I’m in Miami visiting my family — we’re getting ready to go on a cruise, literally in a couple of hours, but first, I need to tell you about this delicious Pumpkin Kibbeh. It would be incredibly cruel if I kept this recipe to myself any longer. It’s amazing, and I don’t take that claim lightly.

mise en place

I actually packed some of the kibbeh I made for this blog post into my carry-on. I felt like my grandmother, who is incapable of visiting anyone without packing a feast into her luggage. I’m not exaggerating: she will show up with more food than clothes sometimes. She also refuses to rest; as soon as she settles in, she will find her way into the kitchen and begin to work her magic. I get my passion for cooking from her. I wrapped pieces of my Pumpkin Kibbeh in aluminum foil and bundled each parcel inside two plastic bags. I used my clothes for padding and made my way to the airport. This kibbeh merits a blog post.

pumpkin

Kibbeh is a classic Levantine dish that can be prepared several ways. The traditional kibbeh is prepared with extremely lean ground lamb kneaded with bulgur wheat (cracked wheat) until a dough is formed. The dough is stuffed with a fragrant filling of pine nuts and minced lamb seasoned with allspice, salt, pepper, and a tiny pinch of cinnamon. This is only one kind of kibbeh.

roasted vegetables

Legend has it that you can find 100 different kinds of kibbeh in Aleppo. That is why this ancient city in northern Syria is known as “the home of stuffed vegetables and kibab” (plural of kibbeh) — حلب أم المحاشي و الكبب. I’ve written a few blog posts on stuffed vegetables — swiss chard, eggplant, and grape leaves. Today, I want to focus on kibbeh, specifically the pumpkin kibbeh that I discovered at the beginning of my Fulbright. I arrived to Aleppo in early autumn of 2010. The blazing heat still carried over from the hot summer days, but nighttime brought with it a crisp, autumn breeze that swooped through the entire city. It was a beautiful time to be in Syria.

the dough: simple and colorful

At that time I was living with my host mom, Tant Kiki, who prepared simple, but delicious meals. When she prepared this pumpkin kibbeh I am ashamed to say that I was not enthusiastic about eating it for lunch. When I asked what we were having, she said they were leftovers. Little did I know she had the powers to turn scrap vegetables into gold. You will never catch Tant Kiki letting any food go to waste; she gathered her unused vegetables and made this delicious kibbeh out of them. I ate my words. I thought it was the most delicious thing I had ever had.

beautiful color

I made my kibbeh with eleven vegetables (I didn’t end up using the parsley). The beauty of this dish is that you can make it with almost any vegetables you can think of. Whatever you have in your fridge will work, just like Tant Kiki makes it. This is also a great way to use any leftover pumpkin from Halloween or Thanksgiving. I hope you enjoy this recipe as much as I did — I will see you when I get back from my cruise! Bon appetit and Happy (early) Halloween!

the bottom layer

forming the kibbeh

butter, the finishing touch

pumpkin kibbeh

classic diamond shape

pumpkin kibbeh

One of my favorite things to do in Aleppo is walk around the souks. I love losing myself in the crowds, talking with vendors, and taking in my surroundings. It’s an exhilarating feeling. I have a hard time describing it, but the city brings me to life. The chatter, the people, the sales, the merchandise–it’s all a very raw experience. There are souks for almost everything here: clothing, gold, jewelry, food — this is how traditional markets operate in Aleppo. From an economics perspective, it’s wonderful; the competition helps keep prices low. The market I most often visit, naturally, is a vegetable souk that’s a convenient 10-minute walk from my house. I’ve posted pictures on my Facebook Page.

The first time I visited, I couldn’t help but think this is what a real farmer’s market must be like. Mountains of vegetables that look like they have just been picked, and amazing prices. The farmer’s kids enjoy showing me around the market and love to have their pictures taken. They get into arguments over who gets to show me around. The winner takes me by the hand and give me a personal tour of the souk. They take turns and do it all with the biggest smiles.

happiness

swiss chard

The Swiss chard at the souk caught my eye; its over-sized dark green leaves are hard to miss. Aleppo is known as the mother city of stuffed vegetables and kibab. It’s a popular saying here, “حلب أم الكبب و المحاشي”. This was my inspiration for today’s post.

Kibab, plural for kibbeh, are small torpedo-shape balls, pointy on both ends, made from minced meat and fine bulgur (cracked wheat). This is a classic preparation across the Levant and anything that slightly resembles this paradigm is dubbed, kibbeh. Aleppo is famous for its endless variations: with sour cherries or quince; carrots or pumpkin; yogurt or broth; raw or cooked; fried or baked; boiled or grilled. I can go on. This is a topic that, rightfully so, deserves its own blog post. Today, however, I want to focus on the first half of the saying–that is, the stuffed vegetables.

Like kibab, Aleppans are also known for their variety of stuffed vegetables: eggplants, zucchini, peppers, grape leaves, cabbage leaves, tomatoes, potatoes; I’m sure I’m forgetting a lot. As of lately, my favorite has been the stuffed Swiss chard leaves. I had them for the first time a few months ago on a chilly winter afternoon in Aleppo. My grandmother’s sister prepared a batch one afternoon for me to try. The stuffed chard leaves looked almost like over-stuffed grape leaves, but with a more pronounced dark green color. They also seemed softer in texture, as I noticed a few inside the pot had broken down in the simmering broth.

Before we sat down to eat, my grandmother’s sister asked me to mince some garlic; it’s for the sauce, she said. She added the fragrant garlic bits into a bowl of pearly white yogurt, sprinkled a small handful of dried mint, and stirred. It looked beautiful. The specks of bright green mint stood out in the creamy yogurt. As she carried the pot of stuffed chard leaves to the table she told me this used to be my grandfather’s favorite dish. “Allah yerhamo,” she said (May he rest in peace).

I took my first bite. I remember I wasn’t very excited. In my mind, it didn’t seem like anything could compare to the flavor and texture of stuffed grape leaves. “You have to eat it with the yogurt sauce,” she proclaimed. My grandmother’s sister took the liberty of adding a few large spoonfuls to the side of my plate. She instructed me, “dip, and then give it a try.”

I took another bite, this time with the yogurt. Had I been a cartoon character, this is when fireworks would be happening in my eyes. The difference is incredible. The sauce brings the dish to life. The garlic flavor is intense, but the yogurt helps round out its sharp edges–it also helps cool the palate.

I practiced making this dish on my own, and I think I finally got it right. I got excellent reviews from a couple expert Aleppan home cooks. This is one of those dishes that takes time, but is worth every minute of rolling. Invite friends who like to cook, put on your favorite movie and enjoy.

Swiss chard from the market

remove stalk

blanching

As I mentioned before, the vegetables from the souk feel like they have just been picked from the ground. Swiss chard leaves are particularly dirty and can have dirt stuck to the leaves. For this reason, I go through a thorough cleaning process. First, I fill my sink up with water and wash off as much of the dirt as I can. Next, I bring a large pot of salted water to a boil, and prepare three separate bowls, or in my case buckets, of ice water. First, I blanch the leaves in the boiling water for a few seconds, and wash them off, in procession, three times, once in each ice bath. This helps me make sure the leaves are clean and ready for rolling.

rice, meat, tomato paste, salt, allspice

incredible yogurt sauce

sour grape water (ماءحصرم)

Sour grape water is harvested in late June/early July and lasts the entire year without spoiling — it is a staple in the Aleppan kitchen. When I can’t find “mayy husrom” back home, I use lemon juice, but the flavor is not exactly the same. I found this article in Arabic on how the young sour grapes are harvested, juiced, and preserved:
I bought this bottle from the souk, but I would like to write more about the process of preparing the water later in the summer.

stuffed chard leaves

yabraq silq (يبرق سلق)

Something came up last minute and my grandmother’s sister has to travel; everything, though, should be fine. I spent the last couple of weeks looking at apartments and finally moved a few days ago.

I unpacked my things, tested the washer, took a deep breath, and made soup. Chicken noodle and rice soup. I learned this recipe from lunch at my friend Georgette’s house. Georgette, or Juju as everyone likes to call her, is one of those people you can’t not like. Not even if you tried. She possesses that tender grandmotherly spirit that loves and cares for everyone. She can’t help it. Georgette is in her sixties, is recently-widowed, and has a heart made of pure gold.

Tant Juju

Tant Juju (Aunt Juju) invited me over for lunch several times while I was looking at apartments. Aside from being an angel, she is also an incredible cook. Her style is simple and homey. She makes the kind of food that you eat with gusto, and in generous servings. Whenever I say something too polite she tells me to stop acting like a stranger; she considers me family.

Tant Juju cooks out of a tiny kitchen that barely fits the two of us. While she cooks I usually stand by the doorway of her kitchen and keep her company. We chat, but mostly I observe from a distance. There are no measuring cups or spoons; no hesitation, no fuss. Her cooking reminds me of a good dance performance. Tant Juju is graceful, but assertive in the way she cooks. This is her domain. You could tell by the way she adds ingredients with confidence that she’s been doing this for a while.

The day Tant Juju invited me for over for soup, I actually went out of courtesy. I had already grabbed a quick bite to eat in the street, but you can’t say ‘no’ to Tant Juju. She won’t have it. It’s part of Aleppan hospitality: eat, eat, eat, then eat some more. So I went. And I ate. And I loved. And ate some more. It was perfect.

In celebration of Tant Juju’s amazingly simple and delicious soup, this was the first dish I made in my new home. Try this recipe before winter is gone. Like Tant Juju, it’s impossible not to like.

mise en place

chicken shower

Before adding any of the vegetables, try to remove as much of the scum from the surface of the stock as possible. This way the vegetables won’t get in your way.

skim off scum

rough chop

in they go!

homemade stock

shredded chicken

toasty noodles

chicken noodle and rice soup

There is something about making a dish completely from scratch that is wonderfully satisfying — a feeling of merited accomplishment. A mixture of happiness and relief. I’m sure this is true of most things, really, not just food. It comes with any craft you can pour your soul into. With food, you appreciate individual ingredients; you savor every ounce of effort that goes into preparing a dish. Something magical happens in the cooking process; a part of you, your essence, probably while you’re mixing ingredients and not particularly paying attention, dives into the bowl and adds that special something to the dish: warmth, brightness, love, something you can’t really put your finger on, but everyone knows it’s there. It’s what the French refer to as je ne sais quoi.

It’s been a while since I posted a recipe here. Partly because it’s not easy converting my aunt’s dashes and handfuls into teaspoons and cups, but also because my aunt does most of her cooking early in the morning, before the sun or I are even up.

In Syria, particularly Aleppo, wintertime means it’s time for sujuk, an Armenian sausage made with beef, lots of garlic and a mix of aromatic spices. Sujuk is bold; it’s a stick-to-your-ribs kind of sausage. And when it gets cold out, it’s what my heart and stomach crave. Yes, sujuk is pretty fantastic.

In Aleppo you can find sujuk all over the place. This is one of the culinary gems the Armenian community brought with them when they moved to Syria. One of my favorite places to eat sujuk outside of home is Shtoura. Shtoura, named after the Lebanese town, is a 24-hour fatayer place famous for their heavenly dough creations. I’ve become a regular.

shtoura (شتورة) at 11:11pm

Nothing is better late at night than a couple Shtoura palm-sized pizzas topped with classic tomato sauce, liberal amounts of shredded mozzarella, and dotted with nuggets of spicy sujuk.

pizza sujuk

My aunt, luckily for me, makes her own sujuk at home. And to my surprise, it’s pretty simple, and actually borders on effortless. It’s a matter of combining a blend of spices with meat and allowing the mixture to air-dry in a cool place, away from any sunlight. Prep-time is no more than 15 minutes, tops. No sausage casings or fancy equipment necessary; my aunt stitches her own bags from scraps of cloth that are clean and have not been treated with scented detergent.

mise en place

lots of garlic

spices: fenugreek, allspice, cumin, paprika, salt

After asking a few of my Armenian friends in Aleppo, I’ve discovered that it is not common to add ground fenugreek to sujuk. If you can’t find fenugreek, you can certainly leave it out, however, I like the taste it adds to the sausage.

mix well

bags of sujuk

My aunt uses her balcony to air-dry her sujuk. She moves the rack of sujuk bags depending on the time of day to keep them away from any sunlight. Once the bags feel firm and dry to the touch, the sujuk is ready. This usually takes 3-5 days depending on the weather and the thickness of your sujuk bags.

Once they’re done drying, my aunt and I keep all the bags, except one, in the freezer and bring them down to the fridge as we go through them.

sujuk sandwiches

Sujuk is an extremely versatile sausage that you can eat any number of ways. It’s great over pizza or mixed into pasta sauce. It’s delicious with eggs for breakfast — a different take on the classic sausage and eggs. In Syria and Lebanon, however, it’s popular to make sujuk sandwiches with pita bread. The grease from the sausage melts over the heat and toasts the bread to a pleasant crisp. No extra butter or fat necessary; just good, homemade sujuk.

cheese

old school sandwich press

sandwich

I’ve had an incredible start to my Fulbright in Syria. It’s been almost two weeks since I arrived — a perfect time for a quick update.

My flight landed in Aleppo on Saturday night, around midnight. After 28 hours of traveling, door to door, I arrived at my grandmother’s sister’s house in Aleppo. Like a true Halabiye (Aleppan) she had a delicious spread of mezze laid out as soon as I walked through the door: muhammara (محمّرة), olives, pickles, homemade mortadella, hummus (حمص), labne (لبنة), zeit w za’atar (زيت و زعتر); I slept like a baby that night.

meet my grandmother’s sister

I spent my first few days doing administrative things: I got a cell phone, registered at the University of Aleppo, exchanged currency. I took a bus down to Damascus to meet with the other Fulbrighters as well as the Fulbright committee here in Syria. We were all invited to dinner at a restaurant called Marmara where we got to meet the Syrian Fulbright students who are getting ready to study abroad in the US.

University of Aleppo, College of Literature and Humanities

I think I’ve already gained five pounds since I’ve arrived. It’s hard not to. Everyday I come across new recipes that I want to blog about. I walk as much as I could and take the stairs whenever possible. My grandmother’s sister, bless her heart, pulled me aside the other day and asked whether I had a phobia of riding the elevator. I told her I take the stairs so that I can eat more of her delicious food. I’m sure she will hold me up to this for the next nine months that I’m here.

why I walk and take the stairs

The picture above is from a lunch I recently had at a friend’s house. The star of the meal was the traditional meat pizzas called lahm bil ajin (لحمة بالعجي). I will have to dedicate a complete blog post to these pizzas. They’re incredibly delicious and are an important part of Aleppo’s cuisine. There are small bakeries in Aleppo where you can prepare your own meat mixture, and the bakery will make dough and form all the pizzas for you. My friend’s mom prepared her meat mixture in the morning and sent my friend and I later that afternoon to pick up the prepared pizzas from the bakery. I posted a few photos from the bakery to my flickr.

Last Friday my grandmother’s sister prepared mujaddara for lunch. Mujaddara is a simple, but traditional Middle Eastern dish of rice and lentils. Some families make it with bulgur wheat, and in Egypt they add noodles to the rice and lentils, and serve it with a spicy tomato-based sauce. Egyptians call this dish Kosheri (كشري).

The same day I had mujaddara at my grandmother’s sister’s house, I visited two friends, and both their families had also made mujaddara for lunch. For families that abstain from eating meat on Friday’s, mujaddara is a quick and healthy vegetarian meal for the family.

I had photographed mujaddara before I left the States, but never got around to posting the photos on my blog. These photos are from then.

mise en place

cover lentils with water

the more onions, the better

fried onions

Usually people will not fry the onions in extra virgin olive oil because it has a low smoking point. I prefer the taste of olive oil, so I take extra time to cook the onions over low heat for a long time until they become crisp. If you’re in a rush you can use canola oil or any relatively flavorless oil that has a higher smoking point.

cooked lentils

rice

Mujaddara (مجدّرة)

Pickles are traditionally served with the mujaddara. Saha w hana — bon appetit!

Disclaimer: The opinions I express in this blog are my own and do not reflect those of the Fulbright program.