I have a strong sweet tooth and I often say it’s because my family name, Helou, means “sweet” in Arabic. In truth, that has nothing to do with it. Most people in the Middle East and North Africa have a serious penchant for all things sugary. Sweets occupy an important place in our lives, and every important occasion, rite of passage, or religious event has a specific sweet associated with its celebration. In fact, any occasion is a good enough reason to visit the sweets maker, whether to enjoy a snack while going about your daily business or to buy a treat to take to friends or family.
It’s possible that this love of sweet things is a result of the Muslim prohibition against alcohol, with sugar from sweets replacing the sugar derived from alcohol. Perhaps sugar (from the Arabic word sukkar, derived from the Persian shakar) was so plentiful in the Middle East that a tradition of candy and pastry making was established. Sugarcane was originally grown in the tropical Far East; from there it was taken to India and China and on to Persia in the fifth century. After the Arabs invaded Persia in the seventh century they carried sugar with them to Egypt, North Africa, Sicily, Spain, and other places they conquered. When the Crusaders left the Middle East, they brought sugar with them back to Europe. Sugar was not the only sweetener available in the Middle East (honey and molasses from grapes, dates, and carob were and still are used as well), though it was plentiful there long before sugar became common in the West.
The sugar industry started in Egypt in the eighth century, and the Egyptians were considered pioneers in refining sugar. They’re still major growers and producers of sugar, with more than three hundred million acres given over to growing sugarcane, which does not include the land on which sugar beets are grown. Iran is another country with an important sugarcane growing and refining industry.
Sweets are an essential part of the legendary Middle Eastern and North African hospitality, and they are ever-present in people’s homes, stored in beautiful glass or metal boxes and placed on coffee tables in living rooms so hosts can offer them to guests with coffee, tea, or a refreshing drink. Everyone brings a gift when invited to someone’s home, and sweets are often what visitors bring with them.
Wherever you go in the region, whether in the souks, bazaars, or the modern parts of cities, you find confections of all kinds. Some are piled high on carts by the roadside, others delicately arranged on huge metal trays in the shops of sweets makers. Don’t assume that sweets sold on the street aren’t as good as those displayed in elegant stores. Some may be of lesser quality, but others will have been lovingly prepared by the vendors in their homes and match those available at the finest shops.
Most people in the Levant still cook elaborate meals at home, though few home cooks prepare their own desserts, even if they know how. In North Africa, home cooks are very proud of their pastry-making skills. Apart from a few sweets such as ma’mul (see page 56) and various puddings that are considered the preserve of the home cook, most Levantines buy their desserts and pastries from specialty shops—just as many French and Italians do. In the Middle East and North Africa, however, these delicacies are enjoyed not so much for dessert at the end of the meal, when fruit is usually served, but rather for breakfast or between meals with coffee or tea.
As a child in Beirut, I often went with my mother or sometimes my father to buy sweets, simply as a treat for us to have at home or to take to my grandmother who lived in East Beirut, the Christian part of the city. We lived in West Beirut, the Muslim part, and it was there that all the great confectioners had their stores. They were mainly Muslim, with many having been in the business for generations. In the 1960s when I was growing up there, the most famous were the Samadis and the Bohsalis in Beirut and the Hallabs in Tripoli (the last two are still going strong, though Samadi Sweet Shop may have lost its shine). I speculate that most confectioners are Muslims because Christians had to be austere during the forty days of Lent. Muslims, on the other hand, enjoyed a feast every night during Ramadan (the Muslim month of fasting), with sweets taking center stage throughout that month as well as for the feast celebrating the end of Ramadan, Eid al-Fitr (known as Şeker Bayramı, Sugar Feast, in Turkey), and the even bigger feast a month or so later, Eid al-Adha. Christians celebrate with sweets as well, especially at Easter, but not so extravagantly.
What I never noticed when I lived in Beirut was the lack of access to the confectioners’ kitchens. It was never a problem peeking into restaurant kitchens or watching bakers at work, but it wasn’t until I started writing about food that I realized I had never been inside any sweets-makers’ kitchens. That mysterious world was out-of-bounds to everyone except professionals. The very first time I visited Güllüoğlu’s baklava kitchens in Istanbul, it felt like walking into an enchanted world: everything was cloaked in clouds of white dust (created by the cornstarch, which is used to keep the phyllo from sticking as it is rolled out). Men in white moved gracefully and dexterously, rolling out incredibly large, diaphanous sheets of phyllo dough, which they then flapped one by one before laying them on large metal trays, building layers interspersed with chopped nuts to make different types of baklava.
Later, I was fortunate enough to be allowed inside the kitchens of Pistache d’Alep in Aleppo, and there I finally discovered the art of making cotton candy (ghazl al-banat in Arabic), an extraordinary confection made by stretching caramel and coating it with toasted flour. As the caramel is stretched again and again, it separates into millions of incredibly fine strands that are then coiled into balls that melt on your tongue as you eat them, as if you were eating sweet air. Later still, I visited the kitchens of İmam Çağdaş in Gaziantep in southeastern Turkey, where the atmosphere was positively medieval. The wood fire in the oven cast a warm orange glow over the men, who made the baklava “dance” by pouring hot syrup over it. The syrup made the top layers of phyllo bob up and down, though never strongly enough to fly off the tray.
The repertoire of sweets is vast, from puddings to syrupy pastries to cookies to ice creams to candied fruit, nuts, and even some vegetables such as eggplant. From these I have chosen an exciting selection of recipes that can be made by amateur home cooks. The satisfaction of making a perfect m’hanncha, or almond spiral (or even an imperfect one), is empowering; serving your own homemade ice cream allows you to experiment with unusual flavors and combinations as well as impress whoever is lucky enough to eat it; and the cook will, like the best leavened pastry, puff up with pride.
Some ingredients may not be readily available in supermarkets, but you will have no problem finding them online or at specialty stores (see Sources, page 162). And most of these ingredients have a long shelf life; so to achieve superior results, it is worthwhile to source the best-quality products you can find. Another compelling reason to make your own sweets is to experience the pleasure of eating these desserts, because it’s unlikely that there’s a master baker in your neighborhood equal to those in Beirut, Tripoli, Istanbul, or Gaziantep. Finally, there’s great satisfaction to be had in mastering these intriguing confections.
And with that, I wish you happy sweets making—and eating.
