The Tradition of Palestinian Cuisine By Dr. Ali Qleibo The sweet aroma of garlic fried in samneh baladiyeh (clarified spiced butter) with freshly ground coriander (taqliyeh) always softens the hard, impenetrable stones and enlivens the empty cobbled back alleys of Jerusalem. The aroma conjures up memories of mother’s food. A walk in the Old City at lunchtime invariably evokes the feeling of contentment and comfort. The mysterious sense of joy unleashed by the various scents emanating from the kitchens of the Old City is inexhaustible. The delicate garlic/coriander aroma that would be the last touch to the yakhneh (stew) of either mallow (mulukhia) or okra (bamiah) always transforms Jerusalem into one big family kitchen. A general survey of the repertoire of cooked food in the traditional urban, peasant, and nomadic cuisine reveals great diversity. Detailed analysis, however, reveals a constitutive structure which generates the grammar, syntax, and vocabulary in the discourse of Palestinian cuisine. The permutations produced within the confines of the structure impart to Palestinian cuisine its unique flavour. Once “cooked,” the “raw” nutrient elements discursively assume their value, their individual “taste.” The taste, tang, zest, savour, aroma, degree of moisture and dryness, consistency of sauce, the chopping, shaping of vegetables and of meats in preparation for cooking, the arrangement of stuffed vegetables inside the cooking pot and the final presentation at the table; in short, the aesthetics that separate the edible from the inedible, the delicious from the offensive, the appetizing from the bland underlies the structural classification, ordering, and composition of the food elements in southern and northern Palestine. The most common daily Palestinian food, khubiz, zeit u za’tar (bread, olive oil-and-thyme mix) encapsulates the constitutive elements of Palestinian culinary aesthetics and delineates both the form and content of our cuisine. The oil and the tart-and-spicy za’tar mix impart to Palestinian food its unique taste. The qualitative binary category of dasameh (oil, butter, or animal fat) in conjunction with humudah, the tart taste, on the one hand, camouflage the natural aroma of animal meat, be it mutton, beef, poultry, or fish, and on the other hand, moisten, soften and enhance the taste of the plain carbohydrate staple, be it bread, rice, or roasted wheat (freekeh) in an almost algebraic formula. The combination of moist, spicy, rich, tart elements of the dasameh/humudah in the sauce or stew or dip blended masterfully by the dexterous cook stands in juxtaposition to the moist, plain bread or freekeh or rice. This aesthetic combination - with the predilection for the hot and spicy in the South (Gaza) and the tart and zesty in the North (Galilee) - makes up the basic structures that generate the rules and grammar of the seasonal Palestinian food which flourishes in the savoury diversity of Jerusalem cuisine and which has, in modernity, been adopted by Palestinians in the desert and countryside. The study of the repertoire of Jerusalem’s cuisine yields two major categories of cooked food, namely stews and stuffed vegetables. Yakhaneh refers to a generic variety of meat stews with vegetables, on the one hand, and mahasheh, stuffed vegetables with meat and rice, on the other. In the mahasheh, vegetables such as zucchini, gourds, cucumbers, carrots, or eggplants are cored out and stuffed with rice and meat. In the yakhaneh, chunks of mutton are cooked with seasonal vegetables. Both mahasheh and yakhaneh are cooked in conjunction with a variety of sauces using tamarind, yoghurt, tomatoes, sour pomegranates, and unripened sour grapes as a base. The grammar and rules that specify the use of the various ingredients, their form, the possible combinations, the stages of preparation, and the trimming and timing in the cooking order of meat, vegetable, and sauce are inflexible. Stuffed carrots and cucumbers can be cooked in tamarind sauce. Eggplant can only be cooked in tomato sauce. Stuffed zucchini and cucumbers can be cooked in conjunction with yoghurt sauce too. Tampering with categories, sauces, and format is aesthetically fatal. The result is considered disgusting and inedible. The highly elusive aesthetic - namely value - judgement, delicious, savoury, appetising, tasty depends on the ability of the cook to subtly manipulate the various elements so as not to shock the taste with over-spiced, sour, greasy savour but rather a well-balanced blend in a sauce that is neither too thick nor too thin. Form, colour, and method of presentation are of utmost importance. Za’tar is served in a small bowl and must remain totally dry. The olive oil, into which the morsel of bread is to be dipped, must remain clean, without sediments of za’tar grains or floating bread crumbs. First the bread is dipped into the oil and then into the za’tar. Otherwise it is disgusting. On one’s right side, one keeps a loaf of bread which is shredded into morsels as one eats. Nobody else touches that piece of bread. Spices, biharat, in Palestinian cuisine, are used sparingly. Depending on the individual family taste, the basic spice (bihar) is made up of a mix composed of varying ratios of cardamom, coriander, cumin, cinnamon, clove, fenugreek, allspice, nutmeg, ginger, and pepper. The spice shops cater to the individual taste by varying the mix accordingly. In the mahasheh, the spice is mixed with the rinsed rice, meat fillings, and sirej (sesame oil). In the yakhaneh the spice is added as soon as the meat is browned with the chopped onions and just before the water for the stew is added. A spoonful of samneh in a frying pan with coriander and crushed garlic provides the final garnishing and imbues the simplest okra mutton stew with its alluring aroma and flavour. Dasameh in the Palestinian kitchen ranges from the use of virgin olive oil, sirej, tahineh, samneh baladiyeh (clarified spiced butter), and the natural fat of the mutton, liyyeh. Samneh baladiyeh assumes a prominent place in the Palestinian pantry; without it our food loses its substantiality and unique flavour. Families buy goat butter, which is available exclusively in spring. It is cooked to be preserved for daily use throughout the year. The taqliyeh, for the final aroma and zest of the yakhaneh, the rice, and the slivered almonds and pine nuts achieve their taste within the meal by being fried in samneh. Olive oil is indispensable as a salad dressing, but its distinctive taste gives musakhan its exquisite taste. Musakhan is a festive peasant dish celebrating the humudah/dasameh. In this scrumptious dish, chicken is baked in a special oven, the taboon, whose main fuel is sun-baked camel and sheep dung which imparts a special flavour to baked foods and permeates our mountains with its sweet aroma. The chicken is served on a circular loaf of whole wheat bread smothered with cooked onions saturated with olive oil and seasoned with the tart summaq spice. In Jerusalem, sesame oil (sirej) is used exclusively in frying in lieu of corn oil. A tablespoonful mixed with the minced meat, rice, and spices enhances the taste of the mahasheh, adding the indispensable extra taste of dasameh. From sesame seed, tahineh is also extracted. This creamy off-white sauce, added to balls of minced meat in the last stage of baking lahmeh bi sinniyeh, imparts a hearty velvety taste. Yet the tahineh must be tempered by lemon juice or vinegar. Tahineh is indispensable for hummus. This chickpea dip is tasteless on its own. It is the savvy blending in of the tahineh, the right amount of lemon juice, and a pinch of cumin that makes it delicious. The dip is garnished with olive oil, a few chopped sprigs of parsley, and a dash of red cayenne pepper for colour. The bread, in bite-size morsels, is dipped into the chickpea puree. When mixed with eggplant, tahineh gives the thick consistency to mutabbal, the delicious eggplant dip. The texture of both hummus and mutabbal is of paramount importance; the mixed ground paste must be neither viscous, thick, and heavy nor soggy and mushy, but squidgy with a moist, thick texture to be eaten as a dip with bread that is neither soft nor spongy, neither dry nor crumbly. Texture and consistency vary from platter to platter and signal in feel, form, and colour the savoury taste of food. Every home has its own secret combination and every restaurant imparts a specific taste to these delectable dips. The amount of tahineh to lemon and chickpeas or eggplant is what sets Palestinian hummus or mutabbal apart from the Syrian, Lebanese, or Egyptian culinary equivalents. The elements of humudah and dasameh reach a perfect balance according to the Palestinian palate in mansaf. The ceremonial meal consists of stewed mutton spiced with cardamom. The mutton is served on top of a bed of plain white rice in conjunction with a thick sauce of mutton stock and a concentration of dried spiced goats’ yoghurt (jameed) served in separate individual bowls. Mansaf, served on a large, flat, round, zinc-plated copper tray, is presented in a splendid manner. A layer of shredded whole wheat bread, marinated in meat stock, is covered with a layer of rice on top of which comes the meat decorated with slivered almonds and pine nuts. Form and methods of presentation of different foods determines the specific spicing and ingredients of each dish. The proverb, “The eye eats before the mouth,” underplays the fact that the form defines the taste. In practice each plate has its own specific way of presentation. How the food looks is part and parcel of the rules of Palestinian cooking. Mansaf is spiced mainly with cardamom; biharat would sully the yellowish cream colour of the off-white yoghurt sauce. The rice must be white and only salt is added. Only ma’lubeh rice would have biharat spice mix to balance the colour of the brownish fried eggplants, cooked meat, tomato wedges, et cetera… Pots and pans should not appear on the table. Special serving plates for stews, stuffed vegetables, and rice are used in accordance with each type. Form is most evident in the preparation and the serving of stuffed grape leaves (waraq dawaleh) and ma’lubeh. Ma’lubeh, literally translated as “upside-down,” is the perfect example of the triumph of form through the masterful control of the moisture degree of rice. An extremely delicious casserole of mutton, eggplants, and spiced rice, ma’lubeh has come to be synonymous with Palestinian family life. Atypically, ma’lubeh is neither cooked nor served with any sauce. The vegetables and lamb, which are fried and cooked in various separate stages, are later composed into a rice casserole. Once cooked there is the traditional twenty minutes of waiting to allow the casserole to take shape. Children are asked to hit the sides and bottom of the turned-upside-down pot with a wooden kitchen spoon. In the hands of a masterful cook the casserole should form a perfect mould when the pot is removed. This depends on whether there is the proper degree of moisture and fat, resulting in a consistency which would allow the rice, meat, and vegetables to hold together. Palestinian aesthetics dictate the interrelationship of form to savour. Ma’lubeh must be served as a firm mould. Each grain of rice is separate from the other; the rice must be moist but not sticky or gluey. Ma’lubeh is served on a big serving plate, usually a round tray, and is decorated with almonds and slivered pine nuts in clarified butter, samneh baladiyeh. The same applies to mansaf. The meat must be piled on top of the neatly laid out rice, which is relatively drier than that of ma’lubeh. The jameed sauce is served in individual side bowls. In the countryside, though everyone eats from one common serving plate, each person stays within a certain personal “boundary” on the platter. The hand movements are nimble and swift. No one may reach over to the other side or move his/her hand in all directions. This would be bad form. Each sips jameed sauce or adds it in moderation lest it become soupy on top of the rice in his/her space on the collective serving plate. Similarly waraq dawaleh (stuffed grape leaves) are not simply grape leaves, rice and meat stuffing with the dasameh/humudah moist/dry binary relations. Rather the method of presentation brings out the taste. Each grape leaf is delicately wrapped around a mouthful portion of rice-and-meat stuffing; the individually wrapped grape leaf must be small in size and dainty in appearance. The taste is savoured in relation to the shape. It is unimaginable - in fact, horrifying - to see layers of grape leaves lying horizontally, like a mille-feuille, with the rice stuffing in between. In fact, stuffed grape leaves must form a firm mould once the cooking pot is turned upside down onto the serving tray. Moist but not soggy, firm but not dry is the masterful way of blending the stuffed grape leaves (neatly laid out in the cooking pot) with wedges of tomatoes, sour grapes, and pieces of fatty mutton distributed in between. Traditionally Arabic food, like Indian and Persian, is eaten either with a spoon or with the deft use of three fingers of the right hand, or dipped with bread. Knives do not appear at the table but remain in the kitchen. My nineteenth-century family heirloom of silver cutlery consists of spoons and forks but no knives. In the rural ceremonial mansaf and musakhan, where the meat chunks must be sizable (to show generosity), the host would personally shred the meat into morsels that he piles on the guest’s side of the common eating plate. Each vegetable and meat recipe has its own specific form and shape which is defined by rules of chopping meat or vegetables into the visually aesthetic but simultaneously edible size. The aesthetic rules encompass the degree of ripeness, the time the sauce is added, the type of spice, and the final garnishing. If these rules are ignored it would be at the expense of colour, texture, shape, consistency, and aroma with which edible food is associated. In such a case it merits dismissal using the most dreaded adjective in the Arab kitchen; laghawees (inedible disgusting food), similar to the use of the word “gibberish” in the English language in reference to a meaningless string of English vocabulary. Food as expression of the sacred purity of the family finds its ultimate expression in karshat, stuffed tripe. Sirej, sesame oil, and mutton fat combine to produce the most cherished Palestinian plate. No mother or wife likes the work that is involved in the cleansing of the smelly raw karshat; for it requires almost two days of cleaning, cutting, sewing, stuffing, and many hours of cooking. The tripe is scrupulously scrubbed until totally blanched and odourless. Next it has to be cut into small pieces. Later each piece has to be sewn into a small pouch which is individually stuffed with rice, minced meat, and chick peas with strong cumin spicing. Cooked in its own stock on top of lamb knuckles, karshat is an extremely greasy dasameh meal. For some families, the humudah (to balance off the dasameh) may be introduced by adding yoghurt sauce in the last stage. At home, on the other hand, the yoghurt is served cold and its taste enhanced with a few cloves of chopped garlic crushed into a finely granulated pulp with salt. Cooked once or twice a year, karshat is highly ceremonious. Once mother, my grandmother, or my sister decides to cook karshat, an azeemeh, a family lunch, is organised to celebrate this special feast. This applies also to seasonal vegetables when they first appear in the market. No grandmother would prepare the special seasonal Battireh eggplant, Khalili yaqteen, or various legumes without inviting the three-generation family and close friends. These family reunions are marked with the idiomatic greeting, Kul sanneh wi intu salmeen, which translates to, “May we see you every year in good health.” Outsiders, on the other hand, are not invited to karshat. Stuffed tripe is a strictly closed family affair. On the other hand, nobody would concede to eat karshat except those cooked by their own mother or a close family member. Karshat are very intimate seasonal festive meals and illustrate the fastidiousness of the Palestinians in relation to what and with whom they eat. They trust only the “ritual cleanliness” of their mother’s, sister’s, or wife’s kitchens. Even though yakhaneh and mahasheh may rarely be eaten at friends’ homes, karshat are almost taboo. Guest food must be of visibly distinct cuts of mutton or an entire chicken, the accompanying sauce (jameed) by necessity must be served on the side, the rice or bread for mushakan is minimally touched. By extension, the most “convenient,” i.e., the “cleanest” food to eat in restaurants is the bleak and shish kebab because it is plain meat barbecued on charcoals and not considered cooked food. Hence the ubiquity of kebab in all restaurants! The kitchen is the soul of the Palestinian home. Palestinians eat the same food, and each Palestinian’s mother’s food is the best - at least until one has a wife. Then, of course, the wife’s food becomes the best. The Palestinian sense of identity, of belonging, of home, of warmth, security, and joy is inextricably bound up with food. Despite the apparent similarity of the basic recipes, variations are inevitable. Each family has its own nafas, literally “breath,” but with the referential value that encompasses individual flair expressed in the special aroma, flavour, and taste of the cooked food. This individual aroma is distinctly sensed immediately upon entry into each home. Recipes passed by word of mouth and by example are handed down from mothers to daughters. A new daughter-in-law becomes an apprentice and soon the keeper of her new family’s culinary repertoire to which she adds her own personal touch. Palestinian food is ritual. Eating at home is a silent homage to the unwavering loyalty, total devotion, and unconditional love of the husband to his wife, of the children to the mother. Dr. Ali Qleibo is an anthropologist, author, and artist. A specialist in the social history of Jerusalem and Palestinian peasant culture, he is the author of Before the Mountains Disappear, Jerusalem in the Heart, and the recently published Surviving the Wall, an ethnographic chronicle of contemporary Palestinians and their roots in ancient Semitic civilizations. His filmic documentary about French cultural identity, Le Regard de L’Autre was shown at the Jerusalem International Film Festival. Dr. Qleibo lectures at Al-Quds University. He can be reached at aqleibo@yahoo.com |
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