One of our favorite restaurants in the world is called Restaurant Margaret and Victor (RIP) Tayar. It is little more than a hut on the beach in Jaffa, an ugly concrete balcony facing the most beautiful sea scene. The humble plastic tables and chairs are dressed in tablecloths that look like, and indeed are, old bed sheets. The brilliance of the food comes as an utter surprise, as does the magnitude of the bill.

The food you eat there is the stuff of dreams—charred peppers with preserved lemon and mint sauce, sweet and spicy beets with currants, white eggplant purée, red eggplant purée, fried marinated eggplants, vine leaves, gorgeous hummus… and these are just the starters. The couscous dishes are second to none. The grouper kofta are legendary. There are sardines stuffed with coriander and cod’s roe, and beef and potato mafrum, everything bright and electric with flavor.

Margaret learned to cook from the husband she outlived (as the restaurant name suggests), and makes the old, traditional North African dishes with a talent and care that are all her own. The little restaurant is filled to the brim with her Gypsy good looks and laughter. She leaves the kitchen after service to do everyone’s bill—a mysterious procedure that only she can perform—and takes into account many more things than simply the food that was ordered. You can hear her saying to a regular customer, “If I’d known it was you, I would have given you the good fish,” or see her smiling at an outraged couple whose lunch has cost the same as a car. The price of magic.

Every morning the fishermen bring her the night’s catch, and she goes through it meticulously, suspicious of the freshness and provenance of every specimen, trusting no one and nothing but her senses. A few times during the winter a truck full of tiny, sweet lemons unloads at the restaurant. These are rumored to come from a grove in the Sinai desert in Egypt and will be preserved for use in next year’s cooking. Twice a week she goes to market to choose the fruit, herbs and vegetables she will cook in the restaurant, and she arranges the boxes on her balcony in colorful rows—lemons, squashes, peppers, eggplants. If you ask her what the secret of her food is, she says it’s all about leaving the fruit and vegetables outdoors: the sun concentrates their flavor and gives them sweetness, while the sea breeze gives them a bit of salt. I’m not sure how scientific this theory is. I always thought that perhaps she left it all outside because she had no room inside, or that she was just being lazy, but I respect the humility of such a great cook before her ingredients.

The recipes in this chapter are perhaps the heart of our restaurant, and the heart of this book. They range from the slightly fussy to the painfully time-consuming. These are the kinds of things that are prepared by mothers and grandmothers who spend their days at kitchen tables, with ample time for rolling, wrapping, scraping and stuffing—procedures so arduous that you cannot mistake the resulting dishes for anything but the labor of much care. At Honey & Co our only goal is to make tasty food, but if we were to have any other mission statement or ideology, it would be to serve and preserve these recipes which nobody else has time for anymore… although we try not to have more than a couple of these labor-intensive dishes on the menu at any one time.

Beet kubbe soup

Kubbe dumpling soup is the jewel in the crown of many kitchens all along the Fertile Crescent; there are endless variations on the dough, the filling and the soup. This version is easy in comparison to some others we came across, but is extremely satisfying in taste and looks, and as comforting as only home food can be.

Makes about 12 dumplings, which should be enough for 4 people

For the dumpling dough

1½ cups/250g semolina

scant 1 cup/200ml water

1¾ tsp salt

For the filling

1 small onion, grated or minced

½ tsp salt

5 oz/150g ground beef

a pinch of white pepper

1 tbsp plus ¾ tsp baharat spice mix (here)

For the soup

1 medium onion, peeled and roughly chopped

generous 1 tbsp olive oil

1 heaped tbsp tomato purée

2 stalks of celery, sliced

1 tomato, grated

2 large beets, peeled and diced

4 sprigs of parsley, roughly chopped

1 heaped tsp salt

juice of 2 lemons

Mix all the dough ingredients together and set them aside for an hour. At first it will look like a very loose porridge, but after an hour’s rest it’ll come together (against reason) to a soft, smooth, shiny dough.

While your dough is resting, prepare the soup: start by sautéing the chopped onion in the oil until it starts to soften (about 5 minutes), then add the tomato purée and mix well so that the onion is thoroughly coated.

Add all the other soup ingredients and stir to combine. Cover with 8 cups/2 liters of water and bring to the boil. Skim any foam that comes to the top and reduce the heat to a simmer. Partially cover the pot and cook for about 30–40 minutes until the beets are soft. The soup should taste quite tangy and have a good amount of salt, as this will be absorbed into the dumplings, so if you think it is a bit bland, add some more. The soup is now ready for the kubbe—it will look a bit watery at this stage but that’s good, as the semolina in the dough will thicken it considerably.

While the soup is simmering, mix all the filling ingredients together and form into twelve little balls, each about the size of a cherry tomato. If your dough is ready you can make the kubbe now, otherwise leave the filling balls in the fridge until it is.

To assemble the kubbe, roughly divide the semolina dough into twelve pieces. Dampen your palms with some water and grab a piece of dough—it will seem soft but that is normal. Flatten it on your palm—it should be big enough to cover your palm and between ¼–½ in/1cm thick. Place a ball of filling in the center and fold the edges of the dough over it, sealing the pastry, then pop it into the simmering soup. Repeat with the rest of the dough and filling balls until all twelve dumplings are floating in the soup.

Cook the soup and dumplings for about another 30 minutes on a constant simmer with the lid partially covering the pot. The soup will thicken and the dumplings will plump up. We allow three kubbe per person and like to serve this soup in large flat bowls, with some fresh lemon wedges to squeeze over.

The soup and dumplings will keep well in the fridge for a couple of days, but make sure to warm thoroughly before serving.

Whole stuffed chicken with freekeh, almonds & pine nuts

We received our dear friend Shahar (aka “Couscousul”), along with this nickname, in a package deal from our old employer and good friend Yotam. A skinny man with a big heart and a bigger stomach, Shahar took us under his wing and now guides us through the London jungle. He tells us what films and plays to see, what to read (and what to think about it), where to eat and what’s worth doing. He is something of a cult figure at Honey & Co, and everyone becomes giddy with excitement each time he comes to see us, like a godfather or favorite uncle. He has all the time in the world to listen to our gripes, and lets us be a part of his Woody-Allen-ish everyday. To show our gratitude we cook hearty, homey, stick-to-the-ribs-type food for him, just to hear him say—as he does every time—“This is exactly the kind of food that I like.”

Serves 2–4, depending on whether you eat a thigh and a breast, or can make do with just one of them. Better still, avoid the problem altogether and cook four little chickens (poussins), so you have 1 per person.

scant 1 cup/135g freekeh (or if you can’t get hold of it, use coarse-grind bulgar wheat)

1 heaped tsp salt, plus more to season

⅓ cup/50g whole almonds, skin on and roughly chopped

⅓ cup/50g pine nuts

2½ tbsp olive oil

1 medium onion, peeled and diced

2 cloves of garlic, peeled and halved

1 orange, sliced thinly with the skin on

1 tbsp plus ¾ tsp sweet spice mix (here)

1 knob of fresh ginger, peeled and grated (a mounded 1 tbsp)

1 chicken (about 3 lb, give or take) or 4 poussins

1 knob of butter (a generous 1 tbsp/about 25g)

Wash the freekeh well, drain it and place in a pan. Cover with lots of fresh, cold water and add the teaspoon of salt. Bring to the boil and cook for about 20 minutes, then drain.

Place the almonds and pine nuts in a frying pan over a medium heat and mix while they toast a little—for about 1 minute—before adding the oil, onion and garlic. Sauté until the onion and garlic have softened, then stir in half the orange slices, 2½ teaspoons of sweet spice mix and the grated ginger. Cook for another 2 minutes, then tip in the freekeh and mix well. Remove from the stove.

If you are cooking one large chicken, preheat your oven to 475°F.

Now fill the chicken as tightly as you can with as much of the stuffing as you can. If you have a little left over, spoon it into the center of a roasting dish, place 3 of the uncooked slices of orange on top and lay the chicken on them (if there is no filling left over, just lay the stuffed bird on the three slices of orange in the roasting dish). Try to spread the legs out so that the meat cooks evenly.

Rub the breast and legs of the chicken with the butter and sprinkle the remaining sweet spice all over. Season generously with salt and freshly ground pepper. If you have any uncooked orange slices left over, push them under the skin. This is much easier than it sounds—you just need to grab the flap of skin above the breast and lift it a little, then push the slices between the flesh and the skin.

Make sure the oven is hot before you put the chicken in as this will help to give it a lovely crispy skin. Place the chicken in the center of the oven and roast for 15 minutes, then reduce the temperature to 400°F and cook for a further 15 minutes. Remove from the oven and check that the meat is cooked by inserting a small knife into the thickest part of the thigh—the liquids that come out should be clear. If you think the chicken needs a little more time, cover the breast with a piece of aluminum foil and return it to the oven for 5–6 minutes, but make sure not to dry it out.

If you are using four little poussins instead of one large chicken, preheat your oven to 400°F and then stuff, grease and season the birds as above, pushing any remaining orange slices under the skins. The poussins will only need 20 minutes roasting in total, so after 10 minutes at 400°F, reduce the heat to 350°F and roast for another 10 minutes before checking that the meat is cooked through.

You will need a spoon to scoop out all the lovely stuffing. It’s nice to carve this dish at the table, and then pick the bones clean with your fingers.