Bringing Medieval Arab Cooking to Life
This intriguing recipe from 14th-century Egypt for turning dried figs into fresh ones is very simple. A mixture of honey and saffron is stuffed into the dates which are then placed on a pot with boiling water and leaving the steam to do the rest. Then the figs should be covered and left to rest overnight, after which, so the author explains, “they will become as if they have just been picked.” Whilst this is perhaps an exaggeration, the result is nonetheless spectacular and very tasty.
This is the ancestor of the modern North African delicacy, known as sfenj (سفنج) in Morocco and Algeria, bambalunī (بمبلوني < Italian bombolone) in Tunisia, and sfinz (سفنز) in Libya. Both the Arabic word isfanj (إسفنج) and the English ‘sponge’ go back to the Greek σπογγιά, albeit via the Latin spongia (spongea).
Interestingly enough, in this recipe from The Exile’s Cookbook is, in fact, very similar to another Arab sweet variously known as ‘awwāma (عوامة, ‘floater’), luqmat al-Qāḍī (لقمة القاضي, ‘The Judge’s morsel’), zalābiyya (زلابية) or luqayma (لقيمة, ‘little morsel’), depending on the region.
This particular isfanj is made with semolina, water, salt and yeast being kneaded into a light dough. After proofing, the idea is to take some dough into your hand and clench your fist, as a result of which some of the dough is forced out from between your thumb and index finger. It is this piece that protrudes that will be deep-fried in olive oil.
They were made in two sizes — small and large, known respectively as mughaddar (مغدّر) and aqṣād (أقصاد). Once the isfanj have turned golden, remove them from the pan and, after draining off the oil, and serve. Note that before frying up the first batch, the author recommends using one shaped like a modern doughnut shape to test whether the dough has been sufficiently proofed. They are particularly nice when dunked in honey!
Usually, murrī (مري) — the most widely used condiment in medieval Arab cuisine — was made by rotting and fermenting barley. However, in this unusual recipe from The Exile’s Cookbook, wheat flour is used together with must (grape juice). The flour is kneaded into a dough and then baked until it is black before being crushed and them put in a pot with must and salt. The final unusual element in the recipe that quinces, fennel seeds, nigella, oregano and citron leaves are added to the mixture, as well as some honey, if desired, which gives the murrī a slightly sweet edge. Afer an overnight oven bake, it is ready for straining, and then use. It is a perfect dip, but can also be used as a great flavour enhancer in savory dishes.
This recipe from The Sultan’s Feast for preserving citron pulp calls for sugar, pistachios, (toasted) hazelnuts, rose jam (home-made, of course!), saffron, musk and rose water, all of which are cooked together. The author recommends storing it in a wide-mouthed clay jar fumigated with agarwood and ambergris, after which it should be covered well ‘so that the vapours cannot escape’, which ‘is the height of goodness’. A tall claim but one that is indeed borne out by the result!
It is a wonderful combination of complementary tangy and aromatic flavours, and is not only a tasty side, but also an amazing alternative to the marmalade on your morning toast!
This delicious recipe is found in the pharmacological encyclopedia written by the Baghdadi physician Ibn Jazla (d. 1100). The author suggests taking large citrons (is there any other kind?) from Susa as this was considered home to the best-quality varieties. However, not to fret — citrons from other areas will do just fine!
The citrons can be either peeled or unpeeled before cutting them into finger-sized pieces, which are placed in a pot with water and honey (no fewer than three pounds!). This is cooked over a gentle flame to soften everything up. Then, the citron is cooked several times in honey before it is ready to be stored in a jar with a loosely tied linen cloth containing coarsely ground ginger, cinnamon, cardamom, nutmeg, cloves, and long pepper. Though primarily a medicinal recpe (it strengthens the stomach), it can be eaten just for pleasure, as it is simply too good!
Like its cousins, the lemon and lime, the citron (Citrus medica) originated in northeastern India, where it was early on prized for its smell and medicinal properties. It arrived in Persia by 600BCE, and then continued its journey to the Mediterranean, reaching Spain by the 5th century. The fruit was not available to the ancient Greeks but they knew of it and was known as the Persian apple (Περσικὸν μῆλον), or Median apple (Μηδικὸν μῆλον), in reference to the Medes who ruled Persia. Both of these also denoted the peach. The Romans used the fruit in cooking, mainly the thick peel, though Apicius’ cookery book has a recipe with citron leaves in wine.
The Arabic word for the citron is utrunj (أترنج), alongside utrujj (أترج) and turunj (ترنج), all of which go back to the Persian bāzārang (باذارنگ , ‘citron, quince’) and turunj (‘orange’). In addition, it was sometimes also referred to as tuffāḥ mā’ī (تفاح مائي), which translates as ‘water apple’, though it is likely that it is a corruption of the Persian tuffāḥi māhī (moon-apple), which was a word for ‘orange’ or ‘lemon’. Alternatively, it could be a misspelling for mādī (‘Median’), thus retaining a Greek connection. In Arabic, utrunj and its variants could also refer to lemons, alongside laymūn (ليمون).
In medieval Arab cuisine, it is found in many recipes, both its rind (in preserves) and pulp (as a souring agent in stews). Palestine and Susa were particularly renowned for their high-quality citron. The fruit was a frequent ingredient in fragrances, perfumes and as a breath sweetener.
In medicine, citron was used to strengthen the stomach, suppress yellow bile, to arouse appetite, against poisonous bites and stings, jaundice and haemorrhoids, and as a digestive, anti-diarrhoeal, and anti-emetic. The flesh of citron was said to be harmful to the stomach, to slow down digestion, and cause colic. However, those who, nevertheless, wish to enjoy its flesh should eat it before meals and chew it well with its peel and honey, whereas one should avoid eating anything else before the citron has been fully digested.
I guess one could say that this recipe from The Exile’s Cookbook is similar to the famous Buraniyya (بورانية), but without meat. The aubergines should be sliced thinly and then boiled in salt and water before being drenched in a marinade of vinegar, murrī, pepper, coriander, cumin, hand-rubbed oregano, and garlic. They should be squeezed to get rid of any liquid and baked in a casserole with some olive oil. A wonderful snack or main for everyone — yes, it’s even vegan!
This is a unique recipe for a beef stew from The Exile’s Cookbook made with borage (Borage officinalis), known as lisān al-thawr (لسان الثور, ‘ox tongue’) — a loan translation from the Greek boúglōsson (the etymon of the English ‘bugloss’) — but as Abū khuraysh (أبو خريش) in Andalusian Arabic. The dish is made with lamb, borage leaves, salt, olive oil, pepper, coriander and onion. The beautiful star-shaped flowers also serve as an attractive garnish.
This is the only time borage appears as an ingredient in a food dish, as it was used primarily in medicinal compounds (often its water in beverages), most notably in stomachics and anti-nausea drugs.
The best-quality borage allegedly came from Syria or Khorasan. Medicinally, burnt borage was thought to be useful against mouth ulcers, palpitations and melancholic conditions. When cooked with sugar, it was beneficial for coughs and roughness of the chest. It is still used today in Unani medicine (where it is known by its Persian name, ‘kavzaban’, گاو زبان) for a variety of conditions, including palpitations and nerve health.
A fragrant recipe from The Exile’s Cookbook for beef cooked with pomelo vinegar, murrī , garlic, salt, olive oil, pepper, coriander and garlic until it is browned, and the juices dried out. Before serving, it is perfumed with pomelo vinegar, though lemon or sour grape vinegar are suggested variants. The result is a veritable carnivore’s feast, best eaten with some flatbread.
A recreation of a 14th-century Egyptian dipping sauce, known as sals (صَلْص, pl. صُلُوص, sulus), which were very popular at the time. This one was called kāmilī (كاملي) and is made with citron leaves, parsley, lemon balm, salt and lime juice. Before serving, it should get a sprinkling of galangal, ginger, cloves and pepper. The recipe does not specify what is should be served with, but I think fish is the way to go.
The word clearly reflects a European origin, mediated by the Crusades — ultimately deriving from the Latin salsus, ‘salty’ — while the earliest recipes are found in a Syrian collection. However, the ingredients of the Arab sauce gainsay a Europea component in the composition. In Andalusi Arabic, the word salas (صَلَص) refers to watercress (usually known as حرف, hurf), with the Romance jalja (جلجة) or shalsha (شلشة) denoting the sauce.
