread, for serving

To spatchcock the chicken for even roasting, place it breast side down on
a cutting board. Starting at the neck end, use poultry shears or a sharp
boning knife to cut along one side of the backbone toward the tail,
stopping your cut about two-thirds of the way down the length of the
backbone. Repeat on the other side of the backbone. Now cut down the
last bit of length on either side to completely remove the backbone.
Flip the chicken over and press down hard on the center of the breast to
make it lie flat. Tuck the wing tips under the wing bone.
To make the brine, in a large bowl or other container that is large enough
to hold the chicken, place the onion, garlic, turmeric, coriander, salt,
sugar, cardamom, cinnamon, and 4½ cups (1 liter) water. Stir together
until the salt and sugar are dissolved. Add the chicken (you can fold it
back into a compact shape so it fits more easily if necessary).
Brine the chicken in the refrigerator for at least 1 hour and up to 24
hours.
To make the paste, in a blender combine the oils, coriander, turmeric,
garlic, and salt. Blend until well combined. Refrigerate until needed.
Remove the chicken from the brine. Discard the brine and pat the
chicken dry with a towel.
Rub the turmeric paste all over the chicken and let stand at room
temperature while the oven heats (if not roasting right away, place the
chicken uncovered in the refrigerator for up to 12 hours).
Preheat the oven to 450°F (230°C).
Place the flattened chicken, breast side up, on a rack in a roasting pan.
Roast for 15 minutes. Reduce the oven temperature to 325°F (165°C)
and roast until the juices run clear when the thickest part of the thigh is
pierced with a sharp knife, 35 to 45 minutes.
Let stand for 10 minutes. Cut into 8 pieces and serve with toum and
flatbread to soak up the juices.
Note: Chop the garlic, then sprinkle about ½ teaspoon of the salt on top,
and continue to chop it very fine. When adding it to the other ingredients,
scrape it and any juices into the bowl together.
Chicken Satsivi
Chicken in Walnut Sauce
Serves 6 to 8
This dish always transports me right back to the night I first encountered Georgian food
prepared by a lovely cook in Moscow (see this page). The sight and smell of all the walnuts
she chopped reminded me of home, but this dish was like nothing I had tasted before. I
don’t know what alchemy turns finely ground walnuts into the creamiest (cream-free!)
sauce I’ve ever had, but I’m so glad my Georgian friend Mamuka (see this page) was
willing to share this recipe.
1 chicken (about 4 pounds / 1.8 kg), whole or cut into pieces
Kosher salt
¼ cup (½ stick / 55 g) unsalted butter
2 medium onions, finely chopped
8 cups (910 g) walnuts
1 tablespoon blue fenugreek
½ teaspoon ground cloves
½ teaspoon ground cinnamon
½ teaspoon ground coriander
¼ teaspoon crushed saffron threads
2 cloves garlic, crushed with a garlic press
¼ teaspoon cayenne pepper, plus more as needed
Adjika (Georgian red pepper sauce), for serving (see Note)
Tkemali sauce (sour plum sauce, see Note on this page), for serving (optional)

Place the chicken in a large pot and cover with water by 3 inches. Season
the water generously with several pinches of salt. Bring the water to a
boil. Reduce the heat and simmer until the chicken is cooked through
and an instant-read thermometer inserted in the meatiest part of the thigh
registers at least 180°F (80°C), 35 to 45 minutes. Strain the chicken and
reserve the broth separately. Place the chicken on a cutting board.
Set a broiler rack 6 inches (14 cm) below the heat source and set the
broiler to high. Cut the cooled chicken into 8 pieces (unless it is already
cut up) and arrange the pieces skin side up on a baking sheet. Sprinkle all
over with salt. Broil until browned, 8 to 10 minutes. Remove from the
heat and set aside.
Meanwhile, to prepare the walnut sauce, melt the butter in a skillet over
medium heat. Add the onions and a couple of pinches of salt and cook,
stirring, until translucent and softened, about 8 minutes. Remove from
the heat and set aside.
Process the walnuts in a food processor until very finely chopped.
Transfer the nuts to a large bowl. Add the blue fenugreek, cloves,
cinnamon, coriander, saffron, garlic, cayenne, and 1 teaspoon salt. Use
your hands to knead and rub the walnuts until they are very oily and stick
firmly together when pressed between your fingers; this will take about
20 minutes.
Add the sautéed onions and about 1 cup (240 ml) of the reserved broth to
the walnuts and stir until the mixture takes on the consistency of sour
cream; the color will lighten considerably. Add more broth as necessary
to loosen the walnuts.
Whisk enough broth into the walnut mixture to make it pourable, and
pour it into the large pot. Bring to a boil and simmer for 10 minutes. Add
the pieces of chicken. Return to a boil, then reduce the heat and simmer
if necessary to reheat the chicken. Remove from the heat.
Serve hot, and pass the adjika and tkemali sauce, if using, separately at
the table.
Note: The term adjika refers both to a red pepper powder that is similar
to paprika and a hot red pepper sauce, which is what I’m referring to
here. Both forms of adjika can be found at stores that carry Georgian
and Armenian items, and online.
Sayadieh
Grilled “Fisherman’s Catch” with Chermoula and Tahina
Serves 6 to 8
A quick dip in a flavorful marinade is all most white fish fillets need to make them ready
for grilling. The smokiness added by this method of cooking really complements and
enhances the saffron in the chermoula, which itself mixes with the tahina into a creamy,
perfectly savory accompaniment. At Maydān we make this with whatever white fish our
fish suppliers tell us are best when we’re buying (our own kind of “fisherman’s catch”). I
especially like any kind of sea bass cooked this way.
⅔ cup (165 ml) extra-virgin olive oil, preferably Lebanese unfiltered
6 tablespoons (90 ml) fresh lemon juice (from about 2 lemons)
2 cups (220 g) chopped red onion
4 cloves garlic, chopped
¼ cup (10 g) finely chopped fresh cilantro
2 teaspoons sweet paprika
2 teaspoons kosher salt
1 teaspoon ground turmeric
1 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
1 teaspoon Aleppo pepper flakes
2 pounds (910 g) skin-on sea bass or other white fish fillets
Vegetable oil, for the grill
For serving:
Chermoula (this page)
Tahina (this page)
Fresh cilantro leaves

To make the marinade, in a medium bowl combine the olive oil, lemon
juice, onion, garlic, cilantro, paprika, salt, turmeric, black pepper, and
Aleppo pepper flakes. Stir together until well blended.
Put the fish in a baking dish or other container just big enough to hold it
all. Add the marinade and turn the fish over several times to make sure it
is thoroughly coated. Refrigerate for 30 to 60 minutes.
Prepare a hot grill.
Lightly grease the grill grate with oil and add the fish skin side down.
Partially cover the grill and grill until the fish is cooked through and
flaky, about 7 minutes.
Transfer to a serving platter skin side up. Drizzle with the chermoula and
tahina and garnish with cilantro. Serve, passing more chermoula and
tahina in bowls at the table.
Roasted Whole Fish with Spicy Cabbage
Serves 4
Roasting is one of my favorite ways to prepare fish at home, because there’s no need to flip
or fuss with the fish while it cooks. Just a few simple touches beforehand, and you can put it
in the oven and pretty much forget about it until it’s ready. Putting some radishes on the
baking sheet to roast along with the fish and mixing some sliced cabbage and fennel with a
bit of smoky, saffron-y chermoula (just one more of so many reasons to always have this
sauce on hand) provide two beautiful and unusual accompaniments.
For the spicy cabbage:
1¾ cups (165 g) shredded green cabbage
½ cup (45 g) thinly sliced fennel
½ cup (120 ml) Chermoula (this page)
½ cup (120 ml) Sumac Onions (this page)
Kosher salt
For the fish:
2- to 3-pound (910 g to 1.4 kg) whole dourade or branzino, cleaned and scaled
2 tablespoons Red Shatta (this page)
2 tablespoons ground cumin
2 tablespoons ground sumac
2 tablespoons kosher salt, plus more for the radishes
1 orange, cut into half-moon slices
½ bunch fresh cilantro
½ bunch fresh parsley
1 bunch radishes, tops trimmed to 1 to 2 inches (2.5 to 5 cm), cut in half if large
Extra-virgin olive oil, preferably Lebanese unfiltered, for the radishes and for serving
For serving:
1 cup Sumac Onion and Herb Salad (this page)
Chermoula (this page)
Flaky sea salt (such as Maldon), for sprinkling
Lemon wedges

To make the spicy cabbage, in a large bowl place the cabbage, fennel,
chermoula, sumac onions, and a pinch of salt. Toss until well coated.
Refrigerate for at least 20 minutes and up to 4 days. Taste before serving
and adjust the salt if necessary.
Position a rack in the center of the oven and preheat the oven to 400°F
(205°C). Line a rimmed baking sheet with parchment paper.
To make the fish, place them on the lined baking sheet. Liberally rub the
fish on the inside with the shatta and generously sprinkle the outside with
the cumin, sumac, and salt. Place 3 to 4 half-moon slices of orange along
with a few sprigs of cilantro and parsley in the belly cavity of each fish.
In a small bowl, toss the radishes with a drizzle of olive oil and a few
pinches salt. Arrange them on the baking sheet around the fish.
Roast until the fish is flaky or until an instant-read thermometer inserted
into the thickest part of the fish reads 135°F (60°C), 20 to 30 minutes,
depending on the size and thickness of the fish.
Remove the fish and radishes from the oven and then remove the
oranges, cilantro, and parsley from the fish and discard. Arrange the fish
and radishes on a platter and place the spicy cabbage alongside. Garnish
with the sumac onion and herb salad. Drizzle with chermoula and olive
oil and sprinkle with flaky salt. Serve with lemon wedges.
Balik Ekmek
Mackerel Sandwiches
Serves 4
The city of Istanbul is on the banks of the Bosporus Strait, and under one of the main
bridges fishermen pull fish out of the water and grill and fry them on the spot to sell in
sandwiches. One of my favorite memories is getting these balik ekmek sandwiches right off
the boats. When I returned to the States and we began recreating these sandwiches at
Compass Rose, we realized they needed a little heat, and that’s where the very inauthentic
but quite delicious harissa came in.
4 skin-on mackerel fillets (6 to 8 ounces / 170 to 225 g each)
Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper
Extra-virgin olive oil, preferably Lebanese unfiltered
4 hoagie rolls
1 ripe tomato, sliced
2 cups (110 g) shredded romaine lettuce
Red wine vinegar
Lemon Mayonnaise (recipe follows)
Harissa (optional; this page)

Lightly season the mackerel fillets with salt and pepper. Set a platter
lined with paper towels next to the stovetop. In a large cast-iron skillet,
heat 2 tablespoons olive oil over medium heat until shimmering. Add the
mackerel fillets skin side down. Cook until the skin is golden brown and
the fillets release easily from the pan, 5 to 8 minutes.
Flip the fish and cook on the other side just until opaque, 30 seconds to 1
minute. Transfer the fillets to the paper towels and set aside. If necessary,
repeat with the remaining mackerel fillets, using more oil if necessary
Meanwhile, toast the hoagie rolls in a toaster oven or under the broiler.
Spread the tomatoes on a plate and put the lettuce in a bowl. Drizzle both
with some olive oil and vinegar and lightly season with salt and pepper.
Toss the lettuce to lightly coat.
To assemble the sandwiches, spread 1 to 2 tablespoons lemon
mayonnaise on the bottom half of each roll. Place one fillet skin side up
on each. Top the fish with tomato and lettuce.
If desired, spread some harissa on the top half of the rolls. Place the tops
on the sandwiches and serve.
Lemon Mayonnaise
Makes 1½ cups (360 ml)
***
1 cup (240 ml) grapeseed oil
⅓ cup (75 ml) extra-virgin olive oil, preferably Lebanese unfiltered
1 large egg yolk
1½ tablespoons fresh lemon juice
½ teaspoon kosher salt, plus more to taste
Grated zest of 1 lemon
Grated zest of 1 lime (optional)
Grated zest of 1 orange (optional)
Pour the grapeseed and olive oils into a 2-cup (480 ml) glass measuring cup and set aside.
Place the egg yolk, lemon juice, and salt in a food processor and process to blend.
With the processor running, slowly add the oil in a light stream until the sauce is emulsified
and creamy; you may not need all of the oil. Add the lemon zest and the lime and orange
zest, if using. Pulse once or twice to combine.
Store the mayonnaise in an airtight container in the refrigerator up to 1 week.
Octopus, Two Ways
Serves 2
When we traveled to Tunisia before opening Maydān, a friend who worked for the Institute
for War and Peace Reporting introduced us to her lovely parents, who invited us to cook
with them at their home in the beautiful coastal town of Sidi Bou Said. Our friend’s mother
grew up on the Kerkennah Islands, located about 13 miles (20 km) off the coast of Sfax, and
she very much wanted to show us how to prepare octopus the Kerkennaise way. We were
more than happy to oblige. She began by boiling the octopus for 30 minutes in water
acidulated with lemon juice, which helps preserve the octopus’s natural color and puts it
well on its way to tender. And then she divided up the tentacles and made two distinct and
very tasty dishes that go beautifully together.
One was an octopus salad made of thinly sliced tentacles that were simmered in a shallow
bath of olive oil and vinegar until very lightly browned. Then the sauce and octopus were
spooned over a platter of freshly sliced tomatoes and onion and topped with fresh parsley
and sliced lemon. The simplicity belies the incredible flavor, both of the octopus itself and
the fragrant cooking liquid that becomes the warm dressing. The other dish was a specialty
of her home islands, and it is named accordingly. Always served with seafood, sauce
Kerkennaise is popular throughout Tunisia. In this version, the tomato-based sauce isn’t
just an accompaniment; the sliced octopus tentacles are simmered in it until the pieces are
perfectly tender and the garlicky sauce is redolent with the aroma and flavor of the sweet
octopus. Though either dish can of course be eaten on its own, serving them at a single meal
is nicely efficient and reaches another level of deliciousness.
Juice of 1 lemon
2 pounds (910 g) raw octopus tentacles

Bring a large pot of water to a boil. Add the lemon juice and the octopus
tentacles. Cover and bring back to a boil. Boil gently for 30 minutes.
Drain and set aside until cool enough to handle.
Tunisian Octopus Salad
Serves 2
***
½ cup (120 ml) extra-virgin olive oil, preferably Lebanese unfiltered
¼ cup (60 ml) white wine vinegar
½ of the octopus tentacles (recipe on this page), sliced crosswise ⅜ inch (1 cm) thick
Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper
1 large heirloom tomato or 2 to 3 Campari tomatoes
½ sweet onion, thinly sliced
1 lemon, sliced into 8 wedges
½ bunch fresh flat-leaf parsley, coarsely chopped
***
Pour the olive oil and vinegar into a sauté pan. Add the sliced octopus to the pan, arranging
the pieces in a single layer. Season with salt and pepper. Bring the liquid to a gentle simmer
over medium heat. Simmer until the octopus is tender and lightly browned, 20 to 30
minutes.
Meanwhile, arrange the tomato and onion on a serving platter.
Spoon the cooked octopus tentacles and all the cooking liquid onto the tomatoes and onions.
Place the lemon wedges around the platter, sprinkle with parsley, and serve.
Octopus with Sauce Kerkennaise
Serves 2
***
1 pound (455 g) plum tomatoes, chopped
1 large onion, chopped
3 cloves garlic, chopped
Kosher salt
¼ cup (60 ml) extra-virgin olive oil, preferably Lebanese unfiltered
2 tablespoons tomato paste
¾ teaspoon sweet paprika
¾ teaspoon ground cumin
¾ teaspoon ground coriander
¾ teaspoon caraway seed, ground
¾ teaspoon ground turmeric
¼ teaspoon crushed red pepper, plus more as needed
½ of the octopus tentacles (recipe on this page), sliced
½ inch (12 mm) thick 1 tablespoon white wine vinegar, plus more as needed
½ cup (25 g) coarsely chopped flat-leaf parsley, for serving
Flaky sea salt (such as Maldon), for serving (optional)
***
Place the tomatoes, onion, garlic, and 1 teaspoon salt in a food processor and pulse until
finely chopped. Set aside.
In a sauté pan, heat the oil over medium heat just until warm. Add the tomato paste and
cook, stirring, until toasted, about 2 minutes. Push the tomato sauce to the side of the pan,
and add the paprika, cumin, coriander, caraway, turmeric, and crushed red pepper; toast
until fragrant, 30 to 60 seconds.
Add the chopped tomato mixture, stir everything together, and bring to a simmer. Add the
octopus and simmer until the octopus is tender and the flavors are blended, 20 to 45
minutes, depending on the texture of the octopus.
Remove the pan from the heat and stir in the vinegar. Taste and adjust the salt or vinegar.
Serve, topped with parsley and flaky salt.
Compass Rose Cocktail
Sparkling Wine and Pomegranate
Serves 1
My long experience in bartending prepared me very well to create a cocktail at Compass
Rose that would exemplify the spirit of the restaurant. Ruby red pomegranate liqueur and
bubbles are a natural pairing and they make a beautiful jewel-toned drink that is entirely
appropriate in Compass’s softly lit and fabric-draped dining room. The twist here is the
rose water, a flavor I love and which is a salute to the extracts my dad and I used to concoct
during summer trips to New Jersey using the roses from my grandma Rose’s garden. The
rose water adds a floral elegance to the drink. I recognize that for some people, however,
rose water is an acquired taste. While we used to add the rose water to this cocktail using a
small dropper, we now simply give the empty glass a quick spray from an atomizer bottle
just before we pour in the drink.
Rose water, for the glass
1 ounce (30 ml) pomegranate liqueur, chilled
3 ounces (90 ml) sparkling white wine, chilled
Fresh mint leaf, for garnish
Pomegranate seeds, for garnish
Equipment: Coupe glass

In a coupe glass, pour in a small amount of rose water. Swirl it around

the glass, then pour it out; alternatively, put the rose water in a clean,
food-safe spritz bottle and spray into the empty glass or on top of the
finished cocktail just before adding the garnishes.
Pour the pomegranate liqueur into the glass. Top off with the sparkling
wine.
Garnish with a mint leaf and a couple of pomegranate seeds. Serve.
 MAYDĀN TAWLE
In my early plans for Maydān, I didn’t intend to have any two-person
tables at all. I envisioned all of our guests sitting at long tables and eating
family-style. I wanted to bring to life the spirit of the place—the maydān
—that had given the restaurant its name. I longed for strangers to come
in separately, break bread together at our long tables, and leave as
friends, or at least no longer strangers. And to facilitate the bonding, I
wanted to forgo everyone having to order food and instead just let the
kitchen send out our very best dishes each evening as they were ready.
For a long time how people would eat at Maydān felt as important to me
as what they would eat, because I believe wholeheartedly that together in
a group is simply the best way to eat the food that we serve, like the
dishes that are shown here. So much joy comes from sharing food off
communal plates—which is safe to do when your utensil is a fresh bite
of bread each time—with everyone experimenting with combinations of
foods to make each bite.
Ultimately we did not go that route, for there were many voices
encouraging me to stick to a more familiar seating model for our guests.
I am gratified to see how many of our patrons who first come to us with
just one other person will soon return with a bigger group, and I’m happy
to say strangers becoming friends does actually happen organically
between tables from time to time. One of the many weird things to come
out of the tragedy of the Covid era is that it did get us closer to my ideal.
The only way we could stay open for a lot of that time was for the
kitchen to prepare a pared-down version of our full menu, with foods
that all go beautifully together. Everyone paid a single price for food and
the kitchen sent it out as it was ready. And even now, in our new normal,
we still require large parties to order this way. And we set the best dishes
together and send them out as they are ready, just as I imagined long ago.
 TAWLE MENU
Mouneh (Pickled Turnips, Cucumbers, Green Tomatoes)
Fattoush (Summer Salad with Crisped Flatbread)
Hummus, Three Ways
Muhammara (Walnut, Roasted Red Pepper, and Pomegranate Dip)
Beef Koobideh (Persian Minced Beef Kebabs)
Shish Taouk (Chicken Kebabs)
Grilled Halloumi with Dukkah and Honey
Sayadieh (Grilled “Fisherman’s Catch” with Chermoula and Tahina)
Ribeye with Georgian Dry Rub
Slow-Grilled Cauliflower with Tahina and Zhough
Maydān’s Lamb Shoulder with Syrian Seven Spice
Breakfast in Muscat, Oman
7

Why Are We All Lactose Intolerant?

Cheese and Dairy
One of the great tragedies of my life is that I cannot comfortably eat
dairy, because I love it so very much. That my lactose intolerance didn’t
present until I was a teenager is no consolation since, when I was a kid,
the only dairy I’d eat was mozzarella. I didn’t really grow up with much
dairy anyway. Most of the adults in my family are lactose intolerant. I
know I’m generalizing, but it seems like many people who come from
Lebanon and its environs lack the lactase enzyme necessary to digest
dairy. And still, there is an impressive array of dairy-based foods from
the area. That said, it’s in the Caucasus that dairy really holds sway, and
Georgia is no exception. Until I spent time there, I’d never dreamed what
is possible when an entire country dedicates itself to the endeavor of
consuming milk in all forms. Gebjalia, soft cheese rolled with fresh
cheese and mint (this page), is probably the pinnacle of the dairy
greatness a nation can achieve. It and the handful of other recipes in this
chapter had to pass a very high bar: At one time or another, I threw
caution to the wind and ate something that I knew I shouldn’t. When I
didn’t regret my decision, the recipe was deemed worthy enough to
share.
IN THIS CHAPTER
Grilled Halloumi with Dukkah and Honey
Gebjalia (Georgian Cheese Rolls with Mint)
Grilled Cabbage with Turmeric Keshkamel
Maydān’s Shanklish (Cheese with Oil and Za’atar)
Shankleesh (Spiced Cheese Balls)
Fatayer bi Jibneh (Cheese Pies)
And to drink, Ayran (Yogurt Drink)
Breakfast at Beit Douma, Lebanon
Jugs for milk, Salala, Oman
Visiting a Bedouin village, Oman
Hadwane Dairy Shop, mountains outside Beirut
Grilled Halloumi with Dukkah and Honey
Serves 6 to 8
Grilled Syrian or Lebanese cheese is a staple in the region, and we created this dish at
Maydān to express that tradition. I can never decide which part is more delicious, the
warm, melty halloumi cheese or the sweet, nutty topping. We use local-to-us honey and a
dukkah blend of peanuts, seeds, and spices that we created especially for this dish.
Although we offer this as part of the main tawle meal and many people eat it early in the
meal, it can easily be served just before dessert as a sort of cheese plate, or even as the
dessert itself.
1 package (8.8 ounces / 250 g) halloumi cheese
2 tablespoons grapeseed oil, or as needed
¼ cup (60 ml) clover honey
Dukkah (recipe follows)

Slice the halloumi ½ inch (12 mm) thick.

In a large cast-iron pan, heat the grapeseed oil for 1 minute, until very
hot. Place the halloumi in the pan (work in batches so as not to crowd the
pan) and sear until golden brown on both sides, flipping the slices once,
about 90 seconds total.
Transfer the halloumi to a serving platter and keep warm while you sear
the rest of the slices. Drizzle over the honey and sprinkle generously
with dukkah. Serve at once.
Dukkah
Makes about 2 cups (255 g)
Dukkah is a crunchy and very tasty mixture of nuts, seeds, and spices that originated
in Egypt. The exact type and proportion of each of those elements can vary
enormously among different blends. The chefs created this one for Maydān specifically
to go with our grilled halloumi dish. It’s a delicious combination that can be sprinkled
on all sorts of things, like peanut butter toast, bread dipped in olive oil, roasted
vegetables, and even ice cream.
***
¾ cup (115 g) raw shelled peanuts
½ cup (75 g) white sesame seeds
¼ cup (30 g) black sesame seeds
2 tablespoons coriander seed
2 tablespoons cumin seed
1½ teaspoons black peppercorns
1 tablespoon flaky sea salt (such as Maldon)
***
Preheat the oven to 400°F (205°C).
Spread the peanuts on a rimmed baking sheet. Toast in the oven until they are lightly
browned and smell roasty, 5 to 7 minutes, shaking the baking sheet once or twice.
Immediately transfer to a plate to cool.
Meanwhile in a cast-iron or other heavy skillet over medium-low heat, toast the white
sesame seeds until lightly browned, stirring constantly, about 3 minutes. Transfer them to a
small plate to cool.
Return the skillet to the heat and add the black sesame seeds. Toast over medium-low heat,
stirring constantly, until they smell toasty and a few have begun to pop, about 3 minutes.
Transfer them to the plate with the white sesame seeds to cool.
Return the skillet to the heat and add the coriander. Toast over medium heat, stirring often,
until fragrant, about 1 minute. Transfer to a separate small plate to cool.
Repeat with the cumin and peppercorns, transferring each to a separate small dish to cool.
One at a time, grind the coriander, cumin, and black pepper with a mortar and pestle or
spice grinder until the spices are well cracked but not completely pulverized.
Transfer the ground spices to a small bowl. Add the toasted sesame seeds.
Grind the peanuts with mortar and pestle; do not pulverize completely, leave them crunchy.
Add the peanuts to the bowl.
Add the flaky salt and stir to combine.
Store in an airtight container at room temperature for up to 1 month.
Gebjalia
Georgian Cheese Rolls with Mint
Serves 6 to 8
I’m not sure there is a stronger testament to Georgians’ love of dairy than gebjalia, a dish
in which cheese is softened in warm milk so that it can be rolled out and stuffed with fresh
mint and another cheese. The cheese-in-cheese roll is sliced and served in a milk-based
sauce. The technique is actually quite straightforward, and the creamy, delicious result
defies categorization. As a friend said when she saw it for the first time, “I want to eat all of
that, even if I don’t really know where or when or how.” I’d say that I’ve usually had it
served as an appetizer in Georgia, and when it’s served with a green salad and some crusty
bread, it makes a superb lunch or a light dinner.
2 cups (100 g) fresh mint leaves, plus ½ cup (25 g) sliced mint, plus sprigs for garnish
Kosher salt
1 quart (960 ml) milk
1 package (1 pound / 455 g) Sulguni cheese (see Note) or fresh whole-milk mozzarella, cut
into thin slices
1 container (1 pound / 455 g) fresh farmer cheese
1 cup (240 ml) labne, or to taste

Using a mortar and pestle, pound the 2 cups mint leaves with 1 teaspoon
salt until it is pulverized into a purée.
In a medium saucepan, bring the milk just to a boil. Remove the pan
from the heat and add the Sulguni. Stir constantly until the cheese is
softened and very pliable, like a dough.
Transfer the cheese to a work surface and set the milk aside. Working
quickly, use a rolling pin to roll out the cheese into a thin rectangle. Use
your hands to rub the mint purée and its liquid all over the surface of the
cheese.
Spoon the farmer cheese across the bottom of one long side of the
cheese. Starting at that side, roll up the cheese to enclose the farmer
cheese. Cover loosely with plastic wrap and set aside while you make the
sauce.
Whisk the labne into the reserved milk to make a thick but pourable
sauce. You may wish to add more or less labne according to your taste.
Stir in the sliced mint. Taste and add salt if necessary.
Slice the cheese roll crosswise about 1 inch (2.5 cm) thick. Arrange the
rolls in a shallow serving bowl. Pour over the sauce, garnish with mint,
and serve.
Note: Sulguni cheese is a semi-soft cow’s milk cheese with a tangy, salty
flavor. You can find it in Georgian and Russian grocery stores.
Grilled Cabbage with Turmeric Keshkamel
Serves 4
On one of our trips to Lebanon, cookbook author Bethany Kehdy kindly gave us a tour of
some of her favorite places and dishes in Beirut. This is how we learned about kishk, a
blend of labne and bulgur wheat that is fermented, dried, and ground. It’s a brilliant
method of preserving protein- and nutrient-rich yogurt and wheat. Though the practice was
undoubtedly prompted by a long-ago need for subsistence, powdered kishk is still a staple
in many Lebanese kitchens. It is used as the flavor and thickening base of many soups.
After our trip Chef Darnell returned to Maydān’s kitchen and had fun playing with the
kishk we’d brought back. One of the results was a fantastic mash-up of a classic white sauce
(béchamel) and kishk, which he calls “keshkamel.” Flavored with garlic and turmeric, the
creamy sauce delightfully balances highly seasoned, grilled, and caramelized cabbage. You
can order powdered kishk online, or if you’d like to try making your own, see the
instructions on the next page.
¼ cup (½ stick / 55 g) unsalted butter
2 tablespoons all-purpose flour
¼ cup (40 g) Kishk (recipe follows or use store-bought)
1½ teaspoons ground turmeric
5 cloves garlic, finely chopped
4 cups (960 ml) milk
Vegetable oil, for the grill
1 large head green cabbage, cut into 6 to 8 wedges
Extra-virgin olive oil, preferably unfiltered Lebanese, for coating the cabbage
Baharat (this page)
Kosher salt
For serving:
Zhough (this page)
Flaky sea salt (such as Maldon)
Barberries in verjus, drained (optional, see Note)
Equipment: Rimmed pan that can go on a grill

To make the turmeric keshkamel, in a large saucepan over medium heat,

melt the butter. Add the flour, kishk, and turmeric and cook, whisking
constantly to prevent lumps, until toasted and fragrant, about 5 minutes.
Add the garlic and sauté about 1 minute. Whisking constantly, slowly
pour in the milk and whisk until smooth. Continue to cook over low heat
until thickened, 5 to 10 minutes. Remove from the heat and strain into a
glass measuring cup. Press a piece of plastic wrap flush against the
surface of the sauce and keep warm; set aside.
Prepare a hot two-zone fire in a charcoal grill with a lid: Light a hot fire.
When the coals are covered with gray ash, rake them to one side of the
grill, creating a cooler zone on the other side to use for indirect cooking.
Lightly grease the top grate with oil and put it in place. Put a grill-safe
rimmed pan on the cooler (indirect heat) side of the grill.
Meanwhile, make small incisions through the cabbage wedges to make
sure they cook all the way through. Brush the cabbage all over with olive
oil and season with Baharat and salt.
Place the cabbage wedges on the hot side of the grill and cook until well
browned on both cut sides, about 2 minutes per side. Transfer the
cabbage to the rimmed pan. Cover the grill, arranging the lid so that the
vent is directly over the cabbage; open the vent. Grill, covered, until
cooked through, 10 to 15 minutes.
Transfer to a platter or individual plates. Top with the keshkamel,
zhough, flaky salt, and soaked barberries, if using, then serve.
Note: This very tasty, tangy garnish is easily made a few days ahead of
time. Place ¼ cup (35 g) barberries in a small glass jar with a tight-
fitting lid. Pour over enough verjus to cover, tightly cover the jar, and set
in the refrigerator for 2 to 3 days, until the barberries are softened, and
up to 6 months.
Kishk
Fermented and Preserved Cheese with Cracked Wheat
Makes 1 pound (455 g)
***
2½ cups (600 ml) labne, plus more as needed
1 cup (175 g) coarse bulgur wheat
2 teaspoons kosher salt
***
In a bowl, mix the labne and the bulgur. Cover the bowl with a kitchen towel and let stand
in a cool place for 8 hours.
Add the salt and use your hands to knead the mixture, folding it over itself several times.
The mixture should feel moist but not wet, as the bulgur will have absorbed most of the
moisture from the labne. If the mixture feels very dry, knead in more labne a spoonful at a
time.
Cover the bowl with the kitchen towel and let ferment at room temperature for 24 hours.
Fold and turn over the mixture several times. Cover the bowl and let stand for 9 more days,
uncovering and folding and kneading every day to prevent mold.
To dry the kishk, spread it out on a rimmed baking sheet and place it in a very low oven
(ideally 100°F [40°C]), or spread it on a rack in a dehydrator and heat until dry.
When the kishk is completely dry, use a mortar and pestle or food processor to grind it to a
powder.
Store in an airtight container at room temperature up to 6 months.
Maydān’s Shanklish
Cheese with Oil and Za’atar
Makes about 1¾ cups (300 g)
Traditional Lebanese shanklish is made by curdling, straining, and fermenting labne until it
is very dry and has even grown a bit of mold, which is an indication that it has achieved a
tangy flavor that many people love. At Maydān we don’t take it that far because we prefer
a soft, spreadable shanklish that can be enjoyed during the meal like one of our dipping
sauces (this page to this page).
1 container (16 ounces / 455 g) labne
1 teaspoon fresh lemon juice
¾ teaspoon kosher salt
Extra-virgin olive oil, preferably Lebanese unfiltered, for serving
Za’atar, preferably Z&Z brand, for serving
Flatbread, for serving

In a medium saucepan, combine the labne, lemon juice, salt, and ⅓ cup
(75 ml) water. Whisk over medium heat until well blended and smooth.
Continue to cook, stirring occasionally until the yogurt starts to separate.
Line a colander with six layers of fine cheesecloth. Put the colander into
a pot or bowl big enough to let the liquid drip from the cheesecloth when
poured in. Pour in the labne mixture and refrigerate for 24 hours.
Tie the ends of the top of the cheesecloth together and hang on a wooden
spoon placed across the top of the bowl. Refrigerate for 2 days.
Remove the solid mixture from the cheesecloth and store in a covered
container in the refrigerator up to 1 week.
To serve, transfer to a small serving dish. Use the back of a spoon to
press a small divot in the surface of the shanklish. Pour in some olive oil
and sprinkle over za’atar to garnish. Serve with bread.
Shankleesh
Spiced Cheese Balls
Makes about 1 dozen (2-inch / 5-cm) cheese balls
We primarily prepare soft, spreadable shanklish for the restaurant. But for special
events we sometimes let a few batches ferment for a few more days. When it’s dry
enough to hold its shape when pressed together and the flavor has developed a bit
more tang than when it’s very fresh, we roll it into bite-size or slightly larger balls and
roll them in spices. These balls are very pretty—and tasty! We put them into jars and
cover with olive oil to preserve them longer.
Prepare Maydān’s Shanklish, above. Let the mixture hang above the bowl until it is firm
enough to hold its shape, 2 to 4 days longer.
Pour ½ cup (70 g) za’atar on a small plate. Have ready a 1-quart (960-ml) clean jar with a
lid (see this page).
Scoop up about 1 tablespoon of the yogurt and roll it into a ball in your hands (wet your
hands if easier). Roll the ball lightly in the za’atar to coat evenly. Place the ball in the jar.
Continue with the remaining yogurt, adding more za’atar to the plate if necessary. When all
of the yogurt is used, gently pour olive oil to cover into the jar.
Cover and store in the refrigerator for up to 6 months.
Fatayer bi Jibneh
Cheese Pies
Makes about 60 (2-inch / 5-cm) fatayer; 10 to 12 servings
No one in my family regularly made cheese-filled fatayer when I was growing up,
undoubtedly because of the lactose intolerance that runs through us all. But when I finally
tasted one on an early trip to Lebanon, I quickly decided that they are worth the
discomfort. These little packages of savory melted cheese are delightful. They will fly off the
platter very quickly, so be sure to sneak one for yourself before you put them out!
Dough for Sfeeha (this page)
All-purpose flour, for the work surface
For the cheese filling and topping:
1 pound (455 g) Syrian cheese or low-moisture mozzarella, grated by hand
½ cup (1 stick / 115 g) unsalted butter, melted, plus more for baking sheets if using
3 tablespoons (30 g) white sesame seeds or za’atar, preferably Z&Z brand, or as needed

Make the dough, let it rise, and divide into 4 equal balls as for sfeeha.
Preheat the oven to 375°F (190°C). Grease two rimmed baking sheets, or
line them with parchment paper.
On a lightly floured work surface, working with one ball of dough at a
time, roll out the dough to ⅛ inch (3 mm) thick. Use a 3-inch (7.5 cm)
cutter to cut out rounds; set aside the dough scraps. Repeat with the
remaining dough. Combine the scraps, reroll, and cut out more rounds
(you’ll should have about 60 rounds total). If at any point the dough
springs back too much when you roll it, or the cut rounds shrink
excessively, cover the dough with plastic wrap or a kitchen towel and let
it rest for 10 to 20 minutes.
Spoon about 1 teaspoon grated cheese into the center of each round and
gently and gently pat it down so that there is a border of about 1 inch
(2.5 mm) all around. To shape the pies, lift and pinch together the dough
on two opposite sides (at 9 and 3 o’clock). Turn the pastry 90 degrees
and pinch together the two other opposite sides. You should have a pretty
square shape. If the dough is very sticky, dip your fingers in a little flour.
Repeat with the remaining dough rounds and cheese.
Place the pies 2 inches (5 cm) apart on the prepared baking sheets. Brush
the pies with melted butter and sprinkle lightly with sesame seeds or
za’atar. Bake until the bottoms are brown, 15 to 20 minutes. It’s fine if
some cheese melts outside of the pies; you can just trim it off. Transfer to
a wire rack to cool.
Serve hot, warm, or at room temperature. Store leftovers in a tightly
covered container at room temperature for 1 day or in the refrigerator for
up to 4 days.
Ayran
Yogurt Drink
Serves 2
This drink is ubiquitous at every kebab shop, man’ouche stand, and restaurant in Lebanon
and throughout this part of the world. It’s beloved and universal and consumed the same
way as millions of American children drink milk with their dinners. It’s too lactose-filled
for me, unfortunately, but it’s so refreshing and delightful that I’d drink it every day if I
could.
2 cups (480 ml) ice cubes
2 cups (480 ml) labne
¼ cup (13 g) fresh mint leaves, chopped, plus sprigs for serving (optional)
¼ teaspoon kosher salt

In a blender combine the ice, labne, mint, if using, salt, and 1 cup (240
ml) water. Blend until smooth and frothy, adding more water if necessary
to keep the mixture moving and make a thick but pourable drink.
Pour into two tall glasses, garnish with mint, if using, and serve cold.
Coffee in Lebanon
8

Sweet Endings
Desserts
When I was a kid, dessert in our house was, in a word, fruit. I’m sure
there were times that this really chafed, but today I’m grateful that I
learned how to appreciate the natural sweetness of all kinds of fruit. That
said, special occasions do call for special treats. Then, as now, that most
often means phyllo-and-walnut-layered baklawa (which is an alternate
spelling for baklava) and walnut-filled cookies called sambousek. And
though I’ve added a few more to my repertoire since I was young, one
thing that hasn’t changed is how relatively restrained all of my favorite
desserts are. The sweets I love most are based primarily on nuts and
dried fruit and some phyllo and lots of sweet syrup flavored with rose or
orange blossom water. I’ve heard friends in Lebanon joke that our
desserts are light because we fill you up with so much food during the
main meal that there’s no room left for anything more at the end! In my
experience, people always manage to find a little room for one or two of
the items that follow.
IN THIS CHAPTER
K’nafe (Warm Cheese Dessert)
Fruit Plate with Orange Blossom Syrup
Ka’ak Sumsum (Sesame Cookies)
Ma’moul (Lebanese Date-Filled Butter Cookies)
Sambousek (Walnut-Filled Half-Moon Cookies)
Aunt Gracie’s Harist Il Louz (Cream of Wheat Cake)
Qatayef with Ashtaliyeh (Sweet Pancakes with Cream Pudding)
Baklawa
And to drink, Halwa (Tahini Cocktail)
Roadside fruit stand, Oman
Smoking shisha, Oman
Pastry shop in the Baalbek souk
Roasting coffee beans in Oman
K’nafe
Warm Cheese Dessert
Serves 8 to 12
I first tasted this crisp, warm, melty cheese treat in southern Turkey in the town of Reyhanli
where we spent several days cooking with refugee children from Syria (see this page). I was
surprised when I realized that the Lebanese have a sweet by the same name, but there it is a
piece of sweetened bread, kind of like a challah roll, with cheese and honey inside. I have no
idea why it’s so different in Lebanon, and whether the difference has anything to do with
the very heavy French influence in the country. Good thing we don’t need the answers to
enjoy any and all kinds of k’nafe. This one is especially good for anyone who loves salty-
sweet and creamy-crunchy things.
½ cup (35 g) raw, unsalted pistachios
1 box (1 pound / 455 g) kataifi, thawed (see Note)
1 cup (240 ml) clarified butter (recipe follows), at room temperature
Softened butter, for the pie dish
3 cups (455 g) crumbled akkawi or low-moisture mozzarella cheese (see Note)
2 teaspoons fresh lemon juice
2 teaspoons sugar
1 cup (240 ml) Rose Water Syrup (recipe follows)
Note: Kataifi, which is shredded phyllo dough, and akkawi cheese are readily available at
Lebanese grocery stores.

Preheat the oven to 400°F (205°C).

Spread the pistachios on a rimmed baking sheet. Toast in the oven,
stirring occasionally, until lightly browned and fragrant, 5 to 7 minutes.
Immediately transfer the nuts to a plate to stop the cooking. Let cool,
then finely grind in a food processor. Set aside. If making ahead, store in
an airtight container for up to 3 days.
Lay the thawed bundle of kataifi on a cutting board and use a sharp knife
to cut it into ½-inch (12 mm) pieces. Transfer to a large bowl. Pour the
room temperature clarified butter into the bowl with the chopped kataifi.
Using your hands, mix them together, working to coat each piece of
kataifi with butter.
Spread the butter-coated kataifi in a thin layer on three or four rimmed
sheet trays, depending on how many racks your oven has. Or toast the
kataifi in batches; the key is to not layer the shredded phyllo too thickly
to ensure that it browns evenly.
Bake, stirring and swapping the baking sheets between racks every 8 to
10 minutes, until golden brown, about 25 minutes. Remove from the
oven and set aside. If finishing and serving right away, leave the oven on.
If making ahead, let cool completely, then transfer the kataifi to a large,
tightly covered container and store at room temperature for up to 1 week.
Leave the oven on, or if making the k’nafe at a later date, preheat the
oven to 400°F (205°C). Rub a 9-inch (23 cm) pie dish with a thin layer
of butter.
Spread half of the toasted kataifi on the bottom of the pie dish. Add the
akkawi in an even layer and press the cheese down. Sprinkle with the
lemon juice and sugar. Spread the remaining toasted kataifi on the top of
the cheese.
Bake until the cheese starts to bubble, about 12 minutes. Immediately
flip the k’nafe out onto a large serving plate. While hot, immediately
pour over the rose water syrup and sprinkle with the ground toasted
pistachios.
Slice; it’s okay if the slices are a little messy. Serve hot.
Rose Water Syrup
Makes 3 cups (720 ml)
***
4 cups (800 g) sugar
1 tablespoon rose water
1 cardamom pod, crushed
***
In a large saucepan combine the sugar, rose water, cardamom pod, and 2 cups (480 ml)
water.
Cook, stirring, over medium-high heat until the sugar is dissolved. Bring to a simmer and
cook until the mixture is the consistency of light syrup (225°F [107°C]), about 40 minutes.
Remove and discard the cardamom pod.
Keep warm until needed, or, if making ahead, store in an airtight container in the
refrigerator up to 1 week. Gently reheat in a small saucepan before using.
Clarified Butter
Makes about 3½ cups (840 ml)
Regular butter is about 80 percent or so pure fat; the rest of the stick is water and
milk proteins. Evaporating that water and removing the milk solids leaves pure
butterfat, which has a much longer shelf life and higher smoke point than regular
butter. The way I clarify butter, which is more like the method for making ghee, widely
used in India and South Asia, is to simmer the butter long enough that the milk solids
become lightly browned. It adds a nice nutty flavor to the butter. Note that butter like
this can be used to fry food much more easily than regular butter; thanks to that
higher smoke point, it won’t burn as quickly as regular butter.
***
2 pounds (910 g) unsalted butter, cut into pieces
***
In a medium saucepan, melt the butter over low heat. You may stir at the beginning to move
the butter around, but once it has melted, do not stir.
Skim off any foam that comes to the top. Once the foam is all removed, reduce the heat to
very low and continue to cook until the butter is a golden color and the browned milk solids
have fallen to the bottom of the pan.
Strain through a fine-mesh strainer lined with cheesecloth into a glass measuring cup. Let
cool.
Store in a tightly covered container in the refrigerator for up to 8 months. Use for cooking,
not for spreading on toast!
Fruit Plate with Orange Blossom Syrup
Serves 4
It’s very common in a restaurant in Lebanon to receive a lovely dish of fruit, sometimes in
syrup, at the end of your meal, perhaps with the bill. When we visited my ancestral village,
my cousins picked fruit straight off the trees outside their door, sliced and arranged them
on ice, and poured sweet syrup over the whole thing. Honestly I have yet to see or taste an
elaborate baked or frozen dessert that matches the beauty and flavor of a simple plate of
fresh fruit in season gently lapped in orange blossom-laced syrup. It is key to use fruit in
season, which in most of the U.S. means stone fruits and berries in summer (my favorite
season and, I admit, my favorite iteration of this dish) and citrus fruits in winter; but what
it means most of all is that when the fruit is truly the star of the show, as it is here, then the
best result will come from using whatever is in season locally. What’s available at farmers’
markets is a good barometer of this, though I’m happy to say that more and more regular
grocery stores will indicate when a fruit or vegetable is grown close by. Whatever fruit you
choose, use about 2 to 3 pounds of it to serve four.
For the sugar syrup:
2 cups (400 g) sugar
1 teaspoon orange blossom water
8 ounces (225 g) fresh, ripe plums, pitted and sliced
8 ounces (225 g) fresh, ripe peaches, pitted and sliced
8 ounces (225 g) fresh, ripe apricots, pitted and sliced
8 ounces (225 g) fresh, ripe cherries, pitted
Torn fresh mint, for serving

To make the syrup, in a large saucepan combine the sugar and 2 cups
(480 ml) water. Bring to a boil over medium-high heat, stirring with a
wooden spoon until the sugar is dissolved. Cover the pan and gently boil
until slightly thickened, about 15 minutes. Remove from the heat and let
cool.
Stir the orange blossom water into the cooled syrup. Chill until cold.
Arrange the fruit on a serving platter. Drizzle over the sugar syrup and
garnish with torn mint and serve.
Ka’ak Sumsum
Sesame Cookies
Makes about 56 (2-inch / 5-cm) cookies
Although I certainly remember eating a fair share of these classic, anise-laced Lebanese
cookies on special occasions, I don’t recall ever making them when I was a kid. We always
picked them up at the Lebanese bakery when we were in Detroit. This is funny to me
because they’re so easy to make and such a pleasing, lightly sweetened treat to have with
coffee or tea. In short, they’re the perfect sweet for people who don’t love sweets.
For the cookie dough:
1¼ cups (250 g) sugar
1 cup (240 ml) clarified butter (this page)
5 teaspoons baking powder
2 large eggs
6 drops anise seed oil (see Note)
1 cup (240 ml) milk
6 cups (750 g) all-purpose flour
For the topping:
1 large egg
1 tablespoon milk
½ cup (75 g) white sesame seeds
1 drop anise seed oil (see Note)

Preheat the oven to 350°F (175°C). Have ready 2 ungreased baking

sheets.
To make the cookies, in a large bowl, stir together the sugar and butter.
Add the baking powder, eggs, and anise seed oil and stir to combine.
Gradually add the milk and flour alternately, stirring after each addition.
Use your hands to knead the dough together well. Set aside.
For the topping, in a small dish, thoroughly beat the egg with the milk. In
another dish put the sesame seeds. Add the drop of anise seed oil and stir
with a fork to combine.
Pinch off a walnut-size piece of dough and roll it into a 4-inch (10 cm)
long rope. Bring the ends together to form a circle.
Brush one side of the round with egg wash and dip lightly in the sesame
seeds. Place seed side up on the ungreased baking sheets. Repeat with
the remaining dough, egg, and sesame seeds, placing cookies 2 inches (5
cm) apart on the baking sheets.
Bake two sheets at a time until lightly browned, 15 to 20 minutes,
switching and turning the baking sheets halfway through baking.
Transfer cookies to a cooling rack to cool completely.
Store in a sealed container at room temperature for up to 1 week.
Note: Anise seed oil, extracted from the Pimpinella anisum plant, adds a
wonderful licorice flavor to baked goods. Buy anise seed oil online or in
well-stocked grocery stores. It is quite strong, so use it sparingly. Note
that star anise oil, extracted from the Illicium verum plant, has a similar
flavor profile but is not the same.
Ka’ak Sumsum (this page) and Ma’moul (this page) with Halwa (this page)
Ma’moul
Lebanese Date-Filled Butter Cookies
Makes about 2 dozen (3-inch / 7.5-cm) cookies
A ma’moul is a buttery cookie surrounding a sweet date filling. Shaped using a special
mold, it is a popular addition to holiday dessert tables throughout the region. Ma’moul are
often made with some semolina, which gives the cookie a pleasing crumbly texture; in my
family, though, we made ma’moul using only flour, which results in a very tender cookie
that I love.
For the dough:
1½ cups (3 sticks / 340 g) unsalted butter, at room temperature
¾ cup (150 g) sugar
1 tablespoon rose blossom water or orange, hazelnut, anise, or your favorite liqueur
2 large eggs
4¼ cups (530 g) all-purpose flour, plus more for the mold if needed
Vegetable oil for the mold if needed
For the date filling:
1 pound (455 g) pitted soft dates, coarsely chopped or snipped with scissors (see Note)
2 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted
½ cup (65 g) confectioners’ sugar, for finishing
Equipment: Ma’moul mold (easy to order online)

To prepare the dough, in an electric stand mixer fitted with the paddle
attachment, beat the butter on medium speed until lightened in color and
texture, 3 to 5 minutes.
Scrape down the sides of the bowl and add the sugar and rose water. Mix
until thoroughly combined, scraping down the sides of the bowl. Add the
eggs and beat until well blended.
Gradually add the flour, beating in with a mixer at first, then kneading by
hand, until all ingredients are completely blended. Press the dough into a
flat disk, wrap it in plastic wrap, and refrigerate for 30 minutes.
Meanwhile, to prepare the date filling, place the dates and melted butter
in a food processor. Process until finely chopped. Scoop up 1 tablespoon
of the date mixture at a time and roll into 1¼-inch (3.2 cm) balls. Set
aside.
Preheat the oven to 375°F (190°C). Line a baking sheet with parchment.
Pull off a walnut-size piece of dough and pat it in a 3-inch (7.5 cm)
round. Place a date ball in the middle of it; close the round and place it in
a 2½- to 3-inch (6 to 7.5 cm) ma’moul mold. Press lightly to imprint the
design.
Invert the mold and rap it firmly on the table to remove the pressed
cookie. It may help to rap it once on either side of the mold as well.
Repeat with the remaining date balls and cookie dough. Though these
cookies must be made one at a time, once you get the hang of the
process, it will go very quickly.
Note that if the dough is sticking to the mold, lightly oiling with
vegetable oil and/or flouring the mold between each cookie can help. If
the dough is very soft, return it to the refrigerator for a few minutes.
Remember that you can always remove the dough from the mold, again
roll it into a ball between your hands, and reshape it in the mold.
Place the cookies 2 inches (5 cm) apart on the lined baking sheet and
bake one sheet at a time until cookies are lightly browned on the bottom,
15 to 20 minutes.
Cool on the baking sheet for 5 minutes, then transfer the cookies to
cooling racks to cool completely.
Sprinkle with confectioners’ sugar before serving. Store the ma’moul in
an airtight container at room temperature up to 2 weeks.
Note: Lightly coat the blade of the knife or scissors with neutral
vegetable oil if the dates are sticking.
Sambousek
Walnut-Filled Half-Moon Cookies
Makes 5 to 6 dozen sambousek
These are my most favorite cookies. When I was growing up, a few times a year, always in
advance of a major event such as a wedding or holiday, my aunts would swoop down on us
for a full day or two, and they’d commandeer our kitchen and dining room with their
baking assembly line. Everyone was assigned a task, whether it was mixing dough, rolling
and cutting, filling, crimping, or baking and dipping. During their studious labor, literally
hundreds of these tender walnut hand pies would be filled, formed, baked, and dipped
while still warm in fragrant sugar syrup laced with orange flower water. This family
production is what my cousins call a “sambousek bee,” after the gatherings of people
(mostly women, if we’re being honest) who come together to sew lots of useful items and
then swap them. In my child’s mind, celebrations became inexorably linked to teeming
platters of sambousek, an association that stays with me. They only grow tastier with time
so feel free to prepare them several days before you plan to serve them.
For the dough:
4½ cups (563 g) all-purpose flour, plus more for the work surface
2½ teaspoons ground anise seed
2 teaspoons mahlab (ground cherry pits, see Note)
1 cup (2 sticks / 225 g) salted butter
¾ to 1 cup (180 to 240 ml) milk
¼ cup (60 ml) vegetable oil
¼ teaspoon active dry yeast
For the syrup:
2 cups (400 g) sugar
2¼ teaspoons fresh lemon juice
1½ teaspoons orange flower water
For the filling:
1 pound (455 g) walnuts, coarsely ground in a food processor
1 cup (200 g) sugar
1 tablespoon orange blossom water

To make the dough, in a large bowl, whisk together the flour, anise, and
mahlab. Set aside.
In a large saucepan, melt the butter. Add ¾ cup (180 ml) milk and the oil
and heat to lukewarm (about 110°F [45°C]). Stir in the yeast.
Make a hole in the center of the flour and pour in the milk mixture.
Using a spatula and then your hands, blend until there is no more dry
flour and the dough is smooth; if the dough is very dry, add the
remaining milk 1 tablespoon at a time. Cover the bowl with plastic wrap
and let stand at room temperature for 1 hour.
Knead the dough, cover the bowl with plastic wrap, and let stand in a
warm place for 30 minutes. Meanwhile, make the syrup and filling.
To make the syrup, in a medium saucepan combine the sugar, lemon
juice, and 1 cup (240 ml) water. Bring to a boil over medium-high heat,
stirring with a wooden spoon until the sugar is dissolved. Cover the pan
and gently boil until the syrup thickens very slightly, 10 to 15 minutes.
Remove from the heat and let cool.
Stir the orange blossom water into the cooled syrup. Chill until cold.
To make the filling, place the walnuts, sugar, and orange blossom water
in a medium bowl. Using your hands, mix until well blended and there
are no lumps. Set aside.
Have ready several ungreased or parchment-lined baking sheets.
Divide the dough into 4 pieces and shape into rounds. Cover with a
kitchen towel to keep them from drying out. Working with one round at a
time, on a lightly floured surface, roll out the dough to ⅛ inch (3 mm)
thick. Using the rim of a rocks glass (like we always do) or a roughly 3-
inch (7.5 cm) round cookie or biscuit cutter, cut the dough into rounds.
Place 1 teaspoon walnut filling in the center of the round. Fold over to
enclose the filling and form a half-moon shape; pinch the edges together
to seal.
Place the cookies on the baking sheets up to 1 inch (2.5 cm) apart; they
won’t rise very much. Repeat with the remaining dough (including
scraps, which you can reroll) and filling. Cover both the unused dough
and the baking sheets of filled unbaked cookies to keep both from drying
out.
When ready to bake, arrange oven racks in the center and top of the oven
and preheat the oven to 375°F (190°C).
Bake one sheet at a time on the center rack until the bottoms of the
cookies are golden brown, about 12 minutes, then transfer the pan to the
top rack and bake until the tops are lightly browned, about 5 minutes.
Remove from the oven and dip the whole, still-warm cookies in the
syrup. Scoop them out of the syrup using a fork so the excess syrup can
easily pour off the cookies and place on a cooling rack until completely
cooled. (Store any remaining filling or syrup in airtight containers in the
refrigerator for up to 6 months)
Store the sambousek in an airtight container at room temperature up to 2
weeks (they get better with time). For longer storage, place layers of
parchment or wax paper between them. Cover tightly and freeze up to 6
months. Let stand in a single layer, unwrapped, at room temperature, to
defrost.
Note: Ground mahlab, which adds a very specific and delightful warm,
nutty aroma and flavor to these cookies, is available in Lebanese grocery
stores and is also easy to find online.
Aunt Gracie’s Harist Il Louz
Cream of Wheat Cake
Makes 24 (2-inch / 5-cm) squares
This is the dessert that I most associate with my childhood. Our aunt Gracie brought it
whenever she visited, and I loved it so much that we asked her for the recipe. Eventually I
took to baking it myself whenever I could, making it one of the very few things that I made
as a young person that wasn’t directly from my mom or dad’s repertoire. In fact, it wasn’t
even a family recipe. Though we regarded Gracie as one of our many aunties, my cousin
Rachel and I didn’t realize until high school that she was actually a very dear friend of our
great-aunt Babe, not a blood relative. It cracks me up and warms my heart to think about
how as children we never questioned that everyone who was at all of our holiday gatherings
was family.
For the syrup:
2 cups (400 g) sugar
Juice of ½ lemon
1 teaspoon orange blossom water
For the pudding squares:
Vegetable oil, for spraying the baking pan, and for the knife (optional)
4 cups (960 ml) milk
2 cups (360 g) Cream of Wheat
1¾ cups (350 g) sugar
1 cup (2 sticks / 225 g) salted butter
24 whole blanched almonds or about ½ cup (55 g) slivered almonds, for garnish

To make the syrup, in a medium saucepan combine the sugar with 2 cups
(480 ml) water. Bring to a simmer over medium heat. Stir to ensure the
sugar is dissolved. Bring to a boil and add the lemon juice. Simmer for
20 minutes. Remove the pan from the heat, stir in the orange blossom
water, and set aside to cool completely. Refrigerate until cold.
Preheat the oven to 375°F (190°C). Spray a 9 by 12-inch (23 by 30.5 cm)
baking pan with oil.
To make the pudding squares, in a large saucepan stir together the milk,
Cream of Wheat, sugar, and butter. Cook over medium-low heat, stirring
constantly, until the mixture comes away from the sides of the pan, about
15 minutes; it will be thick and it will thicken before it comes away from
the sides of the pan.
Scrape the mixture into the prepared pan and use a rubber or silicone
spatula to make an even layer. Use a sharp knife to cut 2 inch (5 cm)
squares (rubbing vegetable oil on the knife can help prevent sticking).
Put a whole almond or a few slivered almonds in the center of each
square and press very gently so they stick.
Bake until lightly browned, 50 minutes to 1 hour, and up to 10 minutes
longer for a browner top.
Remove from the oven and recut the squares. Spoon the cold syrup
around the outer edges and all the cut edges; don’t add more syrup than
the harist can absorb—you may not use all of the syrup.
Let cool completely in the pan. Store in an airtight container at room
temperature up to 2 weeks.
Qatayef with Ashtaliyeh
Sweet Pancakes with Cream Pudding
Makes about 40 filled pancakes
For this treat, small, yeasted pancakes cooked on only one side are rolled into a cone and
filled with a beautifully light cream laced with rose and orange blossom waters. The cream
ends of the cones are dipped in crushed pistachios and then the whole platter of them or
individual servings are drizzled with a delicate syrup that is also flavored with rose and
orange blossom waters. These delights are very common in the region.
For the ashta:
3 cups (720 ml) milk
½ cup (65 g) cornstarch
¼ cup (50 g) sugar
1 tablespoon rose water
1 tablespoon orange blossom water
For the syrup:
2½ cups (500 g) sugar
Juice of ½ lemon
2 teaspoons rose water
2 teaspoons orange blossom water
For the pancakes:
2½ cups (310 g) all-purpose flour
2 teaspoons baking powder
½ cup (240 ml) lukewarm water (110°F [45°C])
1 tablespoon sugar
1 teaspoon active dry yeast
2 cups (480 ml) milk
For finishing:
⅓ cup (45 g) raw, unsalted pistachios, coarsely chopped
Food-safe dried rose petals (optional)

To make the ashta, in a glass measuring cup or small bowl, combine 1½

cups (360 ml) of the milk with the cornstarch and whisk until smooth.
Set the slurry aside.
In a large saucepan, combine the remaining 1½ cups (360 ml) milk with
the sugar and heat over medium heat until the sugar is dissolved, stirring
occasionally. Continue to heat until the milk begins to bubble. Whisk in
the cornstarch slurry and continue to whisk until the mixture is very
thick, 2 to 4 minutes. Remove the pan from the heat and whisk in the
rose and orange blossom waters.
Transfer the ashta to a heat-proof bowl and press a piece of plastic wrap
flush against the surface, to prevent a skin from forming. Set aside to
cool, then refrigerate until cold.
To make the syrup, in a medium saucepan, combine the sugar and 1¼
cups (300 ml) water. Bring to a boil over medium heat, stirring
occasionally. Add the lemon juice, and reduce the heat to boil gently
until slightly thickened, about 5 minutes.
Remove the pan from the heat and stir in the rose and orange blossom
waters. Let cool completely. The syrup can be stored in an airtight
container in the refrigerator for up to 1 week.
To make the pancakes, in a large bowl, whisk together the flour and
baking powder. In a separate large bowl, whisk together the water, sugar,
and yeast. Let stand until foamy, about 10 minutes. Whisk the milk into
the water mixture. Slowly add the liquid ingredients into the flour,
whisking until smooth.
Let stand at room temperature for 1 hour. After this hour, if not using the
batter at once, refrigerate until ready to cook the pancakes.
When ready to cook the pancakes, heat a nonstick skillet over medium to
medium-high heat until hot and set a cooling rack on a baking sheet next
to the stove. For each pancake, add about 1½ tablespoons batter to the
pan to form a 3½-inch (9-cm) circle. You can cook more than one at a
time; just don’t crowd the pan. Bubbles will appear almost at once on the
top of the pancakes; if they do not, increase the heat. Cook until the
bubbles have popped, the surface is dry, and the bottom is lightly golden.
Transfer them to the cooling rack to cool slightly; do not flip the
pancakes over and cook the other side!
It’s fine if your first few pancakes are not very shapely; it can take a few
tries to get the pan to the correct temperature and to get a feel for
cooking them. If the pancakes are spreading too quickly and are
misshapen, whisk in more flour a couple of teaspoons at a time; if they
aren’t bubbling much and you’re sure your pan is hot enough, whisk in
more milk a couple of teaspoons at a time.
When the pancakes are still warm but cool enough to handle, shape them
into a cone shape: Hold one pancake with the uncooked side facing up.
Fold it loosely in half and starting at one of the two folded ends, press
together the two open edges about two-thirds of the way up the side,
leaving an opening at the top.
Use the remaining batter to cook the pancakes and shape them into
cones. Let cool for a few minutes before assembling.
To assemble, place the pistachios in a shallow dish. Remove the ashta
from the refrigerator; it will be very thick. Whisk it vigorously until
smooth. Transfer the cream to a pastry bag fitted with a large round tip or
use a disposable pastry bag and snip off the end after the bag is filled.
Pipe the cream into a cone, filling it pretty generously. Dip the exposed
cream into the pistachios and arrange the assembled qatayef on a plate.
Continue with the remaining pancakes, cream, and pistachios. Scatter
some rose petals on top, if desired. Serve with the syrup for drizzling.
These are best the day they are made. Store leftovers in an airtight
container in the refrigerator for up to 2 days.
Baklawa
Makes about 80 (1½-inch / 4-cm) pieces
When I was in college, I was the president of the Amnesty International chapter at my
university and a lovely art professor was the dedicated faculty advisor to our little group
(we had all of about five members). For a fundraiser around the holidays one year, we
decided we would make small pottery plates and sell them. We set up outside the cafeteria
where there was a very regular stream of students coming in and out. Right next to the
plates we placed a petition to stop the Iraq war, and our goal was to get their signatures and
their money. Even then, when I saw a plate, I decided it must be filled, and I enlisted my
mom to help me make a bunch of baklawa for a little extra incentive. It was definitely a sign
of things to come in my life, though the student body at Ohio Northern was generally more
conservative than me, and most who passed by were as suspicious of my baklawa as they
were of my petition. How foolish they were to shun the virtues of this golden baked phyllo
pastry filled with buttery ground nuts and bathed in fragrant syrup. Even though I’ll
choose salty over sweet most days of the week, I always make an exception for my mom’s
baklawa.
In Lebanon, baklawa is filled with walnuts instead of pistachios only during Ramadan.
Perhaps this is because walnuts are especially filling, which is important when adults eat
only after sundown for an entire month. In my family, however, we always use walnuts.
This generous recipe makes enough for a crowd and then some; but don’t hesitate to make
this if you’re serving a smaller group; leftovers keep beautifully for weeks. It’s important to
cut the baklawa all the way through before you bake it; you won’t be able to do it
afterwards without crushing the pastry, and those cuts allow the syrup to soak all the way
through every piece, which is key to baklawa’s divine flavor and texture.
For the filling:
2 pounds (910 g) shelled walnuts, ground medium-fine in a food processor
¾ cup (150 g) sugar
2 to 3 tablespoons orange blossom water
For the syrup (see Notes):
1½ cups (300 g) sugar
Juice of ½ lemon
3 tablespoons orange blossom water
2 pounds (32 ounces / 910 g) phyllo dough, thawed (see Notes)
2 pounds (910 g) salted butter, clarified (see this page and Notes)

To make the filling, in a large bowl combine the walnuts, sugar, and
orange blossom water and use your hands to rub it all together until well
mixed with no lumps. Set aside.
To make the syrup, in a medium saucepan, combine the sugar and 3 cups
(720 ml) water. Bring to a boil over medium heat, then boil gently for 15
minutes. Add the lemon juice and cook another 5 minutes. Remove the
pan from the heat and stir in the orange blossom water. Let cool
completely, then chill until cold.
Arrange a rack in the middle of the oven and preheat the oven to 400°F
(205°C). Have ready a 17 by 12 by 1½-inch (43 by 30.5 by 4 cm) baking
pan. Trim the phyllo dough if necessary to fit the pan. Brush the bottom
and sides of the pan with a thin layer of butter.

While working with phyllo, make sure to keep the dough that you’re
pulling from covered with plastic wrap and a kitchen towel so that it
won’t dry out.
Place one sheet of phyllo on the bottom of the pan and lightly brush
butter over the entire sheet. Repeat with each layer, buttering each layer
until 1 pound (455 g) of phyllo is used; do not butter the last sheet.
Place the nut mixture on top and use your hands to spread it into an even
layer and pat it down lightly.
Using the other pound of phyllo, place a sheet on top of the nuts and
lightly brush it with butter. Continue in the same manner as before with
the second pound of dough, making sure each layer is lightly buttered.
Cut the baklawa into squares or diamonds before baking. To cut it into
diamonds, starting at the short side of the pan, score the middle of the
pastry. From that point score at intervals of two finger widths or
approximately 1 inch (2.5 cm). You should have 8 rows marked. Use a
very sharp knife to cut down the length of each scored line, slicing all the
way through all the layers of dough.
Turn the pan 90 degrees and score diagonally at even intervals across all
the rows; you will have 80 to 90 pieces. Use your knife to cut all the way
through all the layers.
Bake the baklawa for 15 minutes. Turn the oven temperature down to
325°F (165°C) and bake until the top layer is flaky and a light golden
brown, about 45 minutes.
Remove the baklawa from the oven, and while it is still hot, pour the
syrup all over the surface of the pastry, first going down the sides and
then continuing row by row, covering the full width and length of the
baklawa.
Let cool completely in the pan. You may serve directly from the pan.
Cover the pan or transfer to an airtight container and store at room
temperature for up to 2 weeks.
Notes: Have syrup and clarified butter prepared at least one day ahead.
If you have the option, buy the thinnest phyllo you can. If there are
numbers on the boxes, buy the one marked “#4 thin.”
Halwa
Tahini Cocktail
Makes 1 cocktail and enough syrup for 16 cocktails
This cocktail, created by Nari Kim, an opening bartender at Maydān, somehow manages to
be creamy without any cream or dairy at all. It has just the right amount of sweetness—not
too much, not too little—to make it the perfect partner to sip with any of the desserts in this
chapter (as you can see on this page). Or, if you truly can’t imagine eating one more thing,
this drink can easily stand on its own as a lovely sweet ending.
For the tahini syrup:
1 cup (240 ml) tahini (sesame seed paste), preferably Beirut brand, stirred until smooth
before measuring
1 cup (240 ml) hot water
¾ cup (150 g) sugar
¾ teaspoon kosher salt
¼ teaspoon vanilla extract
¼ teaspoon orange blossom water
For one cocktail:
Ice, for mixing
1½ ounces (45 ml) tequila, such as Pueblo Viejo Reposado
1 ounce (30 ml) tahini syrup
½ ounce (15 ml) orange liqueur, such as Combier
½ ounce (15 ml) fresh lime juice
Ground pistachios, for garnish

To make the tahini syrup, place the tahini, hot water, sugar, salt, vanilla,
and orange blossom water in a blender. Blend until smooth. Store in a
covered container in the refrigerator for up to 1 week.
To make a cocktail, fill a cocktail shaker with ice.
Pour into the shaker the tequila, tahini syrup, orange liqueur, and lime
juice. Close the shaker and shake vigorously until the outside of the
shaker is uncomfortably cold.
Strain into a coupe glass and garnish with a sprinkle of ground
pistachios.
Trying to figure out which jar won’t leak in my suitcase
Resources

BATCH 13
batch13wines.com
A great wine and spirits shop in Washington, DC, with a huge selection of Georgian wines.
BEIT DOUMA
hotelibanais.com/travel/guesthouses/beit-douma
In the village of Douma, Lebanon, one of the most beautiful, restful inns anywhere.
BURLAP AND BARREL
burlapandbarrel.com
Everything they have is good, including their ground sumac and ground black lime.
CHANI NICHOLAS
chani.com
For reading the stars.
EL CAMINO TRAVEL
elcamino.travel
For incredible experiences all over the world.
GO THERE WINES
gotherewines.com
My social-impact wine company.
J.Q. DICKINSON
jqdsalt.com
For phenomenal West Virginian salt.
KUZEH POTTERY
kuzehpottery.com
The female-owned business behind the beautiful bowls and plates at Maydān.
LAITERIE HADWANE
hadwan.weebly.com/blog
A delightful dairy and provisions shop in the town of Mreijat, in Lebanon’s Beqaa region.
MAYDĀN, COMPASS ROSE, KIRBY CLUB, and MEDINA
maydandc.com
compassrosedc.com
kirbyclub.com
medinadc.com
So I can feed you like family in Washington, DC, and Northern Virginia.
MAYDĀN LA
4301 West Jefferson Boulevard, Los Angeles, CA 90016
Like the original with some West Coast touches; coming to the West Adams neighborhood in
spring 2024.
SAHADI’S
sahadis.com
If you find yourself in Brooklyn, stop in here for almost any ingredient you need.
SANTA MONICA FARMERS MARKET
santamonica.gov/places/farmers-markets/downtown-farmers-market
If you’re in or near Santa Monica on a Wednesday or Saturday, this is the place to come for
beautiful produce.
SUPRA
supradc.com
For incredible Georgian food in Washington, DC.
TASTE LEBANON
facebook.com/tastelebanon
My friend Bethany’s company organizes fabulous culinary tours in Lebanon.
TIGER BAKERY & DELI
tigerbakery.com
My childhood bakery; stop by if you’re in Toledo!
WEST LA INTERNATIONAL MARKET
westlainternationalmarket.com
This is where I go when I’m cooking at home in LA and I run out of those pantry staples.
Z&Z
zandzdc.com
A family-owned bakery in suburban DC with the best za’atar in America.
ZINGERMAN’S
zingermans.com
Fantastic ingredients and prepared foods, and also fun salts.
Omani spice blend
 Index of Searchable Terms
A
akkawi cheese
K’nafe
Aleppo Lamb Kebabs (Grilled Minced Lamb Kebabs)
almonds
Mandi
Maqluba
Ancho Reyes Verde Liqueur
Dead Sea
Andres, José
anise
Ka’ak Sumsum
Roasted Anise and Caraway Olives
Sambousek
appetizers, about
apricot liqueur
Empty Quarter
apricots
Fruit Plate with Orange Blossom Syrup
Arabic
arbol chiles
Omani Shrimp Kebabs
Armenia
Armenian Pork Skewers
Itch
 Lahmajoun
Aunt Gracie’s Harist Il Louz (Cream of Wheat Cake)
Ayran (Yogurt Drink)

B
Baalbek, Lebanon
Baba Ghanoush, Mom’s (Lebanese Eggplant Dip)
Badrijani Nigvzit (Georgian Eggplant Rolls with Walnut Filling)
Baharat
Mandi
recipe
Baklawa
Balik Ekmek (Mackerel Sandwiches)
Bamia (Okra and Tomatoes)
Bartroun, Lebanon
basil
Potato Kibbeh
Batata Harra (Lebanese Spicy Potatoes)
beans. See fava beans; kidney beans
beef
Beef Koobideh
Khinkali
Maqluba
Omani Beef Tenderloin Kebabs
Ribeye with Georgian Dry Rub
Sfeeha
beets
Beet Borani
 Lift
Beiruti Hummus
Beit Douma, Lebanon
bell peppers. See also green bell peppers; red bell peppers
Lahmajoun
Lahme Mishwe
Mchicha Wanazi
Muhammara
roasting
Taktouka
Ben’s Original rice
Bishmizzine, Lebanon
Bisquick
Tita’s Meat Pies
black lime
Black Lime Salt
Omani Shrimp Kebabs
blue curaçao
Dead Sea
blue fenugreek
breads. See also flatbread; hand pies about
Compass Rose’s Khachapuri
Kartopiliani
Talame with Za’atar
as utensil
bulgur
Itch
The Kelly Girls’ Tabbouleh
 Kibbeh Nayeh
Kibbeh Sanieh
Kishk
Potato Kibbeh
Butter, Clarified

C
cabbage
Grilled Cabbage with Turmeric Keshkamel
Roasted Whole Fish with Spicy Cabbage
Salatet Malfouf
canning
caraway
Roasted Anise and Caraway Olives
cardamom
carrot juice
Empty Quarter
carrots
Harissa Couscous
Maydān’s Grilled Carrots with Harissa
cashews
Maqluba
cauliflower
Slow-Grilled Cauliflower with Tahina and Zhough
cheese. See also feta cheese;
Kishk; labne; mozzarella akkawi
Compass Rose’s Khachapuri
Fatayer bi Jibneh
 Gebjalia
halloumi
Kartopiliani
K’nafe
Maydān’s Shanklish
ricotta
Shankleesh
sulguni
Syrian
Chermoula (North African Saffron and Herb Sauce)
recipe
Roasted Whole Fish with Spicy Cabbage
Sayadieh
cherries
Fruit Plate with Orange Blossom Syrup
Kebab bel Karaz
cherry pits, ground (mahlab)
chicken
Chicken Satsivi
Mandi
Roasted Turmeric Chicken
Shish Taouk
Tunisian Chicken Skewers
chickpeas
cooking
Dango
Hummus, Three Ways
Kushari
childhood
chiles
arbol
caution handling
Fresno
habanero
roasting
Zhough
cilantro
Batata Harra
Chermoula
Lamb Chakapuli
Lobio Mtsvanilit
Persian Swordfish Kebabs
Ta’ameya
Zhough
Cinnamon Tomato Sauce
Clarified Butter
cocktails
Compass Rose Cocktail
Dead Sea
Empty Quarter
Euphrates (non-alcoholic)
Halwa
Za’atar Martini
coconut milk
Mchicha Wanazi
coffee
Compass Rose restaurant
Compass Rose Cocktail
Compass Rose’s Khachapuri
couscous
Harissa Couscous
Covid-19 pandemic
cream
clotted
Qatayef with Ashtaliyeh
Cream of Wheat
Aunt Gracie’s Harist Il Louz
cremini mushrooms
Lahme Mishwe
cucumbers
Fattoush
Pickled Cucumbers
Tomato Cucumber Salad

D
dairy intolerance
dandelion greens
Hinbe
Dango (Omani Garlic-Butter Chickpeas)
dates
Ma’moul
Dead Sea (Sweet-and-Sour Margarita)
Detroit
dill
 Lobio Mtsvanilit
Sabzi Khordan
dolmas
Stuffed Grape Leaves
dourade
Roasted Whole Fish with Spicy Cabbage
dressings
Lemon-Pomegranate Dressing
Sumac Vinaigrette
duck
Ras el Hanout–Rubbed Duck Breast
Dukkah
Grilled Halloumi with Dukkah and Honey
recipe

E
Easter feast
eggplant
Badrijani Nigvzit
Eggplant with Cinnamon Tomato Sauce
Maqluba
Mom’s Baba Ghanoush
eggs
Compass Rose’s Khachapuri
Shakshuka
Egypt
rice
Empty Quarter (Juicy Carrot Cocktail)
Euphrates (Maydān’s Favorite No-Booze Cocktail)
Ezme (Turkish “Pico de Gallo”)

F
Falafel (Ta’ameya)
family
childhood and
Easter feast and
lamb and
from Lebanon
tawles
vegetables and
Fatayer bi Jibneh (Cheese Pies)
Fatayer bi Sabanekh (Spinach Pies)
Fattoush
fava beans
Ta’ameya
fennel bulb
Roasted Whole Fish with Spicy Cabbage
fenugreek, blue
feta cheese
Compass Rose’s Khachapuri
Shakshuka
fish and seafood
Balik Ekmek
Octopus, Two Ways
Omani Shrimp Kebabs
Persian Swordfish Kebabs
 Roasted Whole Fish with Spicy Cabbage
Sayadieh
flatbread
Fattoush
Lahmajoun
Toné Flatbread
Fresno chiles
fruit. See also
cherries
Fruit Plate with Orange Blossom Syrup

G
garlic
Dango
Toum
Gebjalia (Georgian Cheese Rolls with Mint)
Georgia (country)
Badrijani Nigvzit
Compass Rose’s Khachapuri
Gebjalia
Kartopiliani
Khinkali
Lamb Chakapuli
Lobio Mtsvanilit
supras
wine of
gin
non-alcoholic
 Za’atar Martini
ginger
Mchicha Wanazi
Go There wines
Grape Leaves, Stuffed
Green Beans with Cinnamon Tomato Sauce
green bell peppers
Mchicha Wanazi
Taktouka
green tomatoes
Pickled Green Tomatoes
Grilled Cabbage with Turmeric Keshkamel
Grilled Halloumi with Dukkah and Honey

H
habanero chiles
halloumi cheese
Grilled Halloumi with Dukkah and Honey
Halwa (Tahini Cocktail)
hand pies
Fatayer bi Jibneh
Fatayer bi Sabanekh
Sfeeha
Tita’s Meat Pies
Harissa (North African Red Pepper Sauce)
Hummus bil Lahme
Maydān’s Grilled Carrots with Harissa
recipe
Harissa (sweet)
Harissa Couscous
Hegazi, Omar
herbs. See also cilantro; dill; mint; parsley
basil
Chermoula
Lobio Mtsvanilit
Sabzi Khordan
Sumac Onion and Herb Salad
Hinbe (Wilted Dandelion Greens Salad)
honey
Grilled Halloumi with Dukkah and Honey
Hummus, Three Ways
husband, meeting and travels with

I
Imjaddarah (Lentils and Rice with Crispy Onions)
Itch (Armenian Bulgur Wheat Salad)

K
Ka’ak Sumsum (Sesame Cookies)
Karam House
Kartopiliani (Georgian Cheese-and-Potato-Filled Bread)
kataifi
K’nafe
kebabs
about
Aleppo Lamb Kebabs
Armenian Pork Skewers
 Beef Koobideh
Kebab bel Karaz
Lahme Mishwe
Omani Beef Tenderloin Kebabs
Omani Shrimp Kebabs
Persian Swordfish Kebabs
Shish Taouk
Tunisian Chicken Skewers
Kefraya Winery
Kehdy, Bethany
The Kelly Girls’ Tabbouleh
Kherbet Khanafar, Lebanon
Khinkali (Georgian Meat-Filled Dumplings)
Kibbeh Nayeh (Ground Raw Lamb with Bulgur)
Kibbeh Sanieh (Baked Ground Lamb with Bulgur)
kidney beans
Lobio Mtsvanilit
Kirby Club restaurant
Kishk (Fermented and Preserved Cheese with Cracked Wheat)
Grilled Cabbage with Turmeric Keshkamel
recipe
K’nafe (Warm Cheese Dessert)
Koosa (Stuffed Summer Squash with Lamb and Rice)
Kushari (Egyptian Elbow Pasta with Lentils, Chickpeas, and Rice)

L
labne
Ayran
 Beet Borani
Gebjalia
Kartopiliani
Kishk
Labne with Dried Mint
Maydān’s Shanklish
Tahdig
Whiskey (or Not) Marinade
Yogurt-Saffron Marinade
lactose intolerance
Lahmajoun (Armenian Lamb Pizza)
Lahme Mishwe (“Grilled Meat” Lamb Kebabs)
lamb
Aleppo Lamb Kebabs
family and
Green Beans with Cinnamon Tomato Sauce and
Hummus bil Lahme
Kebab bel Karaz
Kibbeh Nayeh
Kibbeh Sanieh
Koosa
Lahmajoun
Lahme Mishwe
Lamb Chakapuli
Maydān’s Lamb Shoulder with Syrian Seven Spice
Sfeeha
Sitti’s Syrian Rice
Stuffed Grape Leaves
 Tita’s Meat Pies
Lebanese Holiday
about
menu
Lebanon. See also specific recipes
Baalbek
baking in
Bartroun
Beit Douma
Bishmizzine
family from
Kherbet Khanafar in
lactose intolerance and
Maydān cuisine from
recipes from, about
wine of
lemon
Lemon Mayonnaise
Lemon-Pomegranate Dressing
Sumac Vinaigrette
Tahina
lentils
Imjaddarah
Kushari
Lift (Pickled Turnips)
lime. See also black lime
Dango
Dead Sea
liquor. See cocktails
Lobio Mtsvanilit (Georgian Herbed Kidney Beans)

M
mackerel
Balik Ekmek
mahlab (ground cherry pits)
Ma’moul (Lebanese Date-Filled Butter Cookies)
Mandi (Syrian Charcoal-Flavored Chicken Rice)
Maqluba (Upside-Down Rice with Eggplant)
Margarita, Sweet-and-Sour (Dead Sea)
marigold flower
Marinated Olives, Two Ways
Martini, Za’atar
maydān meaning
Maydān restaurant
Covid-19 pandemic and
Maydān’s Grilled Carrots with Harissa
Maydān’s Lamb Shoulder with Syrian Seven Spice
Maydān’s Shanklish
origins and mission
tawle and sample menu
Mayonnaise, Lemon
Mchicha Wanazi (Spinach in Coconut Milk)
mezcal
Dead Sea
mezze table
about
 menu
mint
Fattoush
Gebjalia
The Kelly Girls’ Tabbouleh
Koosa
Labne with Dried Mint
Lobio Mtsvanilit
Mint Simple Syrup
Patata Salata
Sabzi Khordan
Salatet Malfouf
Mom’s Baba Ghanoush (Lebanese Eggplant Dip)
Morocco
Taktouka
Moscow, Russia
Mouneh (Pickled Cucumbers, Turnips, and Green Tomatoes)
mozzarella
Compass Rose’s Khachapuri
Fatayer bi Jibneh
Gebjalia
K’nafe
M’tabbal Dulu’ el-Selek (Swiss Chard Dip)
Muhammara (Walnut, Roasted Red Pepper, and Pomegranate Dip)
Muscat, Oman
mushrooms
Lahme Mishwe
My Big Fat Greek Wedding
N
North Africa. See also Chermoula; Harissa
Shakshuka
NPR
nuts. See also almonds; peanuts; pine nuts; walnuts
cashews
Maqluba
pistachios
toasting

O
Octopus, Two Ways
Ohio
okra
Bamia
olive oil, sourcing
olives marinated, two ways
Oman
baking in
Bedouin village
Dango
kebabs in
Mchicha Wanazi
Muscat
Omani Beef Tenderloin Kebabs
Omani Shrimp Kebabs
traditional flour grinding in
onion. See also Sumac Onions
 Imjaddarah
Shakshuka
Open-Kettle Tomatoes
orange blossom water
Aunt Gracie’s Harist Il Louz
Baklawa
Fruit Plate with Orange Blossom Syrup
Qatayef with Ashtaliyeh
Sambousek
orange juice
Hummus bil Lahme
Persian Swordfish Kebabs
orange liqueur
Halwa
oranges
Roasted Whole Fish with Spicy Cabbage
orange zest
Harissa Couscous
Yogurt-Saffron Marinade

P
pantry staples
list
resources for
parsley
Chermoula
Fattoush
The Kelly Girls’ Tabbouleh
 Sabzi Khordan
Ta’ameya
Zhough
passion fruit purée
Dead Sea
pasta, elbow
Kushari
Patata Salata (Lebanese Potato Salad)
peaches
Fruit Plate with Orange Blossom Syrup
peanuts
Dukkah
Tunisian Chicken Skewers
Peppadew peppers
peppers. See also chiles; green bell peppers; Harissa; red bell peppers;
serrano peppers; shishito peppers
roasting
Shakshuka
Tunisian Chicken Skewers
Persian recipes
Beef Koobideh
Persian Swordfish Kebabs
Tahdig
phyllo dough
Baklawa
Pickled Cucumbers, Turnips, and Green Tomatoes (Mouneh)
pico de gallo (Turkish)
pies, hand. See hand pies pine nuts
 Maqluba
Sfeeha
Sitti’s Syrian Rice
Tita’s Meat Pies
piquillo peppers
pistachios
K’nafe
Pizza, Armenian Lamb (Lahmajoun)
plums. See also tkemali sauce
Fruit Plate with Orange Blossom Syrup
pomegranate liqueur
Compass Rose Cocktail
pomegranate molasses
Itch
Lemon-Pomegranate Dressing
Muhammara
Tunisian Chicken Skewers
pork
Armenian Pork Skewers
Khinkali
potatoes
Batata Harra
Kartopiliani
Patata Salata
Potato Kibbeh

Q
Qatayef with Ashtaliyeh (Sweet Pancakes with Cream Pudding)
R
radicchio
Salatet Malfouf
radishes
Roasted Whole Fish with Spicy Cabbage
raisins
Mandi
Tunisian Chicken Skewers
ras el hanout
Ras el Hanout Olives
Ras el Hanout–Rubbed Duck Breast
recipe name and origin
red bell peppers. See also Harissa
Mchicha Wanazi
paste
roasted
Tunisian Chicken Skewers
Red Shatta (Hot Pepper Sauce)
refugees
Syrian
Yemen
resources
restaurants. See also Compass Rose restaurant; Maydān restaurant
Kirby Club
origins
websites
Ribeye with Georgian Dry Rub
rice
 Ben’s Original
Egyptian
Imjaddarah
Koosa
Kushari
Mandi
Maqluba
Sitti’s Syrian Rice
Stuffed Grape Leaves
Tahdig
ricotta cheese
Compass Rose’s Khachapuri
Roasted Anise and Caraway Olives
Roasted Turmeric Chicken
Roasted Whole Fish with Spicy Cabbage
rose petals
rosé vinegar
rose water
Compass Rose Cocktail
Ma’moul
Yogurt-Saffron Marinade
Rose Water Syrup
K’nafe
recipe
Russia
Georgian wine and
Moscow
Siberia
S
Sabzi Khordan (Herb Plate)
saffron
Beef Koobideh
Chermoula
marigold flower
Yogurt-Saffron Marinade
salads and sides
about
Badrijani Nigvzit
Batata Harra
Fattoush
Green Beans with Cinnamon Tomato Sauce
Hinbe
Itch
The Kelly Girls’ Tabbouleh
Koosa
Lobio Mtsvanilit
Maydān’s Grilled Carrots with Harissa
Mchicha Wanazi
Patata Salata
Potato Kibbeh
Salatet Malfouf
Slow-Grilled Cauliflower with Tahina and Zhough
Stuffed Grape Leaves
Sumac Onion and Herb Salad
Ta’ameya
Tomato Cucumber Salad
 Tunisian Octopus Salad
Salatet Malfouf (Mint Cabbage Salad)
salts
Black Lime Salt
sourcing
Sambousek (Walnut-Filled Half-Moon Cookies)
sauces, about
Sayadieh (Grilled “Fisherman’s Catch” with Chermoula and Tahina)
sea bass
Sayadieh
seafood. See fish and seafood seeds. See also sesame seeds
Dukkah
toasting
serrano peppers
Dead Sea
Harissa
Lamb Chakapuli
Mchicha Wanazi
Persian Swordfish Kebabs
Pickled Green Tomatoes
Zhough
sesame seeds. See also tahini
Dukkah
Fatayer bi Jibneh
Ka’ak Sumsum
Sweet Tomato Jam
Ta’ameya
Talame with Za’atar
Sfeeha (Meat Pies)
Shakshuka
Shankleesh (Spiced Cheese Balls)
shishito peppers
Beiruti Hummus
Ezme
Itch
Shish Taouk (Chicken Kebabs)
shopping
pantry essentials and
resources
shrimp
Omani Shrimp Kebabs
Siberia, traveling across
Sicilian-American
sides. See salads and sides Simple Syrup
basic recipe
Mint Simple Syrup
Sitti’s Syrian Rice
Slow-Grilled Cauliflower with Tahina and Zhough
smoked paprika
Chermoula
Syrian Seven Spice
sparkling white wine
spices. See also specific spices
Baharat
Kibbeh Seasoning
Omani spice mix
 Syrian Seven Spice
toasting
spinach
Fatayer bi Sabanekh
Mchicha Wanazi
squash, summer
Koosa
steak
Ribeye with Georgian Dry Rub
Stuffed Grape Leaves
sulguni cheese
sumac
Sumac Vinaigrette
Za’atar Martini
Sumac Onions
Fattoush
recipe
Roasted Whole Fish with Spicy Cabbage
Slow-Grilled Cauliflower with Tahina and Zhough
summer squash
Koosa
supras
Sweet Tomato Jam
Swiss chard
M’tabbal Dulu’ el-Selek
Swordfish Kebabs, Persian
Syria
Mandi
 Maqluba
refugees from
Sitti’s Syrian Rice
Syrian cheese
Fatayer bi Jibneh
Syrian Seven Spice
Aleppo Lamb Kebabs
Kebab bel Karaz
Maydān’s Lamb Shoulder with Syrian Seven Spice
recipe
syrups. See also Rose Water Syrup
Mint Simple Syrup
orange blossom
rose and orange blossom
Simple Syrup, base recipe
tahini

T
Ta’ameya (Falafel)
Tabbouleh, The Kelly Girls’
table. See mezze table; tawles Tahdig (Persian Rice with Crisp Crust)
Tahina (Levantine Tahini-Lemon Sauce)
recipe
Sayadieh
Slow-Grilled Cauliflower with Tahina and Zhough
tahini
Halwa
Hummus, Three Ways
 Mom’s Baba Ghanoush
M’tabbal Dulu’ el-Selek
Sfeeha
sourcing
syrup
Tahina
Taktouka (Moroccan Roasted Pepper and Tomato Spread)
Talame with Za’atar (Za’atar Bread)
tarragon
Lamb Chakapuli
tawles (table)
about
Maydān
tequila. See also mezcal
Empty Quarter
Halwa
Thomas, Darnell
Tita’s Meat Pies (Lahme bi Ajeen)
tkemali sauce
Lamb Chakapuli
tomatoes
Bamia
Beiruti Hummus
Ezme
Fattoush
The Kelly Girls’ Tabbouleh
Koosa
Kushari
 Octopus with Sauce Kerkennaise
Open-Kettle Tomatoes
Sfeeha
Shakshuka
Sweet Tomato Jam
Taktouka
Tomato Cucumber Salad
tomatoes, green
Pickled Green Tomatoes
tomato paste
Muhammara
tomato sauce
Cinnamon Tomato Sauce
Open-Kettle Tomatoes for
Toné Flatbread
Toum (Whipped Garlic Sauce) recipe
Shish Taouk
Trans-Siberian Railway
Tunisia
Tunisian Chicken Skewers
Tunisian Octopus Salad
Turkey
Ezme
Karam House
turmeric
Grilled Cabbage with Turmeric Keshkamel
Roasted Turmeric Chicken
turnips
 Lift

U
urfa biber

V
vegetables. See also salads and sides; specific vegetables
vermouth
Za’atar Martini

W
walnuts
Badrijani Nigvzit
Baklawa
Chicken Satsivi
Muhammara
Sambousek
wheat. See bulgur
whey
Sabzi Khordan
Whiskey (or Not) Marinade
wine
Compass Rose Cocktail
of Georgia
Go There
Lamb Chakapuli
of Lebanon
World Central Kitchen

Y
Yemen
yogurt. See also labne
Ayran
Yogurt-Saffron Marinade

Z
za’atar
Maydān’s Shanklish
Talame with Za’atar
Za’atar Martini
Zanzibar
Zhough (Chile-Cilantro Sauce)
recipe
Slow-Grilled Cauliflower with Tahina and Zhough
 Acknowledgments
This book is dedicated to all the women in my family and across the
globe who have taught me a recipe, a technique, shown me enormous
hospitality, or shared a family secret.
Not only would I not be where I am today without them, but this book
would not be in your hands right now if it wasn’t for my family. Thank
you, Aunt Jan, Aunt Joan, Aunt Jen, Uncle Buddy, and cousin Rachel.
And all the cousins and relatives who helped with recipes. They are the
beautiful spirits who overcame their fear of measuring cups and spoons
to help us record the dishes they have made from their hearts for so, so
many years. With a limited amount of arguing, they helped to record the
recipes handed down to them by their grandmothers, to my grandmother,
and now to my brothers, cousins, and me. My brothers and sisters-in-law,
thank you for your undying patience with my work and your loving
support of all my crazy ideas. Albert, Maggie, Peter, Becca, Joey, and
Kris, sorry for all the dinners when I was on the phone and for only
taking you out to eat at one of my restaurants.
Mom and Dad. Thank you for teaching me to love and respect food.
Thank you for forcing me to learn that being different was always the
way to go, even when it’s hard. That food would be the way we explain
who we are and why we’re proud of it. Mom, your unrelenting work
ethic and devotion to us kids is rare and special and molded us into some
real, beautiful characters. It’s true, the food doesn’t taste good unless you
cook with love in your heart. Thanks, Dad, for the decades of
subscribing to Gourmet magazine and buying all the cookbooks that
taught me about how to follow a recipe and about far-away worlds.
Marah. My dear and benevolent coauthor. We laugh at how we finished
this book very different than the people who started it. We persevered
through a pandemic to collaborate on recipes that we couldn’t cook
together as we couldn’t be in the same room for most of the writing of
this book. Somewhere in the middle recipe sessions turned to therapy
sessions and we have weathered more than one meltdown together. I am
eternally grateful for you in every possible way. How do you trust
someone to be your voice? I’m so glad Marah accepted my request that
she help me put so many thoughts, ideas, memories, musings,
peculiarities, and all-assorted melee into beautiful prose.
Thank you to the chefs who shared their time and their own special
dishes with me for this book, especially Darnell, Omar, and John Paul.
Thank you to Sameen and Victoria and Bella and Mamuka and Lina and
Lena. Thank you, Karam Foundation, for a week of learning and
unlearning and appreciation for what it is to overcome great hardship and
carry your culture with you when the world took away everything else
away from you.
Thank you, Bethany and Eddie, for leading me on my journey to connect
to my ancestral homeland. Thank you for understanding that food and
wine can connect us across generations and miles. You are amazing
teachers and torchbearers of a rich and beautiful culture. Many thanks to
Felicia for helping us create an amazing culinary trip through Oman and
for writing an amazing cookbook that inspired us to travel there.
Thank you, Mariana, Caroline, Maeve, and the whole production team
who worked like crazy before the holidays to get our photos taken in
time.
The indomitable Jen. Thank you for seeing me exactly as I am and
somehow showing the world via your beautiful photos. I trust you like
none other even if you didn’t give me mezcal and music to get through a
shoot.
Mike, you indulge my many wild ideas and support the visions and
dreams that many wouldn’t trust could turn into beautiful as well as
successful things. Thank you for trusting me and believing in me. Andy,
thank you for saying, “Let me know when you’re ready to do the next
one.” Look where we went with that! Thank you for trusting me even
when you didn’t really understand how the space was ever going to come
together.
David, Sarah, Laura, and Diane, thank you for taking a chance on a first-
time author from Washington, DC. Thank you, Joe, for the introduction,
and Maddy, who told me I could do this.
Thank you, Maydān, and the teams past and present. Thank you,
Christina, Drew, and Jessie, especially for your hand modeling and
traveling with me, literally and figuratively.
David Greene. You taught me that anything is possible and there is no
ocean wide enough and no mountain tall enough nor any train journey
long enough that we can’t attempt to cross or climb or ride together. Your
insane love of adventure is contagious and I’m so glad I caught it from
you so very long ago. I’m sorry I’m still bad with maps, but I vow to
always have snacks in my bag for us. I write this with the advance thanks
for the next adventure that I know is right around the corner.
To the migrants and the refugees and those fighting in this region to
preserve their cultures and their homes through food, even after their
homes and countries have been stolen from them. There are so few easy
days. I can’t thank you enough for the days and nights you’ve given me
to learn from you and share your gifts with the world.
Editor: Laura Dozier
Design Manager: Danielle Youngsmith
Managing Editor: Glenn Ramirez
Production Manager: Kathleen Gaffney
Book design by Diane Shaw
Library of Congress Control Number: 2023932419
ISBN: 978-1-4197-6313-7
eISBN: 978-1-64700-746-1
Text copyright © 2023 Rose Previte
Photographs copyright © 2023 Jennifer Chase
Cover © 2023 Abrams
Published in 2023 by Abrams, an imprint of ABRAMS. All rights reserved. No portion of this
book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any
means, mechanical, electronic, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission
from the publisher.
Abrams books are available at special discounts when purchased in quantity for premiums and
promotions as well as fundraising or educational use. Special editions can also be created to
specification. For details, contact [email protected] or the address below.
Abrams® is a registered trademark of Harry N. Abrams, Inc.

ABRAMS The Art of Books

195 Broadway, New York, NY 10007
abramsbooks.com