Baking dish measuring 25cm (10in) in diameter
Put 175g (6oz) of the sugar in a saucepan, add 75ml (2½fl oz) of water and place the pan over a medium heat. Bring to the boil and let the syrup bubble for 3 minutes, then add the lemon juice and ½ tablespoon each of the rose and orange blossom water. Remove the pan from the heat and set aside to cool.
Mix the ground walnuts with the remaining sugar, rose and orange blossom water and the cinnamon.
Preheat the oven to 220ºC (425°F), gas mark 7, and brush the baking dish with a little melted butter. If using a non-stick dish or pan, you won’t need to grease it.
Spread one sheet of filo on your work surface with the long side facing you – keep the other sheets covered so that they don’t dry up and become brittle. Brush with some of the melted butter. Arrange one-sixth of the walnut filling in a thin line lengthways across the sheet, about 1cm (½in) from the edge nearest to you. Fold the pastry over the walnuts and roll tightly into a thin sausage. Coil up the roll and place in the centre of the baking dish or tin. Make the remaining walnut rolls and coil them around the initial coil until the dish is completely covered.
Brush the top with melted butter and bake in the oven for 20–25 minutes or until golden brown. Remove from the oven, pour the sugar syrup all over the borma and allow to cool. Serve at room temperature.
Halva
Where I grew up in Lebanon and Syria, halva meant a very sweet crumbly confection made with sesame seeds, or at least this is what I thought at the time. It wasn’t until many years later when I saw it being made in the souks of Aleppo that I realised it was made with tahini, sugar syrup and a foamy substance extracted from the roots of soapwort. I never ate any other kind of halva, nor knew it existed, until I started travelling. In Kuwait I tasted halva made with toasted flour, butter and sugar. It was dry and brittle and not particularly delicious, whereas the one I tried in Turkey, made with the same ingredients plus pine nuts, was smooth and luxurious. The same with Iranian halva, which has saffron and cardamom added to it. There are other variations, including one made with semolina, but it is the Turkish and Iranian versions that I like best. In both countries it is served at big family meals where there might be guests, as well as on special occasions such as a birth or death.
Serves 6
Turkish halva
150g (5oz) unsalted butter
150g (5oz) unbleached plain flour
50g (2oz) pine nuts
225g (8oz) golden caster sugar
Put the butter in a large deep-sided frying pan and place over a low heat. When the butter has melted, add the flour and pine nuts and toast, stirring all the time, until both flour and nuts are golden.
Put the sugar in a saucepan and add 400ml (14fl oz) of water. Place over a medium heat and bring to the boil. Let it bubble for 2–3 minutes, then add to the flour and nut mixture over a low heat. Quickly stir the syrup into the flour and continue stirring until you have a smooth well-blended mixture.
Cover with a clean tea towel and let it sit for 15 minutes. Then either make small quenelles with the mixture, using two spoons, or spread over a serving platter, shaping the halva the way you prefer.
Iranian halva
150g (5oz) unbleached plain flour
150g (5oz) unsalted butter
Vegetable oil for greasing
1 tbsp slivered pistachios, to garnish
For the sugar syrup
150g (5oz) golden caster sugar
½ tsp ground cardamom
Good pinch of saffron threads, soaked in 3 tbsp rose water
Cooking ring measuring 20cm (8in) in diameter, and tiny fluted or star-shaped pastry cutters (optional)
First make the sugar syrup. Put the sugar, cardamom and 125ml (4½fl oz) of water in a small saucepan and place over a medium heat. Bring to the boil, stirring regularly, then lower the heat and simmer for 3–4 minutes. Remove the pan from the heat and stir in the saffron-infused rose water, then set aside.
Put the flour in a large deep-sided frying pan and place over a medium-low heat. Cook, stirring constantly, for about 10 minutes or until the flour is golden. Add the butter and continue stirring until the flour has turned a darker colour, being careful not to let it burn. This should take about another 10 minutes.
Slowly add the sugar syrup, again stirring all the time to avoid making lumps. Stir over the heat for a few more minutes until there are no white streaks and the mixture has formed into a smooth mass. Put a shallow ring on a lightly oiled marble or glass chopping board or a tray. Spread the mixture inside the ring and leave to cool.
Cut the cooled mixture into tiny pieces using the smallest-sized fluted or star-shaped pastry cutters you have, or simply cut into wedges. You can also make individual quenelles using two spoons, like they do in Turkey. Garnish with the slivered pistachios and serve at room temperature.
Spiced Turkish Wheat Pudding
KESME BULAMACı
This interesting and relatively healthy dish is a speciality of south-eastern Turkey. It is often eaten as a sweet snack rather than a dessert.
Serves 4–6
50g (2oz) fine burghul, rinsed under cold water and drained
150ml (5fl oz) pekmez
1 small cinnamon stick, 1 whole dried allspice berry and 5 cloves tied in cheesecloth
1 tsp cornflour
1 tsp unbleached plain flour
2 tbsp toasted sesame seeds (to toast them yourself)
2 tbsp chopped walnuts
Put the burghul in a medium-sized saucepan and add 500ml (18fl oz) of water. Place over a medium heat and bring to the boil, then lower the heat to medium-low and leave to bubble gently for 10 minutes. Add the pekmez and sachet of spices, cover the pan with a lid and simmer over a low heat for 15 minutes, stirring regularly.
While the burghul is simmering, mix the cornflour and flour with 3 tablespoons of water. When the 15 minutes are up, add the flour mixture to the pan, together with the toasted sesame seeds and walnuts. Cook, uncovered, for another 10 minutes, stirring regularly, until the pudding has thickened. Take off the heat and remove the sachet of spices. Pour into one big serving bowl or individual bowls and serve at room temperature.
Turkish Coffee
There isn’t a family meal in Lebanon that doesn’t finish with a cup of Turkish coffee. In fact, I can’t think of an occasion that doesn’t call for it. People make Turkish coffee to offer visitors or simply to have when they want to sit and relax. It was lucky we didn’t get many visitors when I was young because I was the one tasked with grinding the coffee beans whenever my mother made coffee. In those days we ground the beans for every brew and we did it in a beautiful narrow cylindrical brass grinder that had geometric patterns etched all over. I carefully poured the roasted beans into the top part of the grinder, then fitted the domed lid on top and slotted the articulated handle (which folded to fit inside the grinder when it was not in use) onto the grinding pole. I then slipped the bottom part, into which the ground coffee would fall, beneath the top one and started turning the handle to grind the coffee beans. It wasn’t much of an exertion but I resented being the one who was always asked to do it rather than my sisters. I would protest, but only a little, before complying, mainly because I loved the grinder. I then stood by the stove