I was born in Damascus, Syria. Though I grew up between London and Qatar, my mother made the trip back to Syria to give birth to me and each of my siblings so she could be with her family.
My grandparents were the last of my immediate relatives to live in Palestine. They fled in 1948, in what we call the Nakba – the Catastrophe – with all their 20 children in tow. They settled into a new life in Syria, and talk of “back home” was what kept them going: stories filled with the romance of Palestinian life, culture and history. This was instilled in us.
We went back to visit my grandmother every year. I remember running through the markets, collecting bags of rice and flour, lentils and grains to prepare for meals. We called every shop owner Uncle or Auntie and we’d often leave without paying; it would be settled at a later date. This is what I loved about the Middle East then – I felt freedom and trust everywhere.
My mother always says I was a little terror when my younger brother arrived. This is where the kitchen came into the picture. She’d use cooking, which she had to do anyway, to keep me occupied. I loved it because I got to spend more time with her; little did I know that this would shape my future.
Though I have never been to Palestine myself, I do feel defined by it. I was always told of our land, abundant with dates sweeter than honey, figs that are juicy and fragrant, olives that are large, plump, tangy and bitter, thyme so wild and fresh you could smell it in the streets and pastries drenched in orange blossom water, their aromas wafting through the streets. It was this that captured me.
In his book Gaza Writes Back, Palestinian author Refaat Alareer wrote: “Sometimes a homeland becomes a tale. We love the story because it is about our homeland and we love our homeland even more because of the story.” I’m sure many displaced Palestinians can relate to this. Since Palestine has been occupied, food has taken on huge importance. It is a means of connecting us to a past – and an identity – that is slowly vanishing. Food is a voice for Palestinians and this has spurred my cooking.
Essential to Palestinian eating are bread and pastry. They are quick, cheap and filling. I remember making “beehive” bread with my grandmother Najla, cutting the dough into balls, and stuffing these variously with halloumi, akkawi cheese, minced lamb and za’atar. I’d create my own stuffings too, with honey, thyme and cheese, or homemade fig or date jam. We’d bake them sprinkled with sesame seeds, and they became a pull-apart bread to eat with almost anything.
Today’s recipe is the lovechild of the original beehive bread I made with Najla, and more familiar cinnamon buns. Like those pastries, they’re swirled inside, but I’ve replaced cinnamon with za’atar – the fragrant mix of dried wild thyme, sesame seeds, marjoram and salt that Palestinians use as a seasoning – and slathered them with good olive oil. It is believed that za’atar helps to stimulate the mind and memory, so we’d eat it with bread everyday, and always before an exam.
Za’atar buns (main picture)
Makes about 20
For the dough
800g plain flour
25g caster sugar
2 tsp salt
21g (3 sachets) easy bake yeast or 45g fresh yeast
100g butter
400ml milk, warmed
2 eggs
To fill and finish
150ml olive oil
175g za’atar
1 egg, beaten
50g sesame seeds
1 Line the bottom and sides of a roasting tin or large brownie tin, preferably around 33cm x 22cm in size, with baking parchment. Then preheat the oven to 210C/410F/gas mark 6½.
2 Combine the flour, sugar, salt and yeast in a large bowl. Melt the butter and whisk it into the milk and eggs, then stir this into the flour mixture. Mix to combine and then knead the dough either by hand or using the dough hook of a food mixer until it’s smooth and springy. If you feel it is too wet, simply add a little more flour: sometimes it ranges up to 1kg flour, dependent on the weather.
3 Form the dough into a ball, put in an oiled bowl, cover with clingfilm and leave it to rise for about 25 minutes.
4 Roll out the dough on a lightly floured surface, aiming to get a rectangle of roughly 50 x 25cm.
5 Mix the oil and za’atar in a small bowl, then spread this evenly over the dough.
6 Roll it up from one of the longer sides until you have a giant sausage. Cut the roll into 2cm slices – this should make about 20 rounds. Sit the rounds in lines in the tin, making sure the swirly cut-side is up. Don’t worry if they don’t fit snugly together as they will swell and become fluffy when they prove and bake.
7 Brush the rolls with egg, sprinkle the sesame seeds all over and let them rise again for another 15 minutes to really get that volume in them.
8 Bake for 20-25 minutes, by which time the buns will have risen and turned golden brown. Don’t worry if they catch in places. Remove them from the tin and leave them to cool slightly. Serve with tomatoes, labneh and feta cheese.
Joudie Kalla is a food writer and author of Palestine on a Plate (Jacqui Small, 2016) @palestinesplate
