Our evening starts when Sanaa arrives. Our little French firecracker is a nocturnal creature; she comes to life as the day fades out. Every day at 4pm, she ties her golden pushbike to the pole outside the shop, wearing some outrageous outfit that she unearthed in a second-hand shop, something that only she could pull off. A quick look at the booking sheet and the wine fridge, and the evening can start. The restaurant is set up around the last tea-timers. Tables are joined and separated to suit different-size parties; the lights are dimmed; whatever cakes are left from the afternoon are returned to the counter at the back (these cakes move a lot); and as the room fills with the soft glow from little tea lights, Sanaa comes into her own, her eyes and smile twinkling in the candlelight.
Dinner explodes on us like a firework display. Between 6pm and 6:30pm all our tables and the five bar seats fill up, and in the summer the tables outside too. The first dinner service is the fast one; pre-theatre, post-work, these people are in a rush. It’s a tempest in the kitchen, all hands on deck. Tray after laden tray of mezze heads upstairs. This is where we really go to town. Our dinner mezze selection is a taste of almost everything we make in the kitchen: three types of bread, two or three dips (one is always hummus), falafel with a dipping sauce, olives, seasonal pickles and salads. Each of our tables will be laden with a dozen small plates, little bites to start the meal, with a warning not to fill up on bread.
After that first rush, things become more relaxed. As some customers head out and others trickle in, we can all relax into the evening. Hopefully, the restaurant will fill up again at least once during the night. There will be time to laugh and chat a bit. Something funny will happen, or something strange; ideally nothing bad, although inevitably sometimes it does: computers break, drinks spill, customers get upset—that’s just restaurant life. If all goes well, then by 9pm our room feels like a lovely dinner party, with chatter filling each table, sometimes overflowing to the neighboring one, and plates of food and bottles of wine passing around. Our little Sanaa oversees it all, smiling at each guest and looking like the proudest host in town.
As the night moves on, dessert options are discussed—cake from the counter or dessert from the kitchen? Cheesecake again or something new? One dessert and two forks, or do we get one each? Then finally it is time for bills and goodbyes. As the last customers leave, we snuff out the candles on another day and the cleaners turn up the lights to make sure they don’t miss a thing, getting Honey & Co ready for tomorrow, when it starts all over again.
You can have cake for pudding—there’s nothing wrong with that—but sometimes you want something different, a bit more elegant perhaps, or just a bit lighter. Dessert is not about massive portions or mounds of cream, but rather about complementing your dinner, and spoiling yourself and others. Each of the following can be made in advance, then assembled just before you want to serve (a really “chef-y” thing to do, which should be done more at home). This way you can nip into the kitchen and get everything ready in a jiffy, before coming back with a fabulous dessert to bask in the glory.
Some of these desserts take a little time and effort to prepare but don’t worry if they aren’t perfect; they will taste delicious even if they look a bit crooked. And if things really do go south, just remember Nigella’s advice: apologize once, then let it pass (advice equally good for baking disasters and life in general).
Fills a 7–8 inch frying pan
Enough for 4–6, depending on your ability to consume sweet things
This is the dessert I crave when I go home to Israel for a visit. Not just any knafe but the one in Acre market, though if I don’t have the time to head to Acre, the knafe in downtown Haifa will do the trick. It is one of those specialist products that you seek out, find your favorite pastry shop and stick to it for years. I have tried others—in fact I try them whenever I can. There is something about the combination of really sweet syrup, salty cheese and pastry with a crispy and yielding texture that just makes so much sense to me. Itamar has always claimed this isn’t his favorite but it truly is mine. And whenever I make it, thinking that I can finally have a dessert all to myself, I notice that he manages to eat his fair share, making me doubt the truth of his claim.
5 whole cardamom pods
3 wide strips of orange zest (use a peeler)
250g granulated sugar
140g/ml water
1 tbsp orange blossom water
125g (1 small log) rindless goats’ cheese
150g feta cheese
100g mascarpone or full fat cream cheese
½ tsp freshly ground cardamom pods
zest of ½ orange (use the remaining zest from the orange for the syrup)
200g kadaif pastry
100g unsalted butter, melted
To garnish (if you like)
20g chopped pistachios
1 tbsp dried rose petals
Start by making the syrup so that the flavors have time to infuse. Press the cardamom pods to open slightly and expose the seeds in the center, then pop into a small saucepan, pods and all. Add the other syrup ingredients and mix well to start the sugar dissolving, so that it doesn’t catch when you heat it.
Set the pan on a high heat and bring the syrup ingredients to the boil. Skim off any foam that forms on the top, then remove from the heat. Leave to cool in the pan with the orange zest and cardamom pods still in it until you are ready to assemble the knafe (you can prepare the syrup a few hours in advance if you wish). This syrup is very thick and will need to be strained before using.
To make the filling, crumble the goats’ cheese and feta into a bowl and add the mascarpone, cardamom and orange zest. Mix to combine, but allow the cheeses to stay in rough clumps. Don’t worry that no sugar is added at this point, as the filling will get plenty of sweetness from the syrup.
Preheat the oven to 400°F/375°F convection. Place the kadaif pastry in a large bowl and pull apart a little to separate the strands. Pour over the melted butter and mix it in, using your hands to rub it all over so that the pastry is well coated (a little like putting conditioner in your hair). Place half the pastry in a 7–8 inch frying pan and flatten down to cover the base of the pan. Evenly distribute the cheese filling all over and then top with the rest of the pastry as a second layer.
I always start by giving the knafe some color on the stove top: set the frying pan on a low to medium heat and swivel the pastry around in it every 20 seconds to start it crisping. After 2 minutes, press down on the top layer with the lid of the frying pan or a plate that fits into the pan, and (holding firmly onto the lid or plate) carefully turn upside-down. The knafe will now be sitting on the plate or lid, crispy side uppermost. Set the frying pan down and very carefully slide the knafe back into the pan so that you can crisp the other side for 2 minutes before transferring the pan to the oven for 10 minutes to complete the baking. Alternatively, if this sounds too much like hard work, just set the whole thing straight in the oven for 20 minutes without browning in the pan first—you won’t get all the tiny crispy strands of pastry top and bottom, but this is definitely the easier option.
Once the knafe is baked, remove from the oven and carefully pour all the syrup over it, using a sieve to catch the orange and cardamom pods (you can discard them now that they have done their job). Allow 5 minutes for the syrup to absorb, then sprinkle the pastry with chopped pistachios and rose petals (if using). Serve straight away—you can carefully cut it into wedges or use a large spoon to scoop out portions. This really isn’t a dessert to eat cold; you want to have it while the cheese is still oozing and the pastry is warm.
If you are making this for a dinner party, follow all the stages up to the point where it is ready to put in the oven, then keep in the fridge until needed (up to 24 hours). Simply add an extra 5 minutes to your baking time when you come to heat it up.