Filo is a member of the leaf pastry family and this is its Greek name. Turks call it yufka, Austrians and many other Europeans call it ‘strudel dough’. North African variants are made by a different technique and include warqa or ouarka, dioul and masluqa.
Filo is sold frozen in most supermarkets and is extremely easy to work with as long as you follow three simple rules:
• always store it well wrapped to prevent freezer burn;
• if frozen, allow it to thaw completely before trying to unfold or separate the sheets;
• keep the unused sheets covered with a slightly damp cloth or a sheet of clingfilm (plastic wrap) at all times.
If you fail to follow these guidelines, there is every chance that the paperthin sheets will dry out, edges first, and become brittle. These will then need to be trimmed and you will lose a lot of pastry in the process. Follow the advice, though, and filo is pure pleasure to use.
There is no standard size or thinness. For one brand, a 250 g/8¾ oz pack will give you 10 sheets measuring 25 x 25 cm/10 x 10 in, while another brand may have double that number of sheets, and these may even be slightly larger. So don’t be discouraged if you cannot find sheets precisely the size and weight of the ones I specify. You can always cut or trim larger sheets to the right size or simply consider how best to use the filling to suit your pastry. Very thin sheets can be used in double, instead of single, thickness. The recipe will never fail purely on the basis of the size of the sheets; it will simply have a slightly different character. The result may be a little crisper or chewier, larger or smaller, depending on the pastry, but it will always be delicious.
The sheets are usually kept separated by cornflour (cornstarch) or another starch. They will not stick to each other unless there is excess moisture – for example, in the form of ice crystals. It is not ideal to find ice crystals on your filo, but it happens. If you find any when you open the package, just brush them off and use a piece of paper towel to absorb the residue.
The sheets can be cut or trimmed to size with a pastry or pizza wheel, a pair of scissors or the very obvious sharp knife. Do be careful where you do this, so that you don’t end up slicing your favourite silicone mat in half or scratching your countertop.
I use a fairly wide pastry brush (5 cm/2 in) for brushing the sheets of filo with butter. This cuts down considerably on the preparation time. Natural bristle is best.
A silicone mat is very handy for working with filo because it limits the mess to a very small area and has the added advantage that the sheets will be less likely to stick.
Crisp leaf pastry products are best kept at cool room temperature, suitably covered. Storing them in the refrigerator will soften the texture. I often freeze part of a batch, straight after cooling. This is completely taboo in baklava-producing communities, but the result is not too bad and surely better than leaving it to go stale. The softer types suffer no ill effects.
The Turkish origins of baklava has been hotly debated by neighbouring countries, but convincing arguments have been put forward by food historian Charles Perry, placing baklava as we know it in Turkey. Although there is evidence that the Nomadic peoples of central Asia made primitive kinds of layered breads and pastries, it is undeniable that these were refined by the palace pastry cooks of the Ottoman period, from the fifteenth century to the early twentieth century. Some of the best artisans from all corners of the extensive empire were attracted to the palace kitchens. It is possible that they had an exciting time learning from each other, but the truth is more likely to be that each jealously guarded his secret. From such competition came mouth-watering delicacies for the delectation of palace officials and harem ladies – among them the leaf pastry, nut and syrup confections that shelter under the umbrella of baklava.
In the past, these sweet morsels were produced once a year for the Janissaries, the Sultan’s elite corps formed in the mid-fourteenth century and disbanded in 1826. The occasion was the Mantle of the Prophet Procession, in the middle of Ramadan, when palace pastry cooks prepared trays of baklava, covering them with cloths and placing them in readiness outside the kitchens. As there was one tray for every 10 Janissaries and auxiliaries, the process was quite a production and came to be known as the Baklava Procession. The soldiers marched from the palace to their barracks under the interested eye of the local population, with the trays swaying in the carrying cloths suspended from poles. The empty trays would be returned the next day, but occasionally, untouched trays were taken back as a mark of discontent, presumably a gesture that was politically, and not gastronomically, inspired.
By the end of the nineteenth century, baklava had begun to ease its way out of the palace kitchens. As the first of many pastry shops were opened in Istanbul, it became available to the aspiring middle classes. It later spread to Greece and various Middle Eastern and Central Asian countries, or developed there along parallel lines, and regional variants surfaced. Cashews and pine nuts, for instance, are popular in the Middle East, and Greeks are fond of almond fillings, often combined with cream. While the coarser Azerbaijani Pakhlava may appear to have more in common with its Nomadic predecessors, the Persians set to work to create a sweet of subtle elegance. Here, pastry is a mere formality and is used in sparing quantities, barely containing the rich rose-scented almond or pistachio filling. Dexterous hands all over the region continue to press, roll, fold and coax a whole range of sweets, cleverly creating a fabulous diversity from the same basic ingredients.
Labour shortages, economic crises, family ties and a spirit of pure adventure took the original baklava eaters to all parts of the world. Bakeries soon sprang up wherever there were enough customers to warrant their presence. Unfortunately, in most cases, the lack of good competition, as well as a reluctance on the part of struggling immigrant communities to pay for a quality product on a regular basis, has meant that few people outside its native area have been privileged to eat baklava at its best.
Knowing that there was a treasure to be uncovered, and frustrated by the prevailing monotony of the filo pastries in Western Europe, I decided to go to its cradle, so to speak – Konya, a Turkish province in Central Anatolia. This is where my friend Nevin Halıcı lives, and I was sure she would be able to help me find the nuances I so desperately sought. Not only is she a wonderful friend and hostess, she is also a respected Turkish food historian. My idea was that Nevin would explain what was what while I made copious notes. It turned out differently: we went from shop to shop, tasting and re-tasting pastry after pastry and reflecting on the flavour, ingredients and composition, and only then did I feel able to make those notes. It was an experience that justified the trip. These were not the pallid, sickly sweet pastries that are the norm in immigrant communities, where some bakers, untroubled by conscience, even resort to dyeing coconut green in the hope that someone will eat it and be fooled into thinking it’s pistachio. Even with the country in the throes of an economic crisis, I found there was excellent baklava to be tasted.
After tasting my way through countless pastries, I found my baklava Mecca at Biroglu’s. Antepli (‘from Gaziantep’, the baklava paradise in eastern Turkey) and tereyaglı (‘made with butter’) are two of the most coveted predicates for any good baklava shop – and needn’t necessarily be strictly true. Our rotund, swarthy Antepli Mr Biroglu had hung his framed licence in a prominent place to erase any doubt in his customers’ minds about his origins, and tasting his wares was the only proof needed concerning the butter content. It was a modest-looking but spotlessly clean establishment, with three tables at the back. The plates of pastries were still slightly warm from the oven and came with hygienically sealed glasses of cold mineral water. Mr Biroglu came to talk to us and, with Nevin as my interpreter, I learned that he used only the best-quality ingredients and had his pistachios sent from Gaziantep, where they grow some of the best. If the nuts are harvested during the three-week peak period, they retain their lovely green colour as well as all the flavour. He was very proud of his products and when I remarked that he looked as if he enjoyed his wares, he immediately retorted that he’d like to see me after a month or two in Turkey!
One of the first things I noticed was that when the pastries were lifted from the baking trays, only a droplet or two of syrup stayed behind. How different from the relentless saccharine lakes of previous experience. A good baklava-maker does not use glucose (which prevents crystallization) in his syrup, and even if a particular pastry calls for a heavier type of syrup, it is rarely cloying. The cold syrup is usually poured over the hot pastry and the amount must be carefully dosed. Classic baklava will absorb differently from a roll, and a roll lying on its side will absorb less readily than one with the cut side exposed. Looking at the take-away containers of baklava shops can give a clue about the syrup content of the pastries. Those who flood their pastries tend to go for plastic containers; the waxed cardboard boxes used by their superior competitors would ooze all over the place.
Filo pastry – or yufka, as it is called in Turkey – is, of course, the basis of baklava. The commercial type is usually fairly straight: strong flour, salt, a little butter or oil and water. Homemade types often include eggs and perhaps an acid agent to help increase elasticity.
I was rather surprised to see ashy water listed as an ingredient in one of Nevin’s books. I asked her about it, assuming that this was a mistake caused by poor translation. It was, in fact, nothing of the kind. Ashy water is made by mixing the ashes from a wood fire with water, leaving it overnight and then draining off the water for use. Cooks in previous generations often used it as a tenderizer, although modern cooks tend to use milk instead – or they just buy ready-made yufka.
Supermarket filo usually comes in one or two standard thicknesses, but a professional baklava-maker will use pastry of varying thickness. This, together with the placement of the nuts, the amount and kind of nuts used, the shape of the resulting pastry and the amount of syrup, gives each pastry its unique character. Classic baklava, for example, is very crisp and is golden brown. A roll made by spreading finely ground nuts on an entire sheet of pastry remains pale in colour and tender to the bite. This pastry is generally slightly thicker than that used for baklava. The same roll, shortened and placed with the cut side upwards, will have a different texture because it will absorb a little more syrup. And it goes without saying that pastries made with oil and margarine can never have the same flavour as those made with pure butter.
Leaf pastry is not difficult to make and requires more patience than proficiency. That said, it is tricky for the home cook to roll or stretch it out as thinly as the commercial product, and the baked result may not be as crisp. However, it is ideal in recipes where the pastry must offer some resistance to the sheer abundance of filling, such as Palace Rolls (p. 283) and strudels. The baking powder in this recipe acts as a tenderizer. Old Turkish recipes specify ‘ash(y) water’ (küllü su) as an ingredient (see Some Turkish Delights, p. 267). Unorthodox though it may sound, this is actually an effective primitive form of leavening, which commonly goes by the name ‘potash’.
This recipe will make two sheets at least 45 x 45 cm/18 x 18 in, or a larger number of smaller sheets. It is also easily halved, for instance for Apple Strudel (p. 306). You will need a large, cool surface for rolling out the pastry.
250 g/9 oz/1⅔ cups strong (bread) flour
½ tsp salt
1 tsp baking powder
2 tbsp neutral-tasting oil, such as corn, sunflower or peanut oil
1 tbsp vinegar
about 125 ml/4 fl oz/½ cup lukewarm water
cornflour (cornstarch), for dusting
a dowel at least 60 cm/24 in long
The quickest way to make this pastry is using a food processor fitted with a plastic kneading blade. Put all the ingredients in the food processor and knead until smooth. Alternatively, knead by hand until smooth. Be quite rough with the pastry, throwing it from time to time onto your work surface. This improves the texture. Shape into a ball, then oil lightly and cover with clingfilm (plastic wrap). Set aside for about 1 hour.
Divide the pastry into portions for rolling out, according to what you want to make. If you would like to make Apple Strudel, for instance, divide the dough into two pieces and use the second piece for another dish, or simply make up half the recipe and roll out the whole thing at once. For Palace Rolls, you will need to divide it into 5 portions.
Use the coldest surface you can find, such as a marble or granite countertop, to roll out the pastry. If you use a silicone sheet, make sure that it is large enough to accommodate the finished size of the sheet.
Dust the work surface and the pastry (or portion of pastry) with cornflour and flatten it. Roll out to the desired size. This is a gradual process and the best way to do it is to roll the dowel back and forth, moving the position of your hands several times so that you can exert even pressure in all places. Try to roll in several directions to ensure evenness, and rotate the pastry twice or so, wrapping it around the dowel and then unrolling it so that you give it a quarter turn each time. Dust with cornflour as needed and try to make the sheets as thin as possible.
Keep each finished sheet on a surface dusted with cornflour. Dust the top and cover with a sheet of clingfilm. Add the subsequent sheets to this pile, always making sure that there is enough cornflour to separate the layers.
Use the pastry within a few hours, or it will start to dry out and become brittle.
Heavy, cloying syrups can ruin baklava, and syrups that are too thin make it soggily unappetizing. Unless otherwise specified, this medium syrup is suitable for all the recipes in this book. Use it at your discretion, depending on how sweet you like your pastries and cakes. It is very easy to make and can be stored in an airtight container in the refrigerator for several weeks. It is also a useful standby for other purposes such as fruit salads and even cocktails. Lemon juice prevents the sugar from re-crystallizing and also serves to cut the sweetness a little, while remaining subtly in the background. If you would like to flavour the syrup, it is best to do so with just the portion that you are going to use so that the rest of the batch can be used for other purposes.
500 g/1 lb 2 oz/2½ cups granulated sugar
375 ml/13 fl oz/generous 1½ cups water
2 tsp lemon juice, strained volume
rose water or orange flower water, to taste
Put the sugar, water and lemon juice in a heavy saucepan over medium heat. Bring to the boil, stirring all the time to dissolve the sugar. Then lower the heat and simmer for 5 minutes. Remove from the heat and set aside to cool.
If using, stir rose water or orange blossom water into the cold syrup, a few drops at a time, until you get the desired flavour.
Gaziantep, in south-eastern Turkey, is a worthwhile place of pilgrimage for baklava lovers. The city boasts dozens of shops, and traditional methods, some of them specific to the city, are used to create a staggering array of local specialities. A true Antep baklava-maker is proud to set high standards, and healthy competition has brought the art of baklava-making as close to perfection as it is likely to get.
A cool kitchen, free of draughts and direct sunlight, is the starting point, and the ideal work surface is marble. In the past, it was a great struggle to keep temperature and humidity down in the hot summer months. Laborious but efficacious cooling solutions were found – for instance, rubbing the floor with blocks of ice at regular intervals. While modern cooling techniques may be used today, some traditionalists still require employees to shower every two hours during the summer, in an attempt to control body temperature and create the perfect atmosphere for baklava production.
The ingredients must be the very best. Hard, gluten-rich durum wheat flour is used. And though baklava-makers in other regions are content to use cornflour (cornstarch) as a dusting medium for rolling out and separating the layers, wheat starch is used in Gaziantep. Some of it is inevitably incorporated into the rolled sheets of pastry, which helps to define the texture of the finished product. It is produced to local specifications and, in addition to certain physical qualities, it has magical properties: it speaks to the baker. Rubbing it between the fingers, the baker listens for the rustling whisper cıyır cıyır (‘juh-yur juh-yur’), which announces that the correct consistency has been reached. When the dough is ready, it is portioned and a seemingly careless flick of the wrist dusts it with what is nevertheless a precisely dosed amount of wheat starch. Too little would make the pastry stick and too much would make it dry. Deft hands wield thin, long dowels with easy expertise, flying back and forth over the marble slab. As the sheet gets thinner, the pastry is wound loosely around the dowel and rolled at the same time, encouraging it to stretch even more to produce translucent sheets, so thin that up to 40 layers can make one batch of baklava.
Pistachio nuts are a speciality of the area, but not just any kind will do, no matter how high the quality or how green the colour. The colour reflects the chlorophyll content, and pistachios have a colour spectrum that ranges from rich cream to vivid green. The greener nuts are particularly prized by bakers and sweet-makers all over the world. In Gaziantep, a special variety called beyaz ben (white speckle) or boz is used. This is harvested a little before complete maturation, when the oil ratio has reached its peak and the flavour is at its finest.
Clarified sheep’s milk butter is the most prized fat of all. In order to retain the purity of taste, which can be influenced by a factor as simple as the weeds, shrubs and grasses on which the animals grazed, the milk of sheep from different flocks is not usually mixed. Sanlıurfa, Pazarcık and Kahramanmaras are particularly renowned for their sheep’s milk butter, which has a more pronounced flavour than its cow’s milk counterpart, and good baklava-makers will go to the trouble of sourcing their own butter in these districts. It is poured in copious quantities over the uncooked baklava and left to stand to allow maximum absorption. As soon as it comes out of the oven, some of the excess butter is drained off and boiling syrup is poured over the hot baklava. This is a key difference between Gaziantep and other areas: it is more usual to pour cold syrup over hot baklava or hot syrup over cold baklava.
All of these factors combine to produce a sweet that must be tasted to be believed. One of the most popular kinds is simply referred to as Gaziantep baklava; it is similar in appearance to classic baklava, but while the classic version has a filling of ground walnuts, the Antep variant is filled with the exquisite local pistachios, made even more rich and delicious by an addition of kaymak, the silky-textured clotted cream.
Making Gaziantep baklava
Classic baklava is one of the easiest kinds to make and usually has one layer of walnuts between several sheets of pastry. Though generally served in small squares, rectangles or rhomboids, it can also be cut into more fanciful shapes such as a blunt-bottomed wedge resembling a carrot. This is known in Turkey as Havuç Dilimi, or Carrot Slice, but its shape is the only thing that distinguishes it from the classic version.
175–200 g/6–7 oz/1½–1¾ sticks butter, melted
500 g/1 lb 2 oz filo pastry (20 sheets 25 x 25 cm/ 10 x 10 in)
150 g/5½ oz/1½ cups walnuts, finely ground
250–300 ml/9–10 fl oz/1–1¼ cups prepared cold syrup (p. 273), or to taste
20–22 cm/8–9 in square tin
Preheat the oven to 180˚C/350˚F/Gas Mark 4.
Brush the baking tin with melted butter. Place one sheet of filo in the tin to fit as neatly as possible. Allow the excess pastry to come up the sides of the tin. Brush with more melted butter. Continue this layering and brushing with butter until you have used up 10 sheets of pastry.
Scatter the ground walnuts over the buttered pastry and continue the layering and buttering until you have used up all 20 sheets. Use a sharp knife to cut right through to the bottom of the pastry layers. (Use a plastic spatula with a cutting blade if your tin is a non-stick one.) Make 4 or 5 parallel rows of cuts, then make 4 or 5 more rows of cuts at right angles to the first.
Bake for 30–40 minutes, or until golden brown and crisp on top. Remove from the oven and pour the cold syrup evenly across the surface, allowing it to run into the cuts. Leave to cool in the tin.
Persian baklava is richer than its Turkish and Middle Eastern cousins with lots of nuts and very little pastry, and is more like a piece of marzipan than a traditional baklava. The filling, usually made of almonds, is sweetened and spiced with cardamom and the syrup is scented with rose water, giving a delicate flavour that lingers on the tongue.
75 g/2½ oz/generous ⅓ cup granulated sugar
150 ml/5 fl oz/⅔ cup water
1½ tbsp rose water
250 g/9 oz/2⅔ cups finely ground almonds
125 g/4½ oz/½ cup caster (superfine) sugar
½ tsp ground cardamom
50 g/1¾ oz/½ stick butter, melted
6 sheets filo pastry, 25 x 25 cm/10 x 10 in
20-cm/8-in square tin
For the syrup, put the sugar and water in a saucepan and bring to the boil, stirring all the time to dissolve the sugar. Lower the heat and allow it to simmer for 5 minutes. Remove from the heat and set aside to cool. When cool, stir in the rose water.
Combine the ground almonds, sugar and cardamom in a bowl and set aside.
Preheat the oven to 180˚C/350˚F/Gas Mark 4. Meanwhile, brush the baking tin with melted butter. Place one sheet of filo in the tin and allow excess pastry to come up the sides of the tin. Brush with more melted butter and continue to layer and brush with butter until you have used up 3 sheets of pastry. Scatter the filling over and press with your hands to make a smooth and compact layer. Top with the remaining 3 sheets, layering and buttering as before.
Use a sharp knife to cut right through to the bottom of the pastry layers. (Use a plastic spatula with a cutting blade if your tin is a non-stick one.) Make 5 parallel rows of cuts, then make 5 more rows of cuts at right angles to the first. You may need to keep one hand on the pastry as you cut, as it will be very loose on top of the dry filling. Don’t worry about this dryness; the syrup will take care of that later.
Bake for about 20 minutes, or until golden brown and crisp on top. Remove from the oven and pour the cold syrup evenly across the surface. Leave to cool in the tin.
VARIATION
A two-nut version can be made with almonds and pistachios, separated by a layer of pastry. Use 125 g/4½ oz/1⅓ cups ground almonds and 55 g/2 oz/¼ cup granulated sugar to make one filling and the same weight of sugar and ground pistachios to make the second filling. Spice both fillings with cardamom. You will also need 3 extra sheets of filo pastry and an additional 25 g/1 oz/¼ stick butter to separate the fillings.
As its name suggests, this cake is a relative of baklava, but the resemblance does not extend beyond the walnut filling and layering technique. Popular in the former Soviet countries to the east of Turkey, such as Azerbaijan, it is made with a rich butter and sour cream pastry. Nowadays it often has only two or three layers of filling, but old recipes have up to eight. It is not usually syruped, except in Armenia. This recipe is a breeze if you use a food processor, and the sour cream pastry is wonderfully supple to roll.
125 g/4½ oz/generous 1 cup walnuts
75–125 g/2¾–4½ oz/generous ⅓–scant ⅔ cup granulated sugar
2 egg whites
300 g/10½ oz/2 cups plain (all-purpose) flour
¼ tsp salt
½ tsp baking powder
125 g/4½ oz/generous 1 stick butter, chilled and cubed
125 ml/4 fl oz/½ cup sour cream
2 egg yolks
24-cm/9-in springform tin, greased
Put the walnuts and sugar (to taste) in the bowl of the food processor and pulse until the nuts are very fine. Transfer to another bowl, then add the egg whites and combine well. Set aside.
Wipe the bowl of the food processor to remove the worst of the mess and add the flour, salt and baking powder. Pulse a few times to mix. Add the butter in cubes and pulse until the mixture resembles fine breadcrumbs. Add the sour cream and egg yolks and pulse until the pastry comes together. If there are any streaks, you can knead them out by hand. Put the pastry in a plastic bag and chill for about 15 minutes.
Preheat the oven to 180˚C/350˚F/Gas Mark 4. Grease the tin.
Divide the pastry into 4 portions. Roll out one portion 2 cm/¾ in larger in diameter than the tin. Drape it over the rolling pin and transfer to the bottom of the tin. Press into place, with the excess pastry pressed against the sides of the tin. Spread a third of the filling onto the pastry. Repeat the rolling and layering process so that you have 3 layers of filling and 4 layers of pastry. Trim the top sheet of pastry neatly, then moisten the outer edges and press around the circumference of the tin to seal.
Bake for 45 minutes, or until pale golden brown.
This irresistible treat is tender rather than crisp and you need to be very generous with the pistachios: a good layer of nuts will contribute to both tenderness and flavour. It is very aptly named, as it is not one of the cheaper types to make; it was probably invented by the palace chefs in Istanbul.
250 g/9 oz filo pastry – 10 sheets, 25 x 25 cm/ 10 x 10 in
125 g/4½ oz/generous 1 stick butter, melted
200–250 g/7–9 oz/1⅓–1⅔ cups pistachios, very finely ground
200 ml/7 fl oz/generous ¾ cup prepared cold syrup (p. 273), or to taste
a thin dowel (with a diameter of about 1.5 cm/ ¾ in), at least 30 cm/12 in long
If you don’t trust your ability to divide the nuts equally ‘by eye’, weigh out 5 portions onto pieces of greaseproof (waxed) paper or clingfilm (plastic wrap) and set aside.
Place 2 sheets of filo side by side on your work surface with the ends overlapping each other by about 1 cm/½ in. Brush with melted butter. Leaving a margin of about 1 cm/ ½ in free along both long sides and one short side, and 2 cm/¾ in along the other short side, sprinkle one-fifth of the ground pistachios over the butter, trying to distribute the nuts as evenly as possible.
Position the dowel at the short side of the pastry on top of the free 2-cm/¾-in margin and roll up to form a fairly tight cylinder. With the cylinder resting on your work surface, gently ease out the dowel. Brush the pastry with butter and set it aside. Repeat this procedure for the next 4 pairs of sheets.
Preheat the oven to 180˚C/350˚F/Gas Mark 4. Butter the tin.
Place the 5 cylinders next to each other on a cutting board and trim the ends to neaten them. Cut each cylinder into 4 rolls and arrange them in the tin. The cut ends should just touch each other and the rows of rolls should also just touch each other. There will be some room left over in the tin, but this slight crowding gives a more tender texture to the finished pastries.
Bake for about 15 minutes; they should not colour too much.
Pour the cold syrup evenly over the hot pastries and leave to cool in the tin.
NOTE
If you use a really thin dowel and nuts ground almost to powder, you will be able to produce tight and compact rolls with a very professional look and an even more succulent texture.
It is not hard to see how these pastries got their name. Garnished with a dollop of cream and a whole pistachio, they look like a bird’s beady eye. They are made like Palace Rolls (see p. 283) but are cut and arranged differently before being decorated, and are slightly crisp compared with the tender Palace Rolls. Having a wider expanse of cut surface, they also absorb a larger amount of syrup.
4 tbsp kaymak or crème fraîche
1 tbsp sugar
4 tbsp fine semolina
250 g/9 oz filo pastry – 10 sheets, 25 x 25 cm/ 10 x 10 in
125 g/4½ oz/generous 1 stick butter, melted
200–250 g/7–9 oz/1⅓–1⅔ cups pistachios, very finely ground
40 whole pistachios
250 ml/9 fl oz/1 cup prepared cold syrup (p. 273), or to taste
a thin dowel (with a diameter of about 1.5 cm/ ¾ in), at least 30 cm/12 in long;
20-cm/8-in square tin
Mix the kaymak, sugar and semolina together, and set aside.
Preheat the oven to 180˚C/350˚F/Gas Mark 4.
Meanwhile, use the method described for making Palace Rolls (p. 283) to make the cylinders – but this time, cut each cylinder into 8 pieces. Arrange the slices cut side up on the buttered baking tin. Use two teaspoons (or a piping/pastry bag fitted with a small plain nozzle/tip if you have one) to spoon a neat dollop of cream mixture onto the centre of each roll. Stick a pistachio into the cream.
Bake for about 15 minutes, or until lightly coloured at the edges.
Pour the cold syrup evenly over the hot pastries and leave to cool in the tin.
There are claims that this pastry originated in the Istanbul Palace kitchens at the end of the nineteenth century, but a similar pastry of unknown date is also popular in northern Syria and southern Turkey. Before it is rolled up, the pastry sheet is sometimes sprinkled with ground almonds or pistachios, this apparently being the palace refinement. The unfilled version makes a delicious change and gives a crisper finish. In some parts of the Middle East, a Nightingale’s Nest is made from thread pastry (kadayif or kunafeh) and whole pistachios are used for garnish, giving quite a realistic depiction of a bird’s nest.
250 g/9 oz filo pastry – 10 sheets, 25 x 25 cm/ 10 x 10 in
100 g/3½ oz/⅞ stick butter, melted
100 g/3½ oz/generous 1 cup finely ground almonds or pistachios (optional)
150 ml/5 oz/⅔ cup prepared cold syrup (p. 273), or to taste
50 g/1¾ oz/⅓ cup pistachios, finely ground
Preheat the oven to 180˚C/350˚F/Gas Mark 4.
Place a sheet of filo on your work surface and brush with melted butter. If using the ground almonds or pistachios as a filling, sprinkle one-tenth of it over the butter. Roll up the filo pastry into a loose cylinder. With the seam at the bottom, coil the cylinder loosely to form a spiral, pushing gently from either end, concertina-style, to pleat it a little and prevent the pastry from breaking. Put the finished coil on a baking sheet and continue to shape the remaining 9 in the same way. Brush the shaped pastries with butter and sprinkle some of the ground pistachio into the centre of each coil.
Bake for 12–15 minutes, or until crisp and golden brown. Pour the cold syrup evenly over the hot pastries and leave to cool in the tin.
These crisp triangles are filled with pistachio paste and cream and need a very moderate amount of syrup. You could even get away with just brushing on a little syrup to make a shiny glaze, as the pistachio paste is already sweetened. Some of the preparation can be done the day before. Caster (superfine) sugar will give the filling a little crunch, while icing (confectioner’s) sugar will make a smoother paste.
50 g/1¾ oz/⅓ cup pistachios, very finely ground
35 g/1¼ oz caster sugar (superfine sugar; scant ¼ cup) or icing sugar (confectioner’s sugar; generous ¼ cup)
about 2 tbsp prepared cold syrup (p. 273)
3 tbsp kaymak or crème fraîche
2 tbsp very fine semolina
1 tbsp caster (superfine) sugar
250 g/9 oz filo pastry – 10 sheets, 25 x 25 cm/ 10 x 10 in
100 g/3½ oz/⅞ stick butter, melted
100 ml/3½ fl oz/scant ½ cup prepared cold syrup (p. 273), or to taste
For the pistachio paste, mix all of the ingredients until you get a malleable paste. Divide it into 10 pieces and shape each piece between your palms into a small squat ‘sausage’ or pellet about 4 cm/1½ in long. Cover with clingfilm (plastic wrap) and set aside until needed. This can be done the day before.
To make the cream mixture, simply mix all the ingredients together to a smooth paste. Cover and set aside for about 1 hour to allow the semolina to swell. This can also be done a day in advance. Keep it well covered in the refrigerator and allow it to come to room temperature as you assemble the other ingredients.
Preheat the oven to 180˚C/350˚F/Gas Mark 4.
Place one sheet of filo on your work surface and brush with melted butter. Divide it into three with your eye and fold the left third over the middle third, then the right third over this. Brush lightly with butter. Position a pistachio pellet diagonally in the bottom left corner and add one scant teaspoon of the cream mixture (1). Lift the pastry up by the point and fold it over to make a closed triangle of pastry encasing the filling (2). Now keep on turning over this triangle on the remaining pastry, so that every ‘somersault’ encloses it in another layer of the pastry (3). Towards the end, you’ll be left with just a small strip of pastry. Snip this off neatly with a pair of scissors and place the triangle on the baking sheet (4). Brush lightly with butter. Repeat to make 9 more pastries.
Bake for 15–20 minutes, or until crisp and golden brown. Remove from the oven, put the baking sheet on a heat-resistant surface and crowd the pastries together so that they touch. Pour about 100 ml/3½ fl oz/scant ½ cup cold syrup evenly over the triangles.
When they have cooled, arrange them on a wire rack to allow excess syrup to escape. Keep the baking sheet underneath the rack to catch the drips. They don’t need too much syrup, as the filling is also sweetened. Adjust the amount of syrup to suit your taste.
This is an Anatolian homemade speciality. Before the advent of domestic ovens in average homes, it used to be cooked between two griddles, hence the name, which literally means ‘between two griddles’. (A saç is a sheet iron griddle that is slightly convex or concave, depending on how you position it over the heat source.) The kaymak gives it a tender and yielding texture on the inside and the traditional way to serve these pastries is with a dusting of powdered sugar, but they can also be lightly syruped.
250 g/9 oz filo pastry – 10 sheets, 25 x 25 cm/ 10 x 10 in
75 g/2¾ oz/scant ¾ stick butter, melted
125 g/4½ oz/generous 1 cup walnuts, chopped medium-fine
1 small tin kaymak (about 175 g/6 oz) or 175 ml/6 fl oz/¾ cup crème fraîche
150 ml/5 fl oz/⅔ cup prepared cold syrup (p. 273), or to taste or icing (confectioner’s) sugar, for dusting
Preheat the oven to 180˚C/350˚F/Gas Mark 4.
Place two sheets of filo next to each other on your work surface, one piece overlapping the other by about 1½ cm/¾ in. Brush with melted butter and spread about 2 tbsp kaymak over the butter, leaving about 2½ cm/1 in free on all sides. The back of a spoon is useful for this purpose and the layer need not be perfectly even.
Scatter one-fifth of the walnuts over this, then roll the pastry into a loose cylinder, starting at one long side. With the seam at the bottom, coil the cylinder loosely to form a spiral, pushing gently from either end, concertina-style, to pleat it a little and prevent the pastry from breaking. Put the finished coil on a baking sheet and shape the remaining four in the same way.
Brush the shaped pastries with butter and bake for 25–30 minutes, or until the tops are crisp and golden brown.
If using syrup, pour it evenly over the hot pastries and leave to cool. If using icing (confectioner’s) sugar as a garnish, wait until they cool before dusting to taste.
These walnut cigars are the result of experiments to recreate a pastry I ate and greatly enjoyed in the food court of an American mall, of all unlikely places. As I passed the Greek takeaway, my eyes fell on the huge trays of baklava and paused on the golden-brown cigars. Being a sucker for baklava, I had to try one. It turned out to be a crisp and buttery pastry filled with delicious cashews. The close-lipped owner cautiously volunteered that she used a lot of butter and good nuts, but I had already figured out that much for myself. The taste stayed with me and I set to work in my own kitchen, eventually coming up with this version. I decided to substitute walnuts for the cashews because, no matter how hard I tried to bring out their flavour, the cashews still insisted on tasting like sticking plaster. These cigars do not need to be syruped since the filling is already sweetened.
75 g/2¾ oz/scant ¾ stick butter
100 g/3½ oz/½ cup (solidly packed) soft light brown sugar
125 g/4½ oz/generous 1 cup walnuts, finely chopped
250 g/9 oz filo pastry – 10 sheets, 25 x 25 cm/ 10 x 10 in*
100 g/3½ oz/⅞ stick butter, melted
Make the filling first. Put the butter and sugar in a saucepan and stir slowly over low heat to melt the butter and dissolve the sugar. Increase the heat a little and keep stirring. Once the first bubbles appear, keep on stirring for 1 minute more, then remove the saucepan from the heat and stir in the walnuts. Stir well to coat evenly. Set aside to cool.
Preheat the oven to 180˚C/350˚F/Gas Mark 4.
Cut the sheets of filo in half. Place a half sheet on your work surface, keeping the rest covered. Brush each half sheet with melted butter and place 1 tablespoonful of the filling at one short end, leaving about 2 cm/¾ in free on three sides. Fold the long sides inwards from the point where there is no filling, so that each long side overlaps the filling by 2 cm/¾ in. Bring the short edge over the filling and roll up into a cigar shape. Put it on the baking sheet and repeat until all of the pastry and filling have been used up.
Brush the cigars lightly with any leftover butter and bake for 15–20 minutes, or until golden brown and crisp. Cool on a wire rack.
* The filo sheets that I use for this recipe measure 25 x 25 cm/10 x 10 in. If your sheets are vastly different, cut them as best you can and portion the filling accordingly. The size of the cigars is not really important. What is important is that you end up with a rectangle that can be rolled up to make a cigar.
Greeks are very fond of almond and cream combinations, and these pastries are easy to make – and irresistible. Use as much or as little syrup as you like, but remember that the filling also contains sugar. They are quite good without syrup too, with a dusting of icing (confectioner’s) sugar.
125 g/4½ oz/1⅓ cups ground almonds
2 tbsp semolina
2 egg yolks
100 ml/3½ fl oz/scant ½ cup cream, single (light) or double (heavy)
50 g/1¾ oz/¼ cup granulated sugar
zest of ½ lemon (optional)
250 g/9 oz filo pastry – 10 sheets, 25 x 25 cm/ 10 x 10 in
125 g/4½ oz/generous 1 stick butter, melted
175 ml/6 fl oz/¾ cup prepared cold syrup (p. 273), or to taste
Make the filling first. Combine all of the ingredients for the filling and mix to a smooth paste. Set aside for at least 1 hour to give the semolina time to swell. If not, it will swell while baking and will burst through the delicate pastry.
Preheat the oven to 180˚C/350˚F/Gas Mark 4.
Place one sheet of filo on your work surface. Brush it with melted butter. Place a generous tablespoon of filling near the bottom of the sheet and use the spoon to help shape it into a rough ‘sausage’, leaving about 4 cm/1½ in space at the bottom and 6 cm/2½ in at each side. (You can use a piping/pastry bag if you’re a perfectionist.) Fold the bottom flap over the filling. Fold the two sides inwards over the filling. Roll up the pastry loosely but neatly and place on the baking sheet. Use up the rest of the sheets in the same way.
Brush the flutes with any remaining butter and bake for 25 minutes, or until crisp and golden brown.
As soon as you remove the baking sheet from the oven, crowd them together on the sheet and pour half, even all of the cold syrup over them. Leave to cool, then remove from the syrup and drain on a wire rack.
These will keep at cool room temperature for up to three days, but will obviously be crispest on the day of baking. They may also be frozen for up to two months. Thaw at room temperature.
M’hencha is a large pastry spiral that is typical of the Berber people of North Africa. The name m’hencha means ‘serpent’, and the shape is intended to convey the impression of a coiled snake. This shape is common in the Middle East and North Africa and was used in Egypt as far back as the reign of Ramses.
Traditionally, a wafer-thin pastry called ouarka or dioul is used. A batter is made from fine semolina and flour and this is scooped up with the hand and patted onto a hot griddle, with quick, deft strokes. It takes considerable skill – not to mention heat-resistant hands – to make these sheets, and good ouarka is thinner than most kinds of filo. However, filo makes a very good substitute. The filling is invariably based on almonds and sugar, sometimes flavoured with orange flower water, rose water or cinnamon, or a combination of these. Unlike most pastries of its type, m’hencha is not drenched in syrup and its sweetness comes from the filling. To make it even more attractive, dust with powdered sugar, or scatter a few slices of lightly toasted almonds on top – or do both.
150 g/5½ oz/1 cup blanched almonds, finely ground
150 g/5½ oz/¾ cup caster (superfine) sugar
1 egg, well beaten
250 g/9 oz filo pastry – 10 sheets, 25 x 25 cm/ 10 x 10 in*
85 g/3 oz/¾ stick butter, melted
1 tbsp rose water or orange flower water or ½ tsp ground cinnamon
icing (confectioner’s) sugar, for dusting, and/or toasted almond slices
For the filling, combine the ground almonds, sugar and egg – but reserve 1 teaspoon of the egg. If desired, add one of the suggested flavourings. Mix well to combine. Divide into 5 equal portions and set aside.
Place two sheets of filo next to each other on your worktop, one piece overlapping the other by about 1½ cm/¾ in. Brush generously with melted butter and place two more sheets on top in the same way, brushing again with butter.
Take one portion of filling and roll it between your fingers to make a ‘sausage’ that fits the width of one pastry sheet. Don’t worry if it breaks. Simply lay it on the pastry and bring it together again with your fingers. Make a second ‘sausage’ in the same way to fit the second sheet and pinch the ends of both ‘sausages’ together to attach the two. The filling should be positioned about 2½ cm/1 in from the bottom with 1 cm/½ in free at either end. Bring the 2½-cm/1-in strip up over the filling and roll into a cylinder. Don’t roll too tightly, as the filling will expand while baking and may then burst through the pastry. Coil this cylinder into a closed spiral, with the seam at the bottom, and put it on a greased baking sheet.
Repeat this procedure to make another cylinder. Pinch one end of the cylinder and dab a little of the reserved egg on it. Insert this into the open end of the coil on the baking sheet, then press to secure.
Preheat the oven to 180˚C/350˚F/Gas Mark 4.
Use up the last sheets of pastry and filling in the same way. You will now be making a tube half the length of the two previous ones. Dab with the egg, then insert into the open end of the coil and complete the coiling. Pinch the end and tuck it under the completed coil.
Brush with any remaining butter and bake for about 25 minutes, or until it is golden brown and crisp on the outside. Leave the coil to cool on the sheet before transferring it carefully to a serving plate.
Well wrapped, this will keep for a few days at cool room temperature and can also be frozen. Serve by cutting lengths off the coil so that you preserve the shape for as long as possible.
* My sheets of filo measure 25 x 25 cm/10 x 10 in and there are 10 sheets to a pack. You don’t need to have sheets with exactly the same dimensions, but you should have an even number of sheets. Adapt the instructions to suit your pastry. If your pack has 12 sheets, for instance, divide the filling into 6 portions instead of the 5 specified by this recipe. If your sheets are much wider than mine, there might be no need to join two sheets together.
Old Ladies’ Necks is not a name that sounds very appetizing, which is probably why some people prefer to call it Oklavadan Çekme, literally ‘pull from rolling pin’. In fact, it a delicious, slender walnut roll that is rolled very tightly around a dowel so that it wrinkles as it is pulled off, hence its unprepossessing name.
Use the recipe for Palace Rolls (p. 283), substituting ground walnuts for the pistachios and using one sheet of pastry at a time to make a slimmer roll. When rolling the sheet of pastry around the dowel, try to do this as tightly as possible: you are aiming for a wrinkled effect as you subsequently pull it out.
A classic baklava is made in a large round tray, then a circle is cut from the centre and portioned into wedges. The remaining pastry is cut into ‘carrots’: wedges that taper to a blunt edge instead of a point.
This is another variation on classic baklava, but while the classic version has only a single layer of walnuts in the middle, Sultan’s Rolls have walnuts between every layer of pastry, making them more rich and tender.
Gaziantep, in the east of Turkey, is famous for its fine pistachios. If the nuts are harvested at their peak during the brief three-week season, they will retain their beautiful green colour all year. Outside this period, they tend to turn yellow as time progresses. Any pastry with the prefix ‘Antep’ is likely to contain pistachios. These rolls are similar to Palace Rolls but with fewer nuts, so that the pastry to nut ratio is a little higher.
Reputedly created in the eighteenth century by a French chef in Istanbul, this pastry is known as Frenk baklava (European baklava) in Turkey and Warde (flower) in many Arabic-speaking countries. A multitude of exceedingly thin pastry squares enclose one or more layers of nuts and the pastry is folded into a simple envelope shape, with all the points touching in the centre. As it bakes, the points open up to expose the filling, with the result that it does look a little like a flower with curled petals.
Thread pastry (kadayıf, kataif, konafa, kunafeh) looks exactly like a tangled skein of coarse, creamy white threads. It is used as the basis for a number of sweet delicacies all over Turkey, the Middle East and North Africa. The threads are sometimes allowed to retain their pale colour and soft texture but can also be baked until very crisp and brown, and in some places the pastry is even fried beforehand to ensure this. Vacuum packing improves its shelf life and reduces the volume considerably, and thread pastry can be bought in bags from many ethnic grocers. When you open the package and start separating the threads, they will regain their original buoyancy and start to expand, so always use a large bowl.
Thread pastry is a specialist product and is made by a handful of bakers with the right equipment and expert staff. Invited by a friendly Turkish baker to watch the process, I thought at first that it looked amazingly easy. My optimism was soon dampened. Closer scrutiny revealed that one needs to be very finely tuned to the character of both the batter and equipment, since the whole operation takes only half a minute, from the time that the batter distributor is filled to the production of the threads. Only one man in the large bakery was skilled enough to make the pastry, and after finishing the daily batch he went back to work alongside his colleagues, producing more mundane items like yufka ekmek, the popular paperthin griddle breads.
The batter was kept in a large barrel standing on the floor next to a copper-clad griddle. This copper plate was about 2.1 m/7 ft in diameter and revolved over three gas flames, the largest at the outer edge and the smallest in the centre. The batter distributor, called a kıf, was suspended on a metal arm above the griddle. It looked like a deep copper saucepan with a V-shaped extension running along the bottom, neatly pierced in several places to allow a carefully dosed amount of the thin batter to trickle onto the griddle. The kıf was positioned above the outer edge of the griddle and held fast while the griddle revolved, spinning a fine web of threads. Once the first batch of batter had set into threads, the kıf was refilled and repositioned very slightly so that the second batch of batter could fall in between, but not on top of, the threads that had already been formed. It requires a great deal of skill to release the batter so that it does not cover the first lot and the density of batter has to be gradually decreased as the kıf moves inwards. As soon as he reached the centre, the baker swiftly extended two nimble fingers and dexterously swept the filaments together into one large handful. The snowy threads were hung on wooden racks to cool and then bundled together and packaged for the customers, who were by now popping in and out.
Once you have bought the thread pastry, this is one of the simplest sweets to prepare. It is baked at a very low temperature so that it stays pale and tender, the creamy whiteness contrasting beautifully with the green layer of pistachios.
250 g/9 oz thread pastry
100 g/3½ oz/⅞ stick butter, melted
200 g/7 oz pistachios, finely ground
200 ml/7 fl oz/generous ¾ cup prepared cold syrup (p. 273), or to taste
20-cm/8-in square tin
Preheat the oven to 150ºC/300°F/Gas Mark 2.
Put the thread pastry in a large bowl and pull apart to loosen the filaments. Pour the melted butter over it. Gently massage the butter into the pastry, turning the threads constantly and letting every thread pass through your hands.
Use half of the pastry to line the bottom of the tin. Scatter the nuts evenly over this layer and top with the rest of the pastry. Press down well with your hands to compact it.
Bake for about 25 minutes. The colour should barely change from creamy white to light cream. As soon as you remove the tin from the oven, pour the cold syrup over the pastry.
Use a plastic spatula with a sharp edge to cut into 16 squares. Leave to cool in the tin.
Almost the same ingredients are used here as for Thread Pastry Squares, but in a different way, creating a crisp and golden sweet. The name comes from the Arabic word mabrouma, meaning to twist or whirl, and this refers to the technique used to shape the pastries. It takes a little practice to roll neat logs, but they are still delicious even if they do turn out less slick than pastry shop versions.
250 g/9 oz thread pastry
100 g/3½ oz/⅞ stick butter, melted
100 g/3½ oz/⅔ cup whole pistachios
200 ml/7 fl oz/generous ¾ cup prepared cold syrup (p. 273), or to taste
a dowel at least 30 cm/12 in long;
20-cm/8-in square tin
Put the thread pastry in a large bowl and pull apart to loosen the filaments, but try not to break them, as it is easier to roll up longer threads. Pour the melted butter over it. Gently massage the butter into the pastry, turning the threads constantly and letting every thread pass through your hands. Divide the pastry into four portions.
Spread a large sheet of clingfilm (plastic wrap) on your work surface and put one portion of pastry on this. Use your fingers to make a square ‘sheet’ roughly 20 x 20 cm/8 x 8 in from the pastry.
Preheat the oven to 180˚C/350˚F/Gas Mark 4.
Place the dowel at one end, about 3 cm/1¼ in from the bottom. Arrange a quarter of the whole pistachios just above the dowel. Now fold the threads at the bottom over the dowel, then roll up the rest of the sheet as tightly as you can. Use the clingfilm to help you along, if necessary.
Grease a baking tin. Gently pull the dowel from the roll and put the roll in the tin. Press any stray threads onto the log. Repeat with the remaining three portions of pastry and nuts.
Bake for about 30–35 minutes, or until the top is crisp and golden brown. For a darker effect, leave for longer. As soon as you remove the tin from the oven, pour the cold syrup over the pastry. After about 15 minutes, turn the rolls over so that the syrup becomes more evenly distributed. Leave to cool in the tin before cutting into portions.
It is likely that the Turkish invaders introduced leaf pastry to Austria, just as they did in the Balkans. Then local bakers added their own touches, creating a simple but spectacular strudel that forever after came to be associated with Austria. There is a great variety of fillings – apricot, cherry, curd cheese and dried fruit, to name a few – but apple strudel remains by far the most popular. The pastry itself may sometimes be enriched with egg, and the technique used to create a paper-thin layer is what really sets it apart: leaf pastry is rolled out very thinly, usually on a floured tablecloth. Then the maker uses the back of the hand, dusted with flour, to coax the already thin layer into a sheet so transparent that a newspaper can be read through it. Needless to say, this technique takes time and practice to master and the recipe given here is much simpler, using homemade leaf pastry that is rolled as thinly as you can manage. This strudel is also modest in size, unlike the typical Austrian versions, which are so long that they are curved into a horseshoe shape to fit onto the baking sheet.
500 g/1 lb 2 oz apples (peeled weight; about 4)
1 tsp ground cinnamon
½ quantity Leaf Pastry (p. 272)
55 g/2 oz/½ stick butter, melted
4 tbsp dried breadcrumbs
50 g/1¾ oz/¼ cup caster (superfine) sugar
about 3 tbsp raisins or sultanas (golden raisins)
cornflour (cornstarch), for dusting
a dowel at least 60 cm/24 in long
Peel the apples, cut them into quarters and remove the core. Slice very thinly and put into a bowl with the cinnamon. Set aside.
Spread a large sheet of clingfilm (plastic wrap), or two smaller sheets, on your work surface so that at least 60 x 45 cm/24 x 18 in is covered. Dust the pastry ball with cornflour and roll out with a dowel to a very thin large sheet about 35 x 55 cm/14 x 22 in. If you press your hands on the middle of the dowel (above the spot you are rolling), you’ll be able to exert a more even pressure than if you keep them at the sides, as with a conventional rolling pin.
Preheat the oven to 180˚C/350˚F/Gas Mark 4. Grease a baking sheet.
Brush the sheet of pastry with butter, leaving a free space of about 18 cm/7 in at one short end. Sprinkle the breadcrumbs over the butter and arrange the apples evenly on top, leaving a margin of about 5 cm/2 in free at the other end. Sprinkle the sugar and raisins over the apples. Use the clingfilm to help lift up the 5-cm/2-in margin and roll the strudel up by keeping the clingfilm tautly raised. Make sure that the seam is at the bottom of the roll.
Transfer the strudel carefully to the baking sheet and brush with melted butter. Bake for about 35 minutes, or until golden brown. Eat warm or cold.
This strudel is very easy to make as long you are not alarmed by the consistency of the uncooked filling and are bold enough to follow the instructions. Curd cheeses with a low moisture content are usually used in Austria and Central Europe, but ricotta makes a good alternative. The strudel can be served warm or cold, on its own or with prepared seasonal fruit as a dessert. You can add all kinds of extras to taste, such as chocolate sauce, vanilla sauce, and whipped cream.
250 g/9 oz/generous 1 cup ricotta
55 g/2 oz/¼ cup caster (superfine) sugar
2 egg yolks
2 tbsp fine semolina
generous pinch of lemon zest
2 tbsp sultanas (golden raisins), optional
about 200 g/7 oz filo pastry – 8 sheets, 25 x 25 cm/10 x 10 in, or similar; see Method
25 g/1 oz/¼ stick butter, melted
Put the filling ingredients in a bowl and mix until homogenous. Cover with clingfilm (plastic wrap) and leave for about 1 hour to give the semolina time to start swelling, absorbing some of the moisture into the bargain.
Spread a really long piece of clingfilm – about 1 m/40 in – on your work surface. Position four sheets of filo pastry on top of this (working left to right), slightly overlapping each other to obtain a long, narrow sheet roughly 90 x 25 cm/35½ x 10 in.
Spoon the cheese mixture lengthwise over the middle of the first (left-hand) sheet, leaving about 2.5 cm/1 in free at the top and bottom and 5 cm/2 in at the sides. Fold the top and bottom inwards so that the margin now covers some of the filling. Bring the left flap of pastry over the filling and then roll up the strudel loosely, using the clingfilm to help create a roll. It will flop into place as you keep on moving the clingfilm.
When you reach the end, cut the clingfilm so that the roll sits on its own piece of film. Position the four remaining sheets of filo to form a large square on the expanse of clingfilm that has become available again, using an extra piece to make up the shortfall. Allow the edges of the pastry to overlap slightly. Brush this square with butter, reserving about 1 teaspoon.
Preheat the oven to 180˚C/350˚F/Gas Mark 4. Grease a baking sheet.
Now use the small piece of clingfilm on which the roll is lying to help carry, turn and position the roll on the left of the square, so that there is equal empty space at the top and bottom and about 10 cm/4 in free at the left. Carefully remove and discard the small piece of clingfilm. Fold the left flap of pastry over the roll and fold the top and bottom inwards to enclose it. Use the large sheet of clingfilm again to roll up towards the right, tucking the top and bottom edges in as you go. When you reach the end, lift the roll with the film and place it on the baking sheet, seam-side down if possible. Remove the film and brush the roll with butter.
Bake for 35 minutes, or until crisp and golden brown. Serve warm or cold.
This is put together in next to no time and makes a good appetizer, served in thin slices because of the saltiness of the cheese.
75 g/2¾ oz feta cheese*
small handful parsley (preferably flat leaf), finely chopped
125 g/4½ oz filo pastry – 5 sheets, 25 x 25 cm/ 10 x 10 in
25 g/1 oz/¼ stick butter, melted
Crumble the feta in a bowl. Add the parsley, mix and set aside.
Spread a large sheet of clingfilm (plastic wrap), or two smaller sheets, on your work surface so that at least 80 x 30 cm/32 x 31 in is covered. Place 3 sheets of filo pastry side by side on your work surface, slightly overlapping each other to obtain a large, narrow sheet roughly 70 x 25 cm/27 x 10 in.
Sprinkle over the feta mixture, leaving about 2 cm/¾ in free on all sides. Fold the two long sides inwards so that the 2-cm/¾-in margin now covers some of the filling. Starting from one short side, roll up to form a cylinder. Don’t roll too tightly, or the pastry may then burst while baking. Stop rolling just before you reach the 2-cm/¾-in margin that remains. Move the roll to one side and place the two remaining sheets of filo on your work surface, slightly overlapping. Brush with melted butter.
Preheat the oven to 180˚C/350˚F/Gas Mark 4. Grease a baking sheet.
Position the cylinder so that the end flap of pastry on the cylinder rests on the edge of the freshly buttered pastry on your work surface. Fold the long sides of the buttered pastry inwards so that the size is now the same as the cylinder. Continue rolling, enclosing the cylinder in layers of the buttered pastry.
Place the cylinder on a baking sheet, seam-side down, and bake for 20 minutes, or until the outside is golden brown. The crust will be crisp and the inner layers that have been in contact with the cheese will be softer and more yielding.
Serve warm or cold, sliced into small pieces.
* Feta cheese can be very salty. Soaking the whole piece in water for about 2 hours before use will help to remove some of the salt.
These savoury cigars are flavoured in various ways in the Middle East and make a good appetizer. They can be assembled a few hours in advance, or even the day before, and baked at the last minute. Cutting the sheets in half and making more slender sausages with the filling will give you twice the number of daintier, smaller cigarillos to serve with drinks.
300 g/10½ oz/2½ cups minced (ground) lean beef or lamb
1 tbsp dried breadcrumbs
2 tbsp finely chopped coriander (cilantro)
½ tsp salt, or to taste
¼–½ tsp chilli flakes
¼ tsp ground cumin
½ tsp ground coriander
1 small egg, well beaten
2 tbsp pine nuts
250 g/9 oz filo pastry
40–55 g/1½–2 oz/⅜–½ stick butter, melted
Combine all the filling ingredients well. For regular-sized cigars, divide the filling into 10 portions and shape each one into a ‘sausage’ about 12 cm/4½ in long. For the cigarillos, divide the filling into 20 portions and shape each one into a ‘sausage’ about 7.5 cm/3 in long.
Preheat the oven to 180˚C/350˚F/Gas Mark 4.
If making cigars, lay a sheet of filo on your work surface, taking care to keep the rest covered. Place a ‘sausage’ in the centre of the sheet about 2 cm/¾ in from the bottom. Fold the pastry inwards at either side so that the ends just touch each other in the middle. Brush the pastry with melted butter. Bring up the 2-cm/¾-in bottom flap and roll to form a cigar. Place on a baking sheet and repeat to make another 9 cigars.
For cigarillos, cut the sheets of filo in half on your work surface. Place a ‘sausage’ at one short end, leaving about 2 cm/¾ in free on three sides. Fold the long sides inwards from the point where there is no filling, so that each long side overlaps the filling by 2 cm/¾ in. Bring the bottom edge over the filling. Brush the pastry with melted butter and roll up into a slim cigar or cigarillo shape. Put it on the baking sheet and repeat until all of the pastry and filling have been used up.
Brush the cigars or cigarillos with butter and bake until golden brown and crisp, about 15 minutes for cigarillos and 25 minutes for cigars. Cool on a wire rack.
* The filo sheets that I use for this recipe measure 25 x 25 cm/ 10 x 10 in, and there are 10 to a pack. If your sheets have different dimensions, the ‘sausage’ should be half the width of the sheet for cigars. For the cigarillos, measure the width of the sheet and subtract 4 cm/1½ in for margins (2 cm/¾ in on either side) to obtain the correct length for the ‘sausage’.
