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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!

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!

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 attended COP28 (30^th November-12^th December) in Dubai (UAE) to take part in an exciting project relating to food sustainability and local heritage, in collaboration with the Barakat Trust and Al Ghadeer Emirati Crafts, a pioneering project under the aegis of the United Arab Emirates (UAE) Red Crescent Authority. The aim of the association is to empower local craftswomen by providing them with a sustainable source of revenue.

At the COP28 site, I curated a date tasting workshop through a number of carefully selected recipes based on the medieval culinary sources from the 8^th to the 15^th centuries. The dishes included stuffed honeyed dates, a meat-and-date stew (tamriyya), a milky date pudding (khabis) and a cereal-based date drink (subiya).

This recipe from The Exile’s Cookbook is rather unusual in that it calls for the meat of “a deer, bovine antelope, ass, mountain goat or gazelle – whichever is available to you.” As I had just eaten my last gazelle and mountain goat last week, I had to make do with just venison. The meat is cooked with a variety of spices (coriander, cumin, salt, pepper, etc.), as well as onions, murri, almonds, and, of course, chickpeas. I also added home-grown fennel and oregano. Saffron is included later on for colouring and vinegar, well because it just has to be in everything! Besides the above animals, the author suggests using hare, rabbit and — wait for it — hedgehog (in fact, this is the only cookery book to mention eating this animal).

On the 5th of May, an event was held at Heenat Salma, an Eco-Farm and Camp, part of a multidisciplinary project dedicated to holistic methods in agriculture, architecture, and community development, and aimed at growing desert-friendly plants and vegetables, diversifying local food production, and contributing to a renewable, home-grown food supply in Qatar and beyond. The banquet was a held as a Chef’s Table under the banner of Sharing Identity.

A heartfelt thank you to Ivan Dubkov,  Curator of Caravane Earth Foundation and Heenat Salma Farm, the amazing chef Ajaya Teppa and their teams who turned into such a wonderful evening for all who attended. 

Some more delicious pickled turnip recipes from The Sultan’s Feast. For the first, turnips are diced and coloured with saffron, before adding wine vinegar sweetened with honey (you can also use sugar or date syrup), mint, rue, mustard seeds, and aṭrāf al-ṭīb.

The second recipe is a maḥshī (محشي), which in medieval Arab cuisine sometimes referred to a sauce, rather than stuffing, as it does today. This one is made with mustard seeds, raisins, wine vinegar, mint, rue, aṭrāf al-ṭīb, sesame seeds, and toasted hemp seeds.

This recipe from a 13th-century Syrian cookery book is one of several quince stews. It is a tad labour intensive but, as ever, your toil will be amply rewarded by the result. The chicken is boiled and then fried in sesame oil with some onion. The quinces should be split, cored and deseeded, and then added or, as in the variation recreated here, fried first. Then both are cooked in broth, with a little fresh lemon juice, sugar, saffron, mint, the atraf al-tib spice mix, as well as some pistachios (we are in Aleppo, after all!). Let all those flavours infuse and then it’s time to tuck in. Crusty bread proved to be a good choice to accompany the dish.

The English word actually refers to two varieties of seeds. The first is the so-called ‘common’ (also green, or lesser) cardamom (Elettaria cardamomum), known in Arabic as hāl (هال) or hayl/hīl (هيل). The spice is native to India’s Malabar coast and Indonesia, and though there is evidence that it was already known to Greek authors, it was very rarely used, and only in medicines. The second variety is bigger and is known as ‘black cardamom’ (Amomum subulatum), called qāqulla (قاقلّة) in Arabic.

The terminology presents an interesting mix, with qāqulla going back to the Akkadian qāqullu, whereas hāl/hīl are borrowings from Persian derived from Sanskrit. Persia is also the origin of other names for common cardamom including the term بوا (bū, ‘odour’) — often rendered as buwwā, despite the final letter being silent –, such as khīr bū (خير بوا) and hayl bū (هيل بوا). Finally, qardamānā (قردماما) is a borrowing from Greek (kardamomon, καρδάμωμον).

In medieval cookery books from the Near East, green and black cardamom are used in food only in an Abbasid treatise from the 10th century, in a medicinal drink (mayba). In other culinary sources, cardamom appears only in perfumes or hand-washing powders. Interestingly enough, in al-Andalus and the Maghrib, cardamom is used in a few recipes, such as a chicken garlic stew (ثومية, thūmiyya), a jūdhāba (جوذابة), and even some fish dishes.

Medicinally, green cardamom was considered useful for the stomach and liver, and as an anti-emetic, whereas black cardamom was said to be a remedy for nausea and vomiting, while purifying the stomach and bowels. When drunk weekly with oxymel, it is good for epilepsy.

Today, green and black cardamom are mostly associated with Indian cuisine in both savoury and sweet dishes, as well as drinks (e.g. tea). The green variety is considered the best, and is also much more expensive. In the Middle East, green cardamom is an ingredient in in sweet dishes and, especially, as a coffee flavouring.

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This recipe for bakhūr Barmakiyya from a 14th-century Egyptian cookery book is named after the Barmakids, a powerful family of Persian origin, several of whose members held high offices — including that of vizier — to a number of Abbasid caliphs in the 8th and 9th centuries. The most renowned member of the family is no doubt Ja’far, who was the favourite companion of Harun al-Rashid, and both occur as protagonists in several stories from the 1001 Nights, often involving them roaming around Baghdad at night. With such great favour came untold wealth and power, but the Barmakid rule came to a brutal end when, for reasons that are still a mystery, Harun suddenly turned on them, had Ja’far executed, and their property confiscated. However, their fame and generosity lived on through many stories in Arabic literature.

In the Arabian Nights, the Barmakids are also involved in a wonderful story where food — or rather the absence thereof — is the plot. A beggar is invited to share a meal at one of the Barmakid houses but finds that all the food is invisible, while his mischievous host (whose name is never mentioned) pretends to be eating and praises the quality of the dishes. The beggar plays along until, at the end of the meal, he rises and hits his host on the neck. When asked why he did this, the beggar apologizes profusely, blaming his behaviour on the effect of the (invisible) wine he was given! The host is so enchanted by this astute reaction that he orders a real banquet be served to the beggar. Much later, the beggar meets with a particularly gruesome way but that, as they say, is another story… The invisible banquet is the origin of the English expression ‘a Barmecide feast’, which refers to pretended or imaginary wealth, generosity or hosptality.

Returning to more fragrant matters, today’s recreation is of an incense which, according to the author of the cookbook, is particularly suited for those in the toilet! It is made with a number of aromatics, such as costus, myrtle leaves, labdanum resin, sour orange and lemon peels, saffron, and honey. So, cook, dry, light up, and let yourself be carried away on the wisps of Mamluk Cairo!