making room for dessert

After that incredible lunch, dinner felt like sheer gluttony. We decided to dine sparingly on three meze plates of hummus, ezme, and a dip of aubergine and yogurt, in order to leave room in our bellies for a much-anticipated dessert. Soft bread and mint leaves were plentiful, but the hummus, one of the dishes for which Antakya is famed, left me disappointed. I've been spoiled, you see. With a Lebanese father, I have Lebanese aunties, and those of you who have Lebanese aunties know that in their kitchens, you grow up to be a snob about certain dishes. I am ever so picky about my tabbouli, kibbeh, and hummus.  

Hummus, which has become wildly popular across the globe, is a delicious chickpea puree which comes from Lebanon. Yes, I said it. Lebanon. I know there are people who would disagree with me on the origins of this fantastic dip— and these disagreements can get strangely political— but I'm saying it's Lebanese. Never have I had a more delicious hummus than in Lebanon. Antakya's version seems to be made with a chickpea flour instead of real chickpeas, which makes the consistency a bit too runny for my taste. I found it rather bland, with far too much tahini. Hummus is simple: chickpeas, tahini (a sesame paste commonly used in the Middle East), lemon, garlic, and olive oil. Blend it all together, et voilà! Heaven. I like mine heavy on the chickpeas and lemon, with that punch of garlic— the key really, is in the proportions.

The dessert we had been waiting to try all day was none other than the syrupy, cheesy künefe, rumoured to be excellent in Antakya. I've mentioned the wonders of künefe before, both in Istanbul and Beirut— I am a huge fan of the sticky, gooey sweetness.



So what is künefe? Simply put, a baked dessert of mild, elastic cheese sandwiched between threads of kadayıf (a shredded dough), bathed in butter and syrup. The entire Hatay region is known in Turkey for this delicacy, but Antakya is considered to be the capital of künefe— and for good reason. What I found even more interesting than the dessert itself, was the way in which the kadayıf is made. A large, oiled copper disk is spun while a special bucket with evenly spaced holes pours the dough onto its surface. Large threads are formed, then scraped off:

Once you've filled your belly with butter, cheese, syrup and dough, there's only one thing left to do. Sit back and sip on a hot glass of çay, while discussing the day's discoveries.

divine dessert

Let me introduce you to künefe.


 A sweet, buttery fragrance wafts towards you, followed by the waiter, whose hands carry a small metallic plate as he weaves his way to your table. The unassuming dish is gently set down in front of you, and you are warned of its heat. A reflective pool of syrup slowly sinks into the browned pastry. Your fork is met with a light crunch, then a softness, followed by another crunch. As you raise its tines to your mouth, a subtle scent of roses steams up to your nose, and an elastic string of cheese tethers your bite to the piece on your plate. You pick up your knife, and with great sensitivity and politesse, you wrap the string around the morsel until it breaks away from its anchor. At first, your mouth is filled with warmth, then the delicate flavour of the cheese. The sweet, barely rosy syrup floods you, and your teeth crunch on the crisp, buttery pastry. Sweet and salty, hard and soft— textural heaven. The sensation is overwhelming, and you cut it with a sip of thyme tea.

happy 2009!

I am so excited about this year, being that I'm living in a new country and learning new things. I just got back from Beirut on Sunday and have been getting over a cold I came down with that night. New Year's Eve was the best I've had, with lots of food, dancing and noise. There were singers, dancers and musicians that performed all night, and we finished up the event at a sweets shop with some künefe, a delicious sweet cheese dessert. I had never had it in bread, but it was just right.