"I always watched my mother cook," says Um Ramadan, as she
peels purple garlic cloves by her kitchen window, which looks out on a Gaza City street teeming
with early-evening activity. "But I didn't really learn to cook until I married and my mother-in-law
taught me." Her husband's family, like her own, were fishing-people from the Palestinian port of
Yaffa, exiled before
either he or she was born. Yaffa—now part of the Tel Aviv—Yafo conurbation—is no longer what
it was, but we can still taste it. From generation to generation, its sophisticated style of
seafood cookery has been passed along, a thread of memory preserved in the deft gestures of hands,
the precision of palate.
In a kitchen in Gaza City, Um Ramadan begins preparation of zibdiyit gambari, part of the sophisticated
coastal culinary heritage of the Gaza Strip. Quite different in style and taste are the hearty peasant
foods of the region's interior, like fogaiyya, top.
As home to the largest concentration of refugees within historic Palestine, Gaza is an extraordinary
place to encounter culinary traditions, not only from hundreds of towns and villages that now exist
only in memory—depopulated and destroyed during the Palestinian exodus of 1948—but also from the
rest of Gaza's long history.
Through decades of conflict, families in Gaza have held to recipes and foodways as sources of comfort,
pleasure and pride. Unable to control much else in their lives, Gazans are renowned for lavishing care
and attention on food and family. Visiting kitchens up and down the Gaza Strip, talking to women about
cooking and about life, offers lessons in the vital art of getting by with grace.
Indeed, it seems that, in Gaza, everyone is delighted to talk about food. Approached for an interview,
most Gazans brace themselves to explain one more time—gently, patiently—the impossible political situation
of the Strip. When they discover that the subject is not politics but peppers and lentils and the way
grandmother made maqluba, there is a moment of astonished delight before they rip into the topic.
Passers-by crowd around, each proffering a hometown recipe: "No, no—it's much better if you add the
onions at the end!"
We went to Gaza to seek these conversations, because cuisine always lies somewhere at the intersection
of geography, history and economy. It is a cultural record of daily life for ordinary people. Where
recipes come from and how people learn to cook them reveal much about family histories and places of
origin. Where food comes from, what it costs and what can and cannot be obtained reveal much about
Gaza's labyrinthine economy. And the recipes themselves are a glimpse into history.
A sliver of green between the desert and the sea, Gaza and its environs have prospered since antiquity
as a hub along essential transit routes—on the one hand, between the Levant and Egypt and, on the other,
between Arabia and Europe. While it is part of the greater Mediterranean food-universe of olives, fish,
rice, chickpeas and garden vegetables, it is also a bridge to the desert culinary worlds of Arabia, the
Red Sea and the Nile Valley.
Among the many uses of Gaza's signature chile-and-dill
combination is zibdiyit gambari, or "shrimp in a bowl,"
shown above amid stuffed sea bream (left), chile-roasted
crabs (top) and calamari spiced rice (right). Zibdiya is the
name of the Gaza Strip's ubiquitous clay bowl, used for
cooking, serving and eating.
When we speak of modern Gaza, we are referring to the present-day Gaza Strip, which is some 40
kilometers (25 mi) long and four to eight kilometers (2-1/2 - 5 mi) wide, within the borders set
in 1967. Historically, however, the greater Gaza District—one of the administrative districts
of British Mandate Palestine and, before that, the Ottoman Empire—comprised a much larger region
to the north and east. In culinary terms, the Gaza region was both a coastal one of seafood and
an interior farming one, rich in vegetables and legumes. This division between coastal and
interior cuisines persists today.
The founding of Israel in 1948 divided the historic Gaza District and separated today's
Gaza Strip from the rest of historic Palestine, and the 1967 Israeli occupation cut it off
from both Egypt and the West Bank. This geopolitical fact, combined with the frequent closure
of Gaza's borders over the past two decades, has resulted in isolation and uncertain political
and economic circumstances, within which Gazans have had to adapt their cuisine as much as all
the other aspects of their lives. "They make something like this in the rest of Palestine,"
cooks we interviewed would say, showing us a favorite dish, "but we add hot chiles and dill."
Hot chile and dill: This is the quintessential modern Gazan spice combination. Whereas Lebanese cooks have
no tolerance for spicy heat, and cooks from other parts of Palestine use it in moderation, Gazans take pride
in making you sweat, whether using fresh green chile peppers crushed in a mortar with lemon and salt or else
filfil mat'houn, ground red chile peppers preserved in oil and sold as a condiment and ingredient,
resembling North Africa's popular harissa. The ubiquitous tabikh bamia, okra stew with oxtail,
and molukhiyya, mallow
soup, are both served with green chile and dill seeds crushed with lemon, cutting their dark tastes with a
blaze of brightness. Chiles are ground with meat to make kofta kebab and they are mashed, in the uniquely Gazan
clay bowls called zibdiya, to make Gaza's signature tomato salad, dagga. Sun-dried, the same peppers are used
in winter dishes such as maftul, the Palestinian version of couscous, in which the chile is called "the bride
of the maftul" (arusit al-maftul) for the modest and delicate way it perfumes the grains as they steam.
Um Ramadan shops at Gaza City's fish market.
After shopping with her at the Gaza fishing port, we learn a few other memorable uses of chile-and-dill from
Um Ramadan. Gaza used to be famous for fish: Nine nautical miles off its shores, there is a deep channel used
by great schools of fish as they migrate between the Nile Delta and the Aegean Sea. But the Israeli navy limits
Gaza's fishing fleet to just three nautical miles from the coast. Though inland fish-farms attempt to compensate
by producing tilapia, Gazans still prefer what they've been eating for centuries: red mullet and sea bream,
sardines and sea bass, as well as an exuberant diversity of crabs, shrimp and other shellfish. Having carefully
selected several medium-sized red mullet and some tiny shrimp, Um Ramadan leads us home.
Her plan is to prepare a Yaffan recipe for spicy fried fish stuffed with dill, along with zibdiyit gambari,
the typically Gazan dish of shrimp with tomatoes, spices and peppers stewed in a zibdiya, which functions as
mortar, cooking pot and serving bowl in one. Soft-spoken, precise and unflappable, Um Ramadan effortlessly
navigates her kitchen as she tells her family's history, interspersed with an encyclopedia of recipes.
These recipes Um Ramadan shares belong to the grand repertoire of Gazan seafood cuisine, the culinary
heritage of the coastal cities. Most are elaborate and urbane, requiring several stages of preparation.
They also make much use of protein, a clear sign of the prosperity and sophistication of the community
from which they emerged.
Other dishes in this repertoire include caramelized rice with calamari rings;
small squid stuffed with rice and spices; oven-roasted crabs stuffed with ground red chiles; stingray
soup (a lemony delicacy beloved in Yaffa winters); and sayadiyya, "fishermen's delight," with layers of
spiced rice, caramelized onions and marinated sea bass. In general, larger fish are often grilled and
smaller fish are fried. Sardines—once wildly abundant during their migrations in spring and fall—are
often baked on a tray with a spicy tomato sauce or ground to make fish kofta.
Hand-shaped and sun-dried cakes of a mixture of yoghurt and grain or flour, called kishik and known
throughout the Middle East, exist in numerous personal and regional varieties throughout Gaza,
especially in the central part of the Strip.
Even in so small a territory as the Gaza Strip, food customs vary greatly from one region to another.
Almost a world away from the urbane heritage of the coast, people with roots in southern Palestine's
agrarian interior enjoy ingredients and tastes that are completely different—but no less charged with
Especially in the damp chill of Gaza's winters, rural people and their descendants crave the hearty,
one-dish stews unique to Gaza, often made with original combinations of humble, inexpensive ingredients.
These, too, are often regional: A native of southern Gaza is unlikely to know how to prepare sumagiyya,
a slow-simmered stew of chard and meat flavored with red tahini and an infusion of sumac berries that
is a traditional holiday dish in Gaza City.
|map design by linda quiquivix
Other popular stews include fogaiyya, made with small chunks of beef or lamb, chard, rice and chickpeas
and generously doused with lemon juice and fried garlic, and rumaniyya, a late-summer dish of eggplants
and lentils cooked with sour pomegranate juice and thickened with tahini.
Rural areas also make broad and original use of wild greens in dishes such as hamasees, in which sour
greens are stewed with lentils, and khobayza, which is mallow cooked with tiny dumplings.
Rijla (or baqla)—purslane—is found all around the Mediterranean growing
in the urban wild, through cracks
in sidewalks and in abandoned lots. This small-leafed succulent is a favorite of peasants from the
Gaza District, either raw or stewed with tomatoes and chickpeas.
Um Ibrahim, 86, remembers eating rijla during the exodus of 1948: "We would find it growing between
the bushes where we hid, and for a long while, it's all we survived on," she recalls. In her home in
the Deir al-Balah refugee camp in the central Gaza Strip, she is one of the few who remember pre-1948
life—and as for many of her generation, it is for her often more vital than the present.
Traditionally slow-cooked in sealed clay pots, qidra is a festive dish that
dates back to the courts of Persia. In it, a standard mix of spices and abundant cloves of unpeeled garlic
perfume a mix of meat and rice.
"I am telling you about how we would cook and eat in the past, but here everything is unwholesome.
It is bad food. In the past, we ate very heartily and were very healthy." Her eyes gleam as she
describes the wild greens and handsome squashes of Beit Tima, her home village, where her father
had been mayor before they were driven out in 1948.
It's clear from how she talks that, since that day, everything else has been a shadow, a long wait.
If she is to talk about food, she will talk about food before the exile. Since then it has all been
un-provided rations: flour, beans, sugar, salt, powdered milk. While Palestinians have adapted to
this reality, creating innovative dishes with what ingredients are available, for Um Ibrahim, as for
many elders, food—real food—is always in the past tense.
With its layers of meat, vegetables and rice simmered in broth and spices, maqluba is a
demanding special-occasion recipe that showcases both the generosity of the host and the
skill of the cook.
Many who have grown up in Gaza's refugee camps and towns, she explains, have never had full access to the
foods of their parents and grandparents, because of the general unavailability or high prices of fruit,
vegetables, dairy and meat. As a result, they don't know or don't appreciate some of the traditional
preparations. For example, she says, her children don't like kishik. Says Um Ibrahim: "Ah! Kishik! It was
one of our most favorite foods. It was cooked with chickpeas and meat. Beautiful!"
Um Ibrahim holds a cake of kishik, which she learned to make in Beit Tima, long before refrigeration
was widely available.
Before refrigeration, throughout the Middle East and Central Asia, kishik was a way to conserve the
nutritional value of dairy products by fermenting and drying a paste of milk and grain. In her
native Beit Tima, Um Ibrahim learned to make kishik from wheat kernels, which she ground coarsely
in a heavy mortar and left to ferment with yoghurt or buttermilk. She then would shape disks that
were dried in the sun, which allowed their long-term storage. When winter came, the disks were
reconstituted with water, blended until smooth, and then cooked with mutton, chickpeas and rice.
Just south of Deir al-Balah in Garara, however, women prepare kishik today with plain flour, and they
flavor it in characteristically Gazan style with crushed dill seeds and flakes of red chiles. When
dried, this kishik is crumbled over skewered grilled tomatoes and dressed with mashed garlic and minced
dill. A few kilometers still further south in Khan Yunis, kishik is ground to a powder and mixed with
olive oil, lemon juice and crushed dill seeds, and the moist paste is eaten with flatbread or crumbled
on top of salads.
Gaza's everyday inland foods tend to favor spicy-sour one-dish meals based on vegetables and legumes,
but its celebratory festival foods are heavier on meat and richly spiced rice. There is history to
this: Throughout Palestine, meat-based meals have historically been reserved for special occasions:
holidays, family visits and important life events. Some of these dishes, such as fattah or mansaf,
are based on the old peninsular Arab custom of dousing bread with broth and eating it with roasted
meat. Other dishes trace their ancestry to the spiced rice dishes of the courts of Persia and Baghdad:
notably qidra, spiced rice with meat and whole cloves of unpeeled garlic cooked slowly in a sealed
clay pot, and maqluba, in which meat and vegetables are layered with spiced rice, then turned
upside-down before serving; the resulting vegetable-studded dome is adorned with almonds or pine nuts.
These dishes, which require elaborate preparation and spices from all over the world, for centuries
showcased both a host's generosity and a cook's acumen. In Gaza, there is a standard mixture of spices
used for them, known simply as "qidra spices," that includes cinnamon, turmeric, nutmeg, dried lemon,
ground red chiles and allspice. Cooks vary both the ingredients and the proportions, of course. As
these are demanding recipes, many urban families today have them prepared by professionals, some to
save time, others to save on cooking fuel. This is where Um Hamada and the women of the Zeitun Women's
Cooperative step in.
Tired of the helplessness many Gazan homemakers feel in an economic situation of nearly universal
male under- and unemployment, caused by the closure of borders and subsequent collapse of industry
in Gaza, Um Hamada and her neighbors in Gaza City's historic Zeitun neighborhood decided to put
their cooking skills to work to support their families. They take orders for festive foods and—in
a tiny but astonishingly efficient kitchen—prepare great vats of stuffed vegetables called mahshi,
towering mounds of maqluba and all manner of pastries and sweets for all kinds of special events.
All the women learned slightly different family versions of the dishes, so debates flourish in the
kitchen, but without slowing the six or seven pairs of hands that deftly chop, slice, measure and
stir in harmony.
The Zeitun Women's Cooperative of Gaza City cooks fresh local recipes to order for weddings,
holidays and other occasions.
The supreme dessert of the Gaza Strip, knafa arabiya, is made more often in bakeries than at home.
Gazans from all backgrounds generally finish ordinary meals with sweet sage tea, followed by
seasonal fruits and crisp summer vegetables like cucumbers and peeled carrots. Special occasions,
however, call for dessert pastries. Of the many made in Gaza, none is as splendid—nor as uniquely
Gazan—as knafa arabiya. While knafa is a broad category of dessert made throughout the region,
knafa arabiya is the jewel of Gaza and only Gaza: a rich, buttery sheet of layered walnuts and
toasted semolina breadcrumbs perfumed generously with cinnamon and nutmeg, soaked in warm syrup.
Rougher and more rustic than other knafas, it is also richer, and its flavors run deeper—a metaphor
perhaps for the women like Um Ramadan, Um Ibrahim and Um Hamada, whose daily creativity in the
resilient kitchens of the Gaza Strip give Gazan cuisine its true heart.
Both feathery fresh dill and dill
seed are commonly crushed with a mortar and pestle to release the natural oils.
(The name in Arabic means "locust eye.")
Dried plums lend sourness to broths and
stews. Fresh, these small greenish-purple fruits are boiled whole with sugar into a thick, tart
jam much sought after in Gaza. With only a one-week harvest season in summer, the plums are a costly rarity.
This brick-red Gazan variety of
tahini is made by roasting sesame seeds. (The more familiar white tahini uses steamed seeds.)
It thickens stews and deepens flavors; it is also drizzled on chopped salads. As a substitute,
a half cup of white tahini can be mixed with 1 Tbs. roasted sesame seed oil.
Distinct from their familiar
ruby-red cousins, these have a pistachio-green exterior, and their seeds are pressed for their juice.
Green or red, fresh or dried,
pickled, ground, mashed or whole, chiles set Gazan cuisine apart.
The key here is—lots! The prized baladi ("native")
variety has small purple cloves, and it can be seen hanging in pantries for winter use. Rural
Gazans, however, prefer onions to garlic.
The tender leaves of this mellow green are often stewed,
but also chopped and stuffed into savory pastries along with onions, sumac and minced meat.
Along with garlic, cumin deserves its own mention because
Gazans do not lump it in with mixes such as qidra. Most legume dishes include cumin, which is
appreciated both for flavor and for its reputation as a digestive aid.
This is a hearty mixture of spices and legumes that varies
widely by family. It is traditionally roasted at home and sent to be ground at a mill. The powder
is then mixed with toasted sesame seeds and eaten with olive oil as a dip for bread, or spread
onto thin dough and baked for an easy meal.
4 kg. (8 lbs. 12 oz.) wheat berries
1/2 kg. (18 oz.) cumin seed
1/2 kg. whole sumac berries or ground sumac
1/4 kg. (9 oz.) coriander seed
1/4 kg. caraway seed
1/4 kg. dill seed
1 kg. (35 oz.) brown lentils
20 dried red chiles
1 c. salt
1 tsp. citric acid
Toast the wheat berries until they are a deep brown. Toast the spices individually until fragrant.
Mix and grind to powder in small batches. Store in airtight containers. When ready to use, add 1
Tbs. toasted sesame seeds per cup of dukka.
Bedouin variation: Add chickpeas, sun-dried basil and cloves.
450 grams (1 lb.) lean stewing beef or lamb, trimmed of fat, cut into
1/2 c. chopped yellow onion
5 whole allspice berries, 4 camom pods, 1 cinnamon stick, 2 cloves,
1 bay leaf, 2 pebbles mastic, 1 small piece of cracked whole nutmeg
(or to taste)
8 c. cold water
1/2 c. medium-grain rice, rinsed
2 tsp. salt, divided
1/2 cup dried chickpeas, soaked 8-12 hours or overnight,
or one 14-oz. can
1 bunch chard, thick stems removed (approx. 8-1/2 c.)
5 cloves garlic
1 Tbs. olive oil
1/2 c. lemon juice, fresh-squeezed
Wash chard well, chop finely and set aside. Place meat and water in a stockpot and bring to a boil,
skimming any froth. Lower heat to medium. Tie spices in a piece of gauze or disposable tea filter and
add with onions. Cover and let simmer on medium-low heat for 1-1/2 to 2 hours, or until meat is tender.
Stir in rice, 1-1/2 tsp. of the salt and canned chickpeas. (If using dried chickpeas, add them to the
meat halfway through cooking.) Cook until rice is soft, approximately 10 minutes. Add chard by handfuls,
stirring after each addition. Decrease heat to low. Meanwhile, in a zibdiya or mortar and pestle,
mash the garlic and remaining 1/2 tsp. salt. Fry the garlic in olive oil until lightly browned, 1-2 minutes.
Add to stew and mix well. Just before serving, stir in lemon juice. Pour into bowls, garnish with
thinly sliced lemon wedges, and serve with flatbread.
1/2 tsp. salt
2 cloves garlic
2 hot chile peppers (jalapeño, Thai chile or serrano), roughly chopped
2 very ripe tomatoes, chopped
1/2 c. fresh dill, minced
2 Tbs. extra virgin olive oil
In a Gazan clay bowl or zibdiya (though any mortar or curved-bottomed bowl will do), mash garlic
and salt into a paste using a pestle. Add chiles and continue to crush. Add tomatoes and mash until
the salad reaches a thick, salsa-like consistency. Mix in dill. Top generously with olive oil.
Serve with flatbread on the side for dipping
- Substitute finely chopped onions for the garlic and add 1 Tbs. lemon juice.
- Add chopped cucumbers and 1 Tbs. of tahini. (This variation is from the old village
of Beit Jirja, north of the Gaza Strip.)
- If fresh dill is not available, substitute 1 Tbs. of dill seeds.
(Crush them thoroughly with the pestle, using a circular motion, along with the
salt, to be sure to release their natural oils.)
- A small food processor may be used in place of a mortar and pestle.
Make sure to "pulse" the ingredients—don't purée them.
|1 kg. (35 oz.) fresh shrimp,
3 small onions, chopped
(approx. 1-1/2 c.)
3 Tbs. tomato paste
2 Tbs. dill, minced
1-1/2 tsp. ground coriander
¾ tsp. ground cardamom
1-1/2 tsp. salt, divided1/4 c.
pine nuts, slivered
almonds or raw cashews
2 Tbs. chopped parsley
3 Tbs. olive oil
2 green chile peppers, with type
adjusted to taste
6 tomatoes, peeled and diced
(approx. 3-1/2 c. or one 26-oz. can)
6 cloves fresh garlic1 tsp. ground cumin
1/2 tsp. each of allspice
and black pepper
1 c. water
2 Tbs. sesame seeds
Cook peeled shrimp in a dry pan for about three minutes, until the liquid they release has evaporated
and shrimp are pink. Skim off any foam. Set shrimp aside. Coarsely chop the green pepper, and crush it
with 1/2 tsp. of the salt. Chop dill and garlic finely and rub together by hand. In the same pan the
shrimp were cooked in, sauté onions in olive oil. When onions are transparent, add tomato paste, and
stir well. Mix in tomatoes, spices, crushed chiles, water and the dill and garlic mixture. Stir well.
Simmer for 10 minutes on low heat, and then stir in shrimp. Meanwhile, toast the nuts and sesame seeds,
or fry them until golden in 1 Tbs. olive oil and set aside. Pour the shrimp mixture from the pan into
the zibdiya. (An ovenproof earthenware dish or individual ramekins will also do.) Cover with sesame seeds,
nuts and parsley. Bake for 10 minutes covered with aluminum foil, then remove the foil and bake another
few minutes until the top is crusty. Serve with bread.
1 kg. (35 oz.) soft wheat berries or fine bulgur
1 c. homemade yoghurt, or commercial buttermilk left unrefrigerated
overnight to sour; more as needed
4 Tbs. salt
3 Tbs. dill seeds (optional)
2 Tbs. red chile pepper flakes (optional)
With a mortar and pestle or a food processor, coarsely grind wheat kernels. Knead
softened kernels with sour yoghurt or buttermilk. Leave to ferment for three days,
preferably outdoors or by a window indoors, kneading the mixture daily. Once fermented,
add salt, dill seeds and red pepper flakes, if desired. Divide into patties, dust
with wheat bran or all-purpose flour, and then leave to sun-dry thoroughly on clean cheesecloth.
1 kg. (35 oz.) soft wheat berries, fine bulgur or all-purpose flour
2 c. buttermilk, more as needed
4 Tbs. salt
3 Tbs. dill seeds (optional)
2 fresh green chiles (optional)
Grind and mix bulgur, buttermilk and spices as above. Mixture should be loose and liquid.
Adjust buttermilk to achieve this consistency. Cover and leave to ferment in a large bowl
for several days. When well fermented, divide into sealable storage bags and freeze.
Defrost for use as needed.
Use the freshest spices available. Mix well and store in an air-tight container:
1/2 Tbs. ground nutmeg
1/2 Tbs. ground red pepper
1 Tbs. ground cinnamon
2 Tbs. ground cardamom
2 Tbs. ground cloves
2 Tbs. ground dried lemon
1/2 c. ground allspice
1/2 c. black pepper
1/2 c. garlic powder
1 c. ground turmeric
1 medium chicken, cut into 8
pieces, skin removed, or 700 gr.
(25 oz.) lean beef or lamb,
cut into large chunks
2 Tbs. light olive oil
Water to cover meat in pot
Flavoring for Broth:
1 onion, chopped
1 celery stalk, with leaves,
cut in half
1 bunch parsley stalks,
tied together with string
1 sprig rosemary (optional)
1 bay leaf
2 small pebbles of mastic,
crushed with salt
5 cardamom pods
1 cinnamon stick
1 dried lemon or 1/2 lemon rind
(omit if using beef or lamb)
1 large onion, julienned
1 head of garlic, each clove
separated and peeled
2 medium potatoes, peeled
and thinly sliced
2 large tomatoes, sliced
1 sweet red pepper, seeds and
veins removed, cut into
3 carrots, peeled, cut in half,
then cut again lengthwise
2 lbs. eggplant or cauliflower
florets, fried or oven-roasted
1 c. chickpeas, pre-soaked
and cooked (or one 14-oz. can)
3 tsp. salt
1/2 tsp. cinnamon
2 Tbs. qidra spices (recipe below)
3 c. medium-grain rice, rinsed and
soaked for 20 minutes
4 Tbs. olive oil
1/4 c. pine nuts or slivered
almonds, fried in 1 Tbs. ghee
or butter parsley
Brown the meat or chicken in olive oil. Add water and bring to a boil, removing any froth.
Reduce heat to medium and stir in all the items under "Flavoring for Broth." Simmer for an
hour or so (more if using beef or lamb) until tender. Cool, drain, and reserve the broth and
the meat separately. (While the broth is simmering, prepare the eggplant or cauliflower.) In
a separate bowl, add salt, cinnamon and qidra spices to the rice and mix well. Set aside.
Fry the onions and garlic in a separate pan in 2 Tbs. of the olive oil until caramelized.
Remove from heat.
In a large non-stick pot, add remaining olive oil and arrange potato slices in a circular,
overlapping pattern, followed by tomato slices, sautéed onions and garlic, red pepper, carrots,
reserved meat, roasted eggplant or cauliflower, and chickpeas. Add the rice mixed with spices on
top of the arrangement in the pot. Ladle the broth over the rice until just covered, using
approximately 2 cups of broth for every cup of rice. Bring the mixture to a boil, then reduce
heat to low and cover tightly for approximately 40 minutes or until rice is cooked. If necessary,
ladle a little bit more of reserved broth, half a cup at a time, and leave to simmer until rice is cooked.
Remove pot from heat and let rest, covered, for 30 minutes. Remove the lid and place a large
round tray, serving side down, on the pot. Hold on carefully and flip the pot and tray upside-down.
Gently lift off the pot, allowing the maqluba to slide out, as out of a mold. Adorn it with toasted
pine nuts or almonds and parsley. Serve immediately with salad and yoghurt.
Grilled eggplant or cauliflower for maqluba:
Peel eggplant in alternating vertical strips (one strip peeled, the next strip with peel), then cut
crossways into finger-thick slices. Soak these slices in salted water for 15 minutes. Drain well and
toss or brush with olive oil. Arrange slices on an oiled baking pan or cookie sheet and bake until
brown on the bottom, then broil for 5 to 10 minutes. For grilled cauliflower florets, follow same
procedure but skip the salt-water bath. Toss with olive oil and proceed with oven roasting.
Sprinkle with 1 tsp. cumin.
1/2 kg. (17 oz.) boneless mutton or beef, cut small
8 c. water
1 medium onion, chopped
5 disks of kishik, soaked overnight in water
Whole spices, such as cardamom pods, cinnamon stick, allspice and
bay leaf, tied in a piece of gauze or disposable tea filter
1/2 c. medium-grain rice, rinsed
1 c. chickpeas
Place meat and water in a pan and bring to a boil, skimming any foam. Reduce heat. Add
chopped onion and whole-spice in bag. Cover partially and cook until tender. Meanwhile,
mix kishik with its soaking water in a blender until smooth. Strain to remove any remaining
lumps. Set aside. When meat is tender, strain and reserve the broth. Discard spices. Cook
rice. When it is cooked, add broth, chickpeas, meat and the strained kishik. Bring to a boil,
stirring continuously. Serve.
Khan Yunis kishik: Grind soft kishik in a food processer or with a mortar
and pestle, and mix with olive oil, lemon juice and 1 Tbs. crushed dill seeds to form a paste.
Serve with flatbread.
Garara kishik: Crumble kishik over oven-roasted or grilled tomatoes.
Top with mashed garlic and chopped fresh dill.
Laila El-Haddad ([email protected])
is a freelance journalist and the author of Gaza Mom: Palestine, Politics, Parenting and Everything
in Between. She travels frequently between her home in Columbia, Maryland and Gaza City, her hometown.
Maggie Schmitt ([email protected])
is a translator, researcher, freelance writer and photographer based in Madrid. She has worked on a
number of scholarly and documentary projects in and around the Middle East.
The writers are coauthors of the forthcoming book The Gaza Kitchen,
to be published in 2012 by Just World Books.