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.
Citron (utrujj) in al-Ghafiqi’s Herbal (11th century).
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, corianderand 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.
This recreation of a medieval classic across the Muslim world is based on a recipe from The Exile’s Cookbook. The rice pudding (al-aruzz bi ’l-laban al-ḥalīb; الأرزّ بالبن الحليب) is made with strained sheep’s milk, though the author mentions that cow’s milk is also acceptable, with goat’s milk coming a distant third. The rice is cooked until done, after which it is time to mix in a bit of salt crushed in milk or water by gentle stirring. It is served in a dish with a bowl of honey in the middle. It should be eaten with ‘clean boxwood spoons.’ As the author of the cookbook hailed from Murcia, rice and honey from this region were used in the recreation.
There was a variant with mutton or, especially, chicken, which was, in fact, more common, and was usually known as muhallabiyya, which became the medieval European staple blancmanger. The present-day muhallabiyyas (a milk pudding made with rice or flour) are all made without meat, and thus similar to the recreation. The closest descendant of the medieval meat rice pudding is the Turkish tavuk göğsü.
This recreation of a 13th-century dish of dried chickpeas from The Exile’s Cookbook is simple to make, but makes for a wonderful vegetarian snack, or side. After cleaning and soaking the chickpeas, they are cooked with onion, pepper, coriander and a little saffron. When they are done, it is time to add some murrīand vinegar and bring to a boil. Then it’s time to serve.
If you think this looks familiar, you’d be right since it may well be a distant ancestor of the modern Tunisian chickpea soup lablabi (لبلابي).
