Lynn Strong

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  • Consorting with the King and the history of lemonade

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    I know I write in a niche; I started writing my books because I wanted to read books like them and couldn’t find them in a language I’m fluent enough in.

    So you could have knocked me over with one of the peacock feathers on this book’s cover when I ran into:

    🤴🏽A kind, soft, middle-aged Middle Eastern gentleman who…

    🫖 …loves his home’s food and culture and architecture and definitely the chai…

    🧸 …and needs a break from all the obligations and expectations and thou-shalts in his life…

    🐈 …and adores the thousand cats who wander around his city.

    🚋 (So much that he made them a little solar powered cat tram!)

    Up til that last bit there, I might have been talking about Chai and Charmcraft, but I am utterly beyond delighted by C. Quince’s Consorting with the King.

    Consorting with the King by C. Quince

    C. Quince’s solar-powered not-exactly-gaslamp edition of something adjacent to the Ottoman Empire is gently and cozily flipping the usual tropes all the way through, and I am so here for it. Instead of the white folks bringing Enlightenmnent to the brown folks, it’s clear early on that Istanbul is an old and beautiful and rich civilization even before the solar power comes onto the scene. The Western visitors have a lot of catching up to do (one of them nearly drinks out of the hand-washing bowl). The Turkish royals are better educated; they speak the handwaved-not-exactly-Saxon-that-gets-rendered-in-English with a bit of hesitation but still more fluently than the Saxon-and-Victorian-coded point of view character speaks Turkish.

    And then there are the cats. And the little solar powered cat tram. And the Cinderella-inverted setup that absolutely won my heart — I can’t say more without spoilers. I knew where it was going but I didn’t mind knowing that because the ride itself was as delightful as the cat tram.

    I might possibly have made an idiot of myself squeaking incoherently in his email about how madly I love this book, but I am not an AI bot or a scammer, but also I hate that I have to lead with that because I can count the number of actual humans who’ve emailed me on the fingers of one hand this year, but also I love this book. (But you can’t say that coherently without sounding like an AI bot or a scammer now, so that kind of leaves so incoherently no AI bot would have sent it, but also that may have led the human on the other end to think I’m entirely off my rocker? 😅 )

    Also, C. Quince introduced his readers to beverages I’d never encountered before, so of course I was extra bonus sold!

    I wish I could write fanfic without causing copyright trouble, I would love to write a crossover fanfic where our characters got to nerd out about their favorite beverages and their mutual love of cats and the rueful challenges of gently, cozily flipping the Cinderella tropes like pancakes rather than like tables.

    Alas, I can’t, but at least I can research some of those fascinating beverages without spoilers or lawyers?

    Kashkab and Qatarmizat from the Solar Sultan

    No spoilers here, but this is a quote from near the end of the book:

    “Anything cold?”

    “Yes, the lemonade,” Haşim said, leading Francis to the appropriate tray of drinks. “Kashkab,” he indicated the pale-yellow drink, “lemon, mint, pepper, and citron. Or, qatarmizat,” he indicated another yellow drink, “is sweeter. Or,” he added with a smile, “my favourite. Lemon and strawberry.”

    “That sounds good,” Francis said. “Why doesn’t that one have a name?”

    “Well, the other ones are recipes from Egypt.”

    If I were a cat you would have seen ears and whiskers lock on immediately with huge black targeting pupils and the wriggle of an impending book-pounce! 😻

    Here’s what How Stuff Works has to say about it:

    The earliest record of the precursor to lemonade hails from the Mediterranean coast of medieval Egypt. Kashkab was made from fermented barley combined with mint, rue, black pepper and citron leaf. Next time you’re at the juice bar, ask your mixologist to whip you up a frothy mug of kashkab! Or how about a shot of sweet and tangy qatarmizat instead? Thanks to the chronicles of poet and traveler Nasir-i-Khusraw, who wrote accounts of 10th-century Egyptian life, and to Jewish books and documents in the Cairo Genizah, we know that the medieval Jewish community in Cairo consumed, traded and exported bottles of the sugary lemon juice concoction called qatarmizat through the 13th century.

    I hadn’t run into Nasir-i-Khusraw or the Jewish community recipes in research before this, possibly because these weren’t dedicated cookbooks. An hour’s research hasn’t been enough for me to track down original sources, but here’s my Taking A Guess Unofficial Amateur Beverage Hack theories on how someone might get a similar sip today:

    Very Under-Researched Kashkab

    (more updates if I find them!)

    From the notes above, it looks like historic kashkab begins with a lightly fermented barley water. Since I personally don’t feel comfortable giving fermentation advice over the Internet because of the number of ways things could potentially go wrong (including exploding glass), I’m going to say “if you feel comfortable making small beer from barley, you do you” here.

    If you don’t feel comfortable making small beer from barley, and you live in a place where Robinson’s lemon barley water is available, that could be a much simpler first step.

    And if you don’t live in range of Robinson’s for sale, many Korean markets sell roasted barley packets for brewing a tea-like tisane.

    Alternatively, if you want to start with lemonade rather than barley water, Rule of Tasty is right there too.

    So after you have your base beverage at whatever level of barley, lemon, and/or fizz pleases you:

    • Grab a fill-your-own tea bag or tea ball
    • (If you’re starting with hot barley tea without lemon, add some lemon juice or zest here to taste)
    • Put into it some fresh or dried mint, some cracked black pepper, and maybe a couple celery leaves for a rue-adjacent flavor with less hazards
    • If starting with hot barley water, steep the tea-bag-or-ball in it for a few minutes, taste testing, and pull when you like the balance
    • If starting with cold barley water or lemonade, you might want to leave the herbs steeping longer because it will take more time to flavor cold liquid than hot.
    • Sugar doesn’t appear in either C. Quince’s book description of kashkab or in the historical notes, aside from whatever you need to get barley to lightly ferment. But again, I leave Rule of Tasty to your decisions.

    Very Under-Researched Qatarmizat

    (more updates if I find them!)

    It sounds like qatarmizat is closer to modern day lemonade, and sugar from sugarcane reached Egypt somewhere between 325 BCE and 700 CE, but I don’t have documentation on what percentage of the population used sugar vs. honey over time. Sugar was definitely in common use by the 1200s, because the Crusaders discovered it and took it to Europe with them.

    I can’t guess whether the bottling was also for the containment of fizzy fermentation or simply for ease of selling unit-shaped things to those who desired them.

    So if you like either sweet still lemonade or sweet fizzy lemonade, both sound plausible to me on this end of time!

    Pour a glass, sip, and enjoy a good book full of cats, since the book-cats will not be offended by the citrus in your glass.

  • Mu’tamidiyya – Medieval frittata

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    Here’s the last of the Chai and Charmcraft-associated recipes that went into the book; after this, I’ll be writing up ones that didn’t make it into the paper edition. This is one of the recipes from the banquet meal with the gathered priests. (Photo credit to Sylvar of Openverse.)

    I’m frequently surprised by how much the thousand-year-old recipes from Egyptian and Persian and Arabic cookbooks resemble what we make today. (I’m not surprised by how tasty they are, but I am the kind of person who loves medieval flavor profiles, including sweet-with-sour and floral things.)

    If you put a sizzling skillet of ‘ujja mu’tamidiyya in front of a person at a fancy restaurant today, they would probably be delighted. It’s basically a thick omelet with chicken and olives and cheese and an assortment of herbs scattered over the top. (In modern Egypt, a thick egg omelet or frittata with meat and vegetables, now called eggah or ejjeh rather than ‘ujja, is still made today.)

    The historic version

    This is one of the recipes contained in both Kanz al-Fawaid and Zahr al-Hadiqa, with a note from Daniel Newman in his translation of Zahr that while there was an Abbasid caliph named al-Mu’tamid, he believes the al-Mu’tamid in question was al-Mu’tamid ibn al-Abbad, the last ruler of Seville.

    “Recipe for a muʿtamidiyya omelette with cheese: Take two chicken breasts and slice them thinly. Take one raṭl of meat and slice it in the same way. Wash and put in a pot over a fire and pour on one raṭl of good olive oil and two dirhams of salt. Boil until nearly done. Then, slice one quarter of a raṭl of cheese, and throw it into the pot with the meat. Season with two dirhams of dried coriander, and one dirham each of pepper and cassia. Add ten pitted olives. Then break twenty eggs into a large green-glazed bowl and pour on one ūqiya of murrī. Finally, cut some rue in it, remove [from the fire] and serve.” (Newman, The Sultan’s Feast, recipe 115)

    The modern rendition

    Given that most people don’t cook with 20 eggs and 2 cups of olive oil at a time nowadays, I’m scaling that back some! When I make a quiche in a reasonably standard pie dish, I use 6 eggs because that works out to about an egg per slice. While this is written as a thick omelet without a pie crust, I’m not going to argue if you decide you want a pie crust in there to make it easier to remove from a pie dish. Alternatively, if you’re confident of your frittata skills, an oven-safe nonstick or cast-iron pan can make it an all-in one.

    • 6 eggs
    • ½ cup (approx. 2 oz) cheese (or a meltable non-dairy cheese) – qanbaris or paneer may be historic, mozzarella or ricotta may be melty and tasty
    • ½ to 1 chicken breast (or a can of chicken, drained)
    • (Optional, if ½ chicken breast) Some other meat or protein as desired
    • A couple tablespoons olive oil
    • A pinch of salt
    • ¼ tsp each of coriander, black pepper, and cinnamon
    • Between 4 and 10 pitted olives, as you like (I won’t tell!)
    • 1-2 tsp murri if you have it, fish sauce / soy sauce / Worcestershire if you don’t
    • (Optional) Some chopped celery leaves or fresh parsley to substitute for the rue
    • (Optional) Some sumac to sprinkle over the top 
    • (Optional) A pie crust or parchment paper if, like me, you’re more confident of your egg baking than your egg flipping

    Everything up to the eggs happens in a skillet:

    1. If your meat is starting out raw, slice it thinly. 
    2. Heat your skillet, add the olive oil and salt, and cook the meat until reasonably done. (If your chicken starts in a can, drain it thoroughly before adding it to the skillet.)
    3. Add the cheese, spices, and as many olives as make you happy.
    4. Crack your eggs into a separate bowl and whisk them together. 
    5. Add the murri or fish/soy/Worcestershire sauce to the eggs and stir through.
    6. Decide whether you want to finish it in the skillet or bake it in an oven. 

    If you’re going for the skilleted version:

    1. If you don’t trust your flip skills, start the oven preheating to 350.
    2. Pour the whisked eggs over the contents of the pan.
    3. Stir gently for about 5 minutes until it starts setting up.
    4. If you trust your flip skills, flip away. (I have never trusted my flip skills that much.)
    5. If you don’t trust your flip skills and have that oven going, bake it until it’s golden on top and/or around 160 F / 71 C on a food thermometer. The time needed will depend on how much stovetop pre-cooking it got. (If you have the knack of frittatas, use your own favorite method!)
    6. (Optional) Sprinkle the chopped celery, parsley leaves, and/or sumac over the top before serving. 

    If you’re going for the baked pie dish version:

    1. Preheat your oven to 350 F / 175 C
    2. For quiche, line your pie dish with a crust; for a baked omelet, line your pie dish with parchment paper.
    3. Pour the skillet-prepared mixture into your pie dish and distribute it evenly.
    4. Pour your whisked eggs over the ingredients.
    5. Bake for about 35-45 minutes, until 160 F / 71 C or until a toothpick comes out reasonably clean. (If using a crust, you may want to shield the edges with tinfoil or a pie protector when the crust looks golden.)
    6. (Optional) Sprinkle the chopped celery, parsley leaves, and/or sumac over the top before serving. 

    Alterations for food sensitivities

    If you need an eggless and/or vegan version, the primary contenders for eggless omelets seem to be chickpeas or tofu. 

    The historic cookbooks do have eggless omelet recipes based on chickpeas or aquafaba, so if chickpeas work for you, Monica at The Hidden Veggies has a chickpea-based omelet recipe that you could adapt to use olives and similar flavor notes.If chickpeas don’t work for you, Alison at Loving It Vegan has a tofu-based frittata instead. (I’d need to swap the cornstarch as well, personally.)

  • Esmatiyya

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    I call this esmatiyya after Esmat the cook in Chai and Charmcraft, since I can’t document this exact combination in a single historical source. But all of the individual pieces did exist, and if anyone would put different things together in a stunt-spectacular display it would be a royal cook! (Photo credit to Kadluba on Openverse for a bowl of soba with seaweed and tempura shrimp.)

    The historic inspirations

    The flying fried fish on skewers: In the introduction to The Exile’s Cookbook, which is a translation of ibn Razin al-Tujibi’s 13th century Andalusian cookbook, Daniel Newman describes “battered fried fish, aptly called ‘the protected’ (No. 290), which may well be the direct ancestor of the British classic fish dish – it is even eaten with vinegar!”

    The hypothesis goes that when the Spanish Inquisition got underway, anyone of a different faith got out if they could, and many of the multicultural foods of the commingled Muslim, Jewish, and Christian communities from places like Cordoba were taken with those refugees to Spain’s rivals in England and other countries.

    I’ve also seen it translated as “the armored” elsewhere, and the crisp battered coating does seem like a suit of armor. Eggplant also gets a similar battered treatment in the Andalusian cookbook, and the notion of tempura may have landed in Japan with the Portuguese a couple hundred years later. And skewers cut from coconut shells would make easier arches than straighter-grained woods.

    Here’s that thirteenth-century recipe for the protected/armored fish: 

    “Another dish, known as mughaffar: Take any good-quality fish you have available, scale it, and then wash with water and salt. Cut it open lengthwise and remove the bones. Next, beat the meat with eggs in a bowl, and add powdered darmak flour or grated breadcrumbs, as well as pepper, cinnamon, ginger, saffron, coriander seeds and macerated murrī. Coat the fish with this batter and fry in a pan with olive oil until golden brown. Then make a sauce for it by cooking vinegar, murrī and olive oil; pour it over the fish and serve. If you want to make a fish Burāniyya or muthallath, proceed in the same way as you would when using meat, and cook it in a casserole in the oven, as described above [, Allah the Exalted willing].” (Newman, The Exile’s Cookbook, recipe 290)

    The swimming uncooked fish in the vinegared and greens-floating broth: Given the connections between sikbaj and modern ceviche, I couldn’t resist. When you add in zirbaj and mukhallal (“the vinegared”) variants on meat, poultry, fish, and vegetables, and the connections between the Persian and Levantine recipes Ziryab brought from Baghdad to Cordoba because of one of the most epic rap battles of actual history, everything about this except for the raw fish itself is pretty historically grounded. 

    (Back in the days before refrigeration they had very good sanitation reasons for wanting their fish actually cooked, salted, or otherwise preserved!)

    The modern (and low spoons) rendition

    Basically, you’re looking for a bowl of sour broth with not-battered fish underneath arranged skewers of battered fish. The easiest ways I can think of for not-royal cooks to achieve that leans on grocery and restaurant provisions.

    • Per person: In a 24-ounce bowl (donburi are convenient), combine 2 cups of hot fish or vegetable stock with your choice of 1-2 tsp seasoned rice vinegar or a good squeeze of lemon or lime juice. 
    • Add some wilted spinach or wakame for “seaweed” in your fish’s ocean. If you like mint, tarragon, and/or fennel, mince and toss 1-2 Tbsp mixed herbs in too.
    • Swimming fish: Your choice of sashimi-grade fish, smoked salmon lox, or canned sardines. (Swimming not-fish could be falafel, veggie kebabs, fried tofu, or vegetarian fish-substitutes.)
    • Flying fried fish: On long skewers, arrange your choice of shrimp, fish, or vegetable tempura, battered cod, or (for vegetarians) falafel, hara bara kebab, or fried tofu pouches (which could be cut into fish shapes). Lay the long skewers across the top of each bowl or arrange a tripod of them.

    If I were preparing all of this from scratch, I would do the broth first, then have the swimming fish marinading in the broth while frying up the battered fish or shrimp. Doing everything from scratch is outside my personal abilities now, but if anyone tries it, let me know!

    Alterations for food sensitivities

    Vegetarian/vegan: Fried tofu pouches, seitan, or some of the historic imitation fish paste recipes may work for you. (You could put veggie tempura on long skewers over swimming tofu pouches in a tasty veggie broth with a splash of rice vinegar! Or ochazuke, or miso soup…)

    If vinegar is out, abghooreh/verjuice is unfermented sour grape juice – it won’t denature fish protein the way stronger acids do in ceviche, but if you start with lox or sardines in brine you don’t need the acid reaction.

  • Rahat al-Hulqum Revisited

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    Back in 2023, I hadn’t had nearly as many resources for my first rahat al-hulqum post as I do in 2026. So here’s the updated version of that post, with a lot more history!

    Rahat al-Hulqum and Faludhaj

    The story that Nathaniel Webb bought for Wyngraf  was an 8,000 word version of the prologue of Chai and Charmcraft, which I’d titled “Rahat al-Hulqum” because of Ashar’s nickname for Faraj and the rose-flavored sweets that inspired the nickname. The confection behind that name is still available today, sometimes in rose flavors, other times in apricot or pistachio or more; you most likely have heard it called Turkish Delight. (Some people love it, others are disappointed after CS Lewis’ build-up in The Chronicles of Narnia. I ended up in the loving-it camp, obviously.)

    The confection called Turkish Delight and other names like lokum (Turkish) and rahat (Romanian) is often traced to a shopkeeper in the Ottoman Empire — but for centuries before that shopkeeper’s variation, people have laid claim to it under other names and areas, including the Safavid Empire in Iran and tenth century Egypt. I was enchanted to discover Salma Serry’s gastronomy blog post about her grandmother’s lemon faludhaj, which she connects to the 10th century versions via our queen of medieval Arabic food history, Nawal Nasrallah. Serry’s grandmother served her lemon faludhaj for sore throats when she was a child – just as the 10th century cookbook noted that faludhaj was good for the throat, and the name rahat al-hulqum meant “comforts the throat.”

    The historic version

    In the glossary of Annals of the Caliph’s Kitchens, around pages 596-7, Nasrallah gives the connections between faludhaj and lokum that Serry mentioned, and there’s an entire chapter of faludhaj variations (chapter 93). Since corn hadn’t arrived in Europe in the 10th century, the recipes here use wheat or rice starch instead, along with saffron, camphor, rose water, and other flavorings and colorings.

    This is the recipe she cites as particularly similar to lokum / Turkish Delight:

     A recipe for chewy faludhaj, fit for royalty (mulukiyya): Put 3 ratls (3 pounds) honey in a clean tanjir (copper cauldron with a rounded bottom) and light the fire under it. [When it comes to a boil,] skim its froth and pour on it ½ ratl (1 cup) olive oil, shayraj (sesame oil), or fresh clarified butter (samn). Let it cook on a low-heat fire until it comes to several good full boils. 

    Finely pound 1/3 ratl (5 ounces) sweet starch in a mortar and taste it lest it should be sour. Add water, rose water, and crushed camphor or musk, and knead them together. Do not let it be too thin in consistency. In fact, it will be better if it is rather thick. Add ½ dirham (1½ grams) saffron to it and stir it into the pot. 

    Keep stirring the pot from the moment you put it on the fire until you take it away from it. Do not neglect this for the secret of good faludhaj is good quality honey and starch, and constant stirring (darb). When the pudding starts to thicken, gradually feed it with more and more fat, beating all the time until fat starts to separate from the pudding and comes up. Now, start removing the fat as it comes up while you beat the pudding. Do this until faludhaj develops the desired color and thickness. Remove all the remaining separated fat and put the pot away from the fire. Ladle (and spread) the pudding on a platter, God willing. If you want to make it extremely chewy in consistency (mu’allaka shadidan jiddan), use more honey and less starch, thicken the pudding as mentioned above, and let it cook much longer. It will come out very chewy, God willing.” (Nasrallah, Annals of the Caliphs’ Kitchens, pp 383-4)

    (For comparison, the recipe after it lists “1 uskurruja (½ cup)” of starch per pound of honey, which works out to 1 ½ cups starch for 3 lb (or 1 quart) honey, if you have an easier time finding volume measures than weight measures.)

    A modern rendition and alterations

    Most modern lokum and Turkish delight recipes involve cornstarch, so I haven’t been able to try cooking them myself. But Nico’s recipe at the Yumsome blog looks delightful for those who can have cornstarch! 

    Kate Valent is an absolutely delightful author and human who’s as enthusiastic about recipes as I am, and she took this pomegranate Turkish Delight recipe and made her own coconut variation on it (along with adorable flying carpet ceramics from the Daevabad LitJoy box!)

    Low spoons: In addition to the many vendors’ versions of rose-flavored Turkish Delight that can be bought online, Aplets and Cotlets are made using pectin from fruit, some of which are vegan, and they ship. The founders were particularly looking to replicate “rahat locum” from Armenia, and you can see the language connection there!

    Vegan: I’ve made several flavors of Japanese kanten from agar seaweed; there are many variations online, often with fruit and fruit juices rather than nuts and rosewater. But agar will absolutely give you something solid enough for easy cubes that are finger-food compatible. Just One Cookbook has a vegan recipe including options for all three forms you may find kanten / agar in, and several flavor options.

    Kathleen’s cornstarch-free Turkish paste: My friend Kathleen knows that cornstarch is a no-go zone for me, which means most salesfolks’ rahat al-hulqum variations are off my menu now — as is most anything rolled in powdered sugar, which regularly includes cornstarch for anti caking. So for the holidays last year, she made me some specially cornstarch-free variations on her family’s gelatin-based Turkish paste recipe, including mulled wine, mint, and (in this case) coconut milk. She kindly gave me permission to share her recipe with you:

    Turkish Paste, coconut variant 

    (Kathleen Fuller, from a recipe by Martha Manderson) 

    The technique here is a bit different because the coconut milk needs to be heated gently to avoid splitting. I use canned coconut milk, which I believe has a higher fat content than the carton variety. Shake the can well before starting and be prepared to do some further stirring to integrate the cream layer. 

    • Soak for 10 minutes: 
      • 3 Tbsp (4 envelopes) granulated gelatin 
      • 1/2 cup coconut milk 
    • Warm to barely simmering, stirring constantly: 
      • 2 cups sugar 
      • 1/2 cup coconut milk 
    • Add together, continuing to stir until thoroughly integrated. Remove from heat. 
    • Add: 
      • 1/3 cup coconut milk 
      • 1/2 tsp coconut extract 
      • 1/2 tsp vanilla extract 
    • Pour into 8” x 8” pan. (Rinse pan in cold water first.) Cool and remove from pan. Cut in squares and roll in confectioner’s sugar. If the paste is stored in humid conditions it will get sticky; just roll it in sugar again. This should be stored in the refrigerator.

  • Queer Your Bookshelf and Shai Rahim’s Bazmaward Wraps

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    The day I’m posting this (March 14, 2026) is the latest Queer Your Bookshelf day! For one day only, hundreds of queer books will be available for 99 cents (or as inexpensively as the vendors allow in other currencies). Have a browse, click some links, queer your bookshelf, wins all around.

    Also, here’s the first of my recipe batch from Chai and Charmcraft — Shai Rahim is one of the mendicant priests of Upaja who comes to Tel-Bastet for the Greater Convocation, and he sends Faraj a basket of treats and poetry as a gesture of courteous goodwill. (Photo credit to Olgucz at Openverse. Don’t worry if your wraps look different than these, though– these aren’t officially bazmaward, just the closest photo I could find in Creative Commons-land!)

    The Earl of Sandwich really wasn’t the first one off the post here, for all that he’s got the press in English. Bazmaward would be right at home on any banquet table with the decoratively arranged canapes: You make a roll with soft flatbread (lavash or tortillas are quite reasonable cousins), an assortment of barida (think cold deli food), some herbs and spices and hard-cooked eggs, and then you roll them up and slice them into rings. It’s documented that bazmaward was often served at the start of a banquet because they can be made ahead of time, for logistical reasons that are likely similar to the trays of canapes now. 

    From the recreation images I’ve seen involving sliced hard-boiled eggs, they tend to make the wrapping look chunky, and we also know that the medieval Egyptians were very fond of omelet-type things. So I’m sneaking in the “cook a thin omelet and use that in place of hard-boiled eggs” option in my version because the whole object will roll more smoothly for you.

    The historic version

    From al-Warraq’s 10th century Kitab al-Tabikh, translated by Nawal Nasrallah and described in her blog post recreating it:

    Use cold [cooked] meat of two legs and shoulders of a kid or lamb. Finely shred the meat into thread-like pieces. Choose whatever you like of leaf vegetables, excluding watercress (jirjīr) and endives (hindibāʾ). Finely chop them until they resemble sesame seeds and mix [part of] them with the shredded meat. Set the mixture aside.

    Now choose good quality sharp cheese, scrape it with a knife, and collect the scraped cheese. Coarsely grind walnuts and add them [with the cheese] to the [set-aside meatless] chopped vegetables. Also add some chopped herbs and rue. A portion of the chopped vegetables should have been set aside unmixed with the meat. Next, peel and chop some olives and add them to the [meatless] chopped vegetable mixture.

    Spread a soft and large ruqāqa [similar to lavash/markook bread], cover it with some of the meatless vegetable mixture and sprinkle it with seasoned salt. Next, spread the meat and vegetable mixture [to which you should have added] some spices. Then arrange a layer of eggs sliced lengthwise. Next, spread another layer of the meat and vegetable mixture followed by a layer of the meatless vegetable mixture. Sprinkle them with fine-tasting salt and drizzle them with sweet vinegar and rose water.

    Tightly roll the bread with the filling and slice it crosswise into discs. Arrange the [pinwheels] on a platter and pass them around, God willing.” (Nasrallah, Annals of the Caliphs’ Kitchens, chapter 23)

    Daniel Newman has a tasty-looking rendition using chicken rather than lamb on his blog as well. He also mentions substituting lemon for some of the historical predecessors.

    The modern rendition

    In her blog post, Nasrallah declines to give exact quantities because the amount needed will depend on how many you want to make. She’s got a really good point, but I’m going to give some suggested ranges to work with, and some low-cooking-needed options that may get an assist from your local market.

    • 2-4 large fajita-sized tortillas, or more small ones, or lavash
    • About 1 lb shredded cooked protein: Your choice among pot roast, pulled chicken, minced (and cooked) lamb, canned salmon, or your preferred meat substitute – fried tofu or quorn may work well here
    • About 1 ½ cups finely minced greens (spinach, kale, arugula)
    • 2-4 Tbsp minced walnuts (or pecans / almonds / pumpkin seeds if nut-sensitive)
    • 2-4 Tbsp minced fresh herbs (your choice among basil, parsley, tarragon, fennel fronds, mint, celery leaves) – if you don’t have fresh, or need easy mode, a splash of vinaigrette or Italian dressing could substitute for both the herbs and the later vinegar dressing. (I wouldn’t recommend 4 Tbsp entirely of mint, it’s pungent…)
    • 2-4 Tbsp minced olives
    • 2-3 eggs, either hard boiled and minced fine enough to sprinkle or cooked into a thin omelet or two and sliced into strips
    • As much (or little) cheese as you like – from the scraping description I would suggest a hard cheese like Parmesan, but the historical Mad Alchemist’s boiling acid qanbaris cheese might work too
    • Dressing: “Sweet vinegar” suggests sushi-seasoned sweet rice vinegar to me, with a few drops of rose water in a couple tablespoons and sprinkled as necessary. (To make your own, heat 3 Tbsp rice vinegar with 1 Tbsp sugar until the sugar dissolves, then cool, then add about 1/4 tsp rosewater.)
    • Salt for sprinkling, possibly sea salt if you have it

    To prepare in advance and refrigerate until ready:

    1. Either hard-boil and mince your eggs, or make thin omelets and slice into strips.
    2. Cook and shred your meat or meat substitute (or get your deli container).
    3. Mince your olives, removing any seeds along the way.
    4. Harvest or buy your greens and/or herbs.
    5. Prepare or buy your sweet-tart dressing, and add rosewater to your personal taste.

    When ready to roll:

    1. Finely chop your greens and/or herbs.
    2. In a large flat pan (or 10 seconds in a microwave), warm your tortilla or lavash until it’s soft and flexible and roll-friendly.
    3. Mix about half your chopped vegetables with your meat.
    4. Mix the other half of your chopped vegetables with your olives, optional nuts, and any fresh herbs. 
    5. Spread a layer of your chopped vegetables on your tortilla pizza-style (flat and spread to near the edges, not a burrito-style mound in the middle).
    6. Add a layer of your meat (or meat substitute) and vegetable mixture all over.
    7. Add either flat strips or minced sprinklings of your eggs all over.
    8. Scrape cheese (if desired) all over.
    9. Add your next layer of chopped meat (or meat substitute) and veg mixture.
    10.  Add the last layer of vegetables on top.
    11.  Lightly sprinkle your rosewater-scented dressing and a pinch of salt over the surface. (You don’t want so much that the bread gets soggy.)
    12.  Roll tightly from one edge to the other while your bread is still warm and flexible.
    13. If desired, wrap snugly in cling-wrap or tinfoil to help it hold its tight shape while you prepare additional rolls.
    14. Refrigerate until ready to serve.
    15. Slice into pinwheels and arrange on a decorative platter for serving.

    Alterations for food sensitivities or low spoons

    This really is as choose-your-own-adventure as you like!

    • Gluten sensitive? Choose a no-flour tortilla or substitute soft lettuce leaves or steamed cabbage for rolling
    • No vinegar? Squeeze a lime wedge into a couple tablespoons water and olive oil, shake or whisk, apply rose water or orange blossom water if desired
    • Prefer non-floral flavors? You could use orange, lemon, lime, or fresh ginger juice
    • Low spoons? Get some ready-made pinwheel rollups from your local market and lightly sprinkle with your choice of flavors (dressing, olives, nuts, herbs) before noshing

  • Zirbaj of Plausible Deniability

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    (Part of the recipe collection from Haroun and the Study of Mischief. But since I have a bad time with the “traditional” corned beef, and so do many vegetarians, pescetarians, and migraine-havers, I thought I’d put this out a bit before St. Patrick’s Day for consideration as an alternative. The image of the cook at the cauldrons is from the kitchen of the Golden Temple at Amritsar. And this is the last of my not-yet-posted recipes from Haroun! Up next: Chai and Charmcraft’s recipes.)

    Zirbaj (also seen as zirbaja, with or without an assortment of diacritical marks my eyes are not good enough to distinguish) is the sweet-and-tart-and-rosewater-scented cousin of sikbaj. Sikbaj is almost literally “vinegared stew” and is linguistically and culinarily related to ceviche and escabeche. As ceviche and escabeche’s fish-oriented modern descendants testify, it can be done with fish. Unlike ceviche, sikbaj and zirbaj usually apply heat as well as acid, and the meat can be fish or bird or cow or not even meat at all. Another branch of the sikbaj theory seems to have led toward European blancmange via muhallabiyya and judhab with chicken, rice, milk, sugar, rose water, and almonds. In some parts of Europe its descendants lost its chicken along the way to lean more toward desserts (and the word aspic). In other areas its descendants kept the chicken and rice but lost the milk and sugar.

    We get six and a quarter recipes for zirbaj in The Sultan’s Feast alone. (And that’s without counting the sikbaj variants and the chicken-rice-and-vinegar variants and the vinegar-and-honey stews with different names. I do count the “counterfeit” recipes, because counterfeit basically means vegetarian, but one of those is just a mention that the concept exists, hence the quarter.) I’ve also brought in a zirbaj recipe from The Exile’s Cookbook because it gave more helpful information.

    Where we run into particular headaches are the measurements: most of the recipes don’t give a measurement at all, and the recipes that do give measurements use measurements like a ratl which could be anywhere from 8 ounces to 8 pounds in different places and based on what is being measured, or an uqiyya that could mean about ten times as much in Aleppo as it does in Egypt. (I am actually behind several of the Wikipedia edits trying to figure out what exactly is meant by a ratl or an uqiyya when you’re reading an Egyptian cookbook as opposed to a Baghdadi cookbook, and trying to figure out what to do when you run into the same recipe in both but don’t know where the recipe started.)

    So I’ll give a couple historic recipes and then a rough ballpark for the modern era… “to taste” is going to figure prominently here!

    Historic zirbaj recipes with meat

    (If you’ve made the atraf al-tib spice mix, one of the simpler variations of the seven in The Sultan’s Cookbook uses sesame oil, sweet almond paste, and atraf al-tib in place of the more intricate separate spices.)

    “Take a large plump pullet, slaughter it and do as mentioned above in terms of cleaning it, and so on. Leave it whole and sever its neck. Take the ends of the legs, and push them inside its cavity. Put the bird in a large new pot with salt, sweet olive oil, pepper, coriander seeds, a little cumin and a bit of sliced onion, citron leaves and a sufficient amount of fresh water. Put the pot over a fire to cook and, when it is almost done, colour with a little pounded saffron dissolved in water. Then, pour good vinegar in the pot, as much as you want. Pound four ūqiyas of peeled almonds in a mortar until you get a paste. Check the chicken and, if it is done, add the crushed almonds and stir to dissolve them. Leave the pot on a moderate heat until the almonds have been brought to a boil once or twice. Take good-quality sugar – the same weight as the almonds– and dissolve it in rose water or fresh water. Strain, and pour it into the pot. Taste it and, if you find it too sweet, add vinegar. If it is not sweet enough, add sugar until it is to your liking. Leave the pot on embers to simmer down and to balance the flavours. If you like, you can add split eggs after serving the pullet in a large ceramic bowl. Eat it and enjoy it, Allah the Exalted willing.” (Newman, The Exile’s Cookbook, recipe 195)

    “Cut up meat into small pieces, place in the pot and cover with water. Add pieces of cassia, peeled chickpeas, and a bit of salt. When the water has come to a boil, remove the scum. Add sesame oil and the same quantity of wine vinegar, a quarter of the weight of the vinegar in sugar, and finely pounded peeled almonds soaked in rose water. Add the meat and then ground dried coriander, pepper and ground mastic. For colouring, add saffron. Then put peeled and split almonds on top of the dish and sprinkle a little bit of rose water on them. Rub the sides [of the pot] and leave on the fire until [the dish] simmers down. If you like, you can make it with chicken, in which case take a scalded chicken, and wash and joint it. When the pot is bubbling, throw it in with the meat and cook. If you like the sweetness to be prominent, add some sugar or honey, Allah the Almighty willing.” (Newman, The Sultan’s Feast, recipe 16)

    Dr. Newman has also blogged about a green zirbaj dish he’s prepared that leaves the chicken whole and uses a very herbal sauce. In his sikbaj taste-testing, he’s shredded the meat and vegetables and it’s less green.

    Historic “counterfeit” zirbaj, vegetarian

    Vegetarian recipes are often given as medical treatments in these cookbooks, and the beginning of this one does indicate some humoral theory indications for who might benefit from it.

    (If you’d like for it to be more protein-ful, you could add the chickpeas from the earlier recipe, or your preferred alternative protein source.)

    “Take a few onions, chop them up in the required quantity, throw into a clean pot and place it on over a gentle fire. Add almond oil or fresh sesame oil or good olive oil, depending on the temperaments. Once the onions start to sweat, add a little bit of ground coriander, a little mint, and what is required in terms of spikenard, mastic and cinnamon. Then, add clean vinegar mixed with the required amount of water. Sweeten with sugar and thicken the liquid with smoothly ground peeled almonds. Colour with saffron and rose water. There is no harm in making it with a bit of starch either. [Then,] remove [from the fire].” (Newman, The Sultan’s Feast, recipe 124)

    Zirbaj Remixed

    In the modern era, slow cookers serve much the same purpose as Shai Madhur’s cauldrons, though clearly on a smaller scale. But you can do this on a stovetop too – or over a fire, if the desire takes you.

    • Enough chicken to suit your pot and diners (or swap in some fish or meat or a couple cans’ worth of chickpeas or your chosen protein alternative)
    • A large onion or a couple shallots, peeled and chopped
    • 1/4 – 1/2 cup (to taste) wine vinegar (or cider or white vinegar if you prefer, or verjuice if vinegar doesn’t work for you)
    • 1/4 cup peeled blanched almonds, pounded (or almond flour, or however much almond milk tastes good to you. If almonds are a problem, though, you can use other starches for thickening the stew.)
    • 2-4 Tbsp (to taste) sesame or olive oil, separated
    • 2-4 Tbsp (to taste) sugar (or honey, or date palm syrup aka dibis)
    • 1-2 tsp (or more if you like, to taste) rose water
    • 1-2 cinnamon sticks (or 1 tsp ground cinnamon)
    • 1/2 tsp-ish ground black pepper (or long pepper if you have it), scaled to your meat or meat alternative
    • 1/2 tsp-ish salt likewise
    • (Optional but nice) A good pinch or two of saffron, either rehydrated in water or ground with 1 tsp sugar
    • (Optional) Some atraf al-tib if you made it, in which case you might remove some of the other spices
    • (Optional) 1/4 tsp coriander
    • (Optional) 1/2 tsp cumin
    • (Optional) 1/4 – 1/2 cup dried apricots, dates, or red dates/jujubes, cut small to rehydrate
    • (Optional) Mastic if you have some and know how you like to use it. I haven’t done enough with it myself to advise here, though it was distinctively popular in medieval Egyptian meat dishes.

    Although the directions just say to boil everything, here on this end of time I know how tasty Maillard reactions are. So I’m going to take a page from the vegetarian version’s instructions and interleave it with the meat-containing versions.

    1. If you’re starting with almonds, pound them up (or whizz them in a food processor) and put them in a small container with the rose water to soak while the other ingredients are being prepared.
    2. Either start your saffron soaking in some warm water or grind it in a mortar and pestle with 1 tsp sugar.
    3. In a large skillet, saute the onions in a tablespoon or two of oil.
    4. Chop up your meat and/or chicken. Sprinkle salt and pepper all over it (or your meat alternative). Hold off on the other spices for now.
    5. When the onions are softened, pour the skillet, oil and all, into your eventual cooking pot (whether that’s a crockpot or a stock pot). Return the skillet to the heat.
    6. Add another tablespoon or two of oil to the skillet and brown the salted and peppered meat on all sides. (If you’re using canned chickpeas or another meat alternative, get them warm and toasty.)
    7. Pour this skilletful into your cooking pot too.
    8. Put your cooking pot onto the stove (or turn on your crockpot).
    9. Add enough water to your cooking pot. Bring to a boil. Skim off any scum that floats to the surface.
    10. Once any scum has been skimmed, add your vinegar, sweetener (sugar/honey/dibis), remaining spices (cinnamon/coriander/cumin/atraf al-tib), and/or optional fruit.
    11. At this point everything should be in the pot except the almonds, rose water, and saffron. Those will be the last additions after everything is cooked through.
    12. Cook until the meat is tender and falling apart (or until the meat substitute is suitably tasty). Taste test and adjust the vinegar and/or sweetener as needed; if you’ve added sweet dried fruits, for example, you might not need as much additional sugar.
    13. (Optional) Upaja’s priests would have de-boned the meat and shredded it like a khaytiyya at this point, to make serving a ladle at a time more equitable, but you can either shred it or leave it whole.
    14. When the meat is done and any dried fruits are rehydrated, add in the almonds, rose water, and saffron. Stir through and cook for about 5 more minutes to see whether the almonds thicken the stew to your liking.
    15. If the almond doesn’t thicken it the way you’d like, or if you don’t want to use almonds, you might like to add a slurry of 1/4 cup cold water and 1-2 Tbsp flour or some other starch for additional gravy-making power. Or you can leave it un-gravy-fied too.
    16. Taste test, make any final adjustments to the sweet/sour/salt balance, and serve as desired (with rice, bread, or other tasty side of your liking).

  • Kitty Game! and Puppy Chow

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    Man, it’s… it’s been A Time, hasn’t it.

    I’d gotten through a couple months with reposting already-written recipes, but I’ve actually nibbled through that backlog, so here’s a new one, and also a new novella: Kitty Game!

    If you’re subscribed to my newsletter, you’ll get a link to Kitty Game! this month along with links to three other freebies from author-friends S. E. Robertson/C. A. Moss, Christy Matheson, and Kate Valent. Because a “feel better” freebie collection for the bookish soul seems like something we could all use.

    Here’s one of the three recipes I associate with it: Puppy Chow for Humans, also called Muddy Buddies because I would bet someone confused it with actual Puppy Chow before some banquet sidebar sometime. Also, I’m pretty sure dogs and cats don’t do well with chocolate, so this version of Puppy Chow should not be fed to pets.

    But since the most commonly found recipe as originally written doesn’t work for me because of the combination of corn Chex Mix cereal and corn starch in powdered sugar, I’m taking it on a food-sensitivity-adaptable spin.

    Euli’s Adaptable Puppy Chow (For Humans!)

    The basic notion, scaled down to half the original party size my family made, so you can also double or further halve this if you want:

    • The base ingredients:
      • Half a box of cereal you’re not allergic to (you’re aiming for about 4-5 cups)
      • Low carb? Some of this won’t fit, but you could try a pound or two of almonds and/or cashews instead
      • Optional base-layer mix-ins: pistachios, dried strawberries, chopped dried dates or apricots, pretzel bites, crushed peppermint sticks… cinnamon red-hots if you’re feeling particularly spicy…
    • The meltable topping:
      • About 1/4 to 1/3 cup peanut butter (or other nut or seed butter)
      • About 1/2 cup semisweet chocolate chips (or carob, or almond bark, or the meltable solid yogurt used to make yogurt covered pretzels)
      • About 2 Tbsp butter or ghee or coconut oil
      • 1/2 tsp liquid flavor-shifter of your choice (originally vanilla, but since this is me, I’m also a fan of rosewater or orange blossom water with chocolate)
    • The stickiness-lowering dry outer layer:
      • 1 to 2 cups powdered sugar, if you can handle the sugar and cornstarch
        or
      • 1 to 2 cups dried coconut or toasted sesame seeds or crushed dry cookies or some other dry substance
      • Optional dry spice mix-ins for your dry layer:
        • 1 tsp-ish powdered cocoa to make the outer layer darker and chocolatier
        • 1 tsp-ish spice blend: Pick one to two among cinnamon, chai spice, pumpkin spice, poudre douce, atraf al-tib, whatever your favorites are!
        • (Scale note: Don’t put 5-8 tsp of spices and cocoa into 1 cup of duster, your taste buds likely won’t thank you for that much extra powdered spice, not if you haven’t cooked it with the butter to take the raw edge off first… although with that said, hmm I wonder if the melted butter might take more spices if cooked together in advance of the rest of the meltables? Notes for future experimentation! Let me know if you try a tadka with this?)
    • The containment systems:
      • Double boiler or microwave safe Pyrex for melting the meltables
      • One or two gallon size plastic bags or something large, lidded, and safely shakeable for dusting the outer layer
      • Big flat surface or maybe cookie trays for spreading and cooling on

    The process:

    • Measure out your base materials (cereal and any chosen fruit/nut/pretzel mix-ins) into your shakeable bag or lidded container, with room for tossing.
    • If you’re going to flavor or color your outer stickiness-reducing dusting substance, stir the cocoa and/or spices through the powdered sugar or alternative until you’ve gotten the color and flavor level that you desire. (Keep it aside and safely dry until you’ve dealt with the meltables and the first round of tossing.)
    • Melt the chocolate-or-other chips, the peanut butter, and the butter or alternative fat together in your choice of a double boiler or a microwave in 30-second heat-and-stir bursts.
    • Once the meltables have melted, stir in your vanilla (or rosewater!)
    • Pour the melted meltables over your base materials in your shakeable, and toss or stir gently until the meltables have distributed throughout your base.
    • Get out that container of your (possibly-spiced) stickiness-reducing dry substance (powdered sugar or alternative). Sprinkle it liberally over your sticky base materials and toss or stir gently until it gets reasonable to handle. Reserve some for last-minute repairs.
    • Spread your now-dusted chow on your large flat surface or baking sheets in a flat layer so that they dry separately and won’t clump together as they cool. Look for un-dusted spots and sprinkle accordingly.
    • Store in an airtight container until eaten, possibly in the refrigerator if it’s warm out.

  • Pickles: Mukhalal and quick pickles

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    (From the recipe collection in Haroun and the Study of Mischief, and a more historical dive into the background of pickles. And also, amusingly, we’re back to February pink food!)

    Evidence for vinegared cucumbers dates back about 4,400 years in Mesopotamia, though the word used then probably was neither achaar nor mukhalal nor pickle. (I doubt they were dill gherkins, either.)

    Quite a few of the vinegared quick pickle recipes in Treasure Trove and The Sultan’s Feast are so close to my family’s quick pickle recipes that it’s astonishing. The term mukhallal/mukhalal from Kanz is still in use for quick vinegared pickles of various vegetables today, sometimes described as shawarma pickles in English, and sometimes pink from wine vinegar or red onions or beets.

    Some historic versions:

    Recipe 219 in Newman’s The Sultan’s Feast says:

    “Take October cucumbers, especially the small ones, and soak them in salted water for two days and nights. Then, take them out of the salted water and put them in a large glass jar. Pour on wine vinegar, and add the tender ends of celery, mint and rue. Make sure there is more rue than celery in it. Leave for a few days before use.”

    (My modern note is that rue has some potential medical concerns, but celery leaves should have similar flavors and are likely easier to find.)

    Takhlīl al-Shamār al-Akhḍar, recipe 591 in Nasrallah’s Treasure Trove, is one she converted into modern measurements on her website. Her redaction combines red wine vinegar, sugar, fennel, mint, and rosewater, and if it had been cucumbers instead of fennel it would have been just like home.

    Some modern versions:

    At Ribbons to Pastas, Vaishali Sabnani describes a mukhalal mixed vinegar pickle variant with three parts water to one part vinegar, without boiling or blanching the vegetables. Because 3:1 would drop the vinegar’s acidity below the preservation percentage needed, you’ll want to eat them fairly quickly and keep them refrigerated.

    At Cookpad, Zeen describes mukhalal pickles made by boiling vinegar, water, and sugar with some spices and pouring the hot liquid over the chopped vegetables. Because these have been boiled and include more salt, these may last longer if you don’t eat them first.

    My family’s What’s-On-Hand quick pickles:

    • One part white, rice, or cider vinegar (or wine vinegar and a beet slice if you like pink) – a cup works for a small unit, but you can scale this up to pints or quarts for a party
    • Zero to one parts water depending on how sharp you like the brine (I like 1 part cider vinegar to 1/4 part water myself, or rice vinegar straight.)
    • 1/4ish part (a couple tablespoons) of sugar if you like them sweet
    • A teaspoon of salt (though if you’d like to keep them longer than a few days, use more)
    • Flavors to taste: The fast version was cracked black pepper or lemon pepper, a squeeze of lemon or lime, and mustard seeds. But if the herb garden is thriving, mint and roses might make an appearance. (If I have a daikon, red or green shiso also enters the chat.)
    • No-boiling-needed vegetables: Cucumber, mild onions, fennel, turnips, cabbage, and radishes can be cut small enough that they’ll marinade in the refrigerator without a vinegar blanching.
    • If you have the ambition to boil the vinegar and spices to pour over the vegetables, you can get into more substantial vegetables like cauliflower and carrots or larger chunks of cabbage.
    • How many vegetables? Enough that your vinegar will cover them rather than leaving dry bits sticking out. (That may depend on your container size and shape as well.)
    • Refrigerate and eat within a week or so. If you didn’t blanch them, they’ll likely be tastier on day 2-3 than day 1 as the vinegar works on them.

  • Pickles: Aam ka achaar / green mango pickles

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    (From the recipe collection in Haroun and the Study of Mischief. But also I thought it was hilarious to post the spicy and sour pickle recipe the week after the pink-and-roses recipe and the day after Valentine’s Day, which I also call Discount Chocolate Day.)

    In bookish news, Chai and Charmcraft is now available both for preorder and in ARC copies — here’s the ARC application form, if you’re the kind of person who likes reading and reviewing cozy fantasy with a low-spice MM relationship! And I’ve started a scribbly proto-book page for Katayef and Kittens; everything there is extremely tentative, especially the cover, because I won’t get a chance to work on a final design with Augusta until April. But I need the page link sooner than that for back-of-book blurbs, so here’s a start.

    In the meantime, here are your sour mango pickles for anyone feeling particularly tart about Valentine’s Day!

    Aam ka achaar

    At the present time, the word achaar is used commonly in South Asia for often oil-preserved pickles that are usually fruits and vegetables, though it’s linguistically connected to the Persian word for powdered, vinegared, or brined pickles that could be meat or fish as well as fruits and vegetables.

    Green mangoes have been popular in achaar for over a thousand years now; lotus roots likewise. Ibn Battuta wrote in the 14th century about green mango and ginger pickles preserved in salt being served at the Delhi sultanate.

    In modern South Asian achaar, mustard oil currently seems more commonly associated with that term than vinegar or brine, and you’ll almost always be looking at fruits and vegetables rather than meat or fish when you open a jar or see what the restaurant has dished up.

    If you’d like to make some at home, Kumkum Chatterjee’s quick gur aam achaar (with process photos) on Cookpad shares many flavors with Archana’s long-term preservation aam ka achaar on Cooking with Archana, but Archana’s needs several days to mature and uses more salt for preservation. Dassana Amit of Dassana’s Veg Recipes gives both a traditional version using a ceramic pickle pot and sun-heat and a no-sun-needed variation, at a volume halfway between Kumkum’s and Archana’s. The red chiles listed in all of these recipes are a post-1600s addition, so if you like spice, go for it, and if you’re capsicum averse, you can leave them out and call them extra historic.

    The difference between how long you can plan to keep them comes down to how careful you want to be with sterilization and how much salt and oil you want to use. (For long term preservation, pickles should be salty and sour enough to discourage mold and covered with their liquid in a closed jar – whether that liquid is mustard oil, vinegar, brine, or something else. But I’ll leave it to the chemists to specify exactly how salty and how sour is needed for long-term canning.)

    Note that when they say “raw” mango here, they don’t mean raw ripe mango. They mean raw still-green mango, which can be a challenge to find if you don’t have a South Asian market nearby – but if you want to experiment with the least-ripe mango you can find at your local market, let me know how it goes! If you can’t find a green-enough mango, you can also make pear achaar with firm underripe pears. You can eat the skin of mangoes, but you might or might not want to based on the mango variety and/or the pesticides.

    Quick Low-Spoons Aam ka Achaar

    For no-spoons options, several brands offer jarred achaar online, or you may find them as a side at a nearby restaurant. (My local Nepalese restaurant chops the mango seeds into their achaar, much like bone-in chicken taken apart with a cleaver, so I’ve learned to chew with great caution! Sometimes you’re just not prepared for your pickles to have pickle bones.)

    This is for a small batch, to save spoons between chopping and cleaning; I have half-pint jars that have seen use for everything from spice blends to violet jelly, and lining up a row of small containers means you can fill several and stop when you run out of ingredients.

    • 2 unripe mangoes (or a ripe mango and an unripe pear, or 2 unripe pears), washed, probably peeled, seeded, and cubed
    • A couple knobs of jaggery, or several Tbsp honey
    • 1-2 tsp salt (start with 1, reserve the 2nd for taste test adjustments)
    • 2 tsp vinegar
    • (opt) 1/2 to 2 tsp ground black pepper or long pepper for the pre-1600s heat
    • 1 Tbsp fresh or candied ginger (or if you use powdered, add 1 tsp powdered to the dry masala below)
    • Somewhere up to 2 cups mustard oil depending on how many jars you want to make and cover
    • Clean dry glass or ceramic jar(s) with tight fitting lids

    Dry masala:

    • A couple Tbsp achaar masala or chaat masala (if you have access to a South Asian market)
    • OR a couple Tbsp of the atraf al-tib mixture (if you made it)
    • OR 1 tsp each of as many as you like of turmeric, coriander, cumin, fennel, fenugreek, kalonji, mustard seeds, and powdered ginger if you didn’t have fresh

    Cooking is going to take the place of sun drying and slow fermenting here, to have less fidgety spoon-needing bits.

    1. After cutting up the mangoes and/or pears, rub the salt into them and put them in a strainer to release liquid.
    2. If any of your dry spices are whole, grind them up.
    3. Toast the dry masala in a dry pan until fragrant; tip the spices into a bowl and keep aside.
    4. Heat 1-2 Tbsp mustard oil in the pan and saute the fruit until it begins to soften. If you have fresh or candied ginger, add it here. Taste test for saltiness.
    5. If you have jaggery, add it with a couple tablespoons of water to melt it. Brown sugar or honey will melt on their own. Add vinegar and some pepper and taste test again, adjusting the general sugar/salt/sour/heat balance to your liking.
    6. Cook until the jaggery or honey has become a glaze and the fruit is soft but not disintegrating.
    7. Sprinkle on as much of the dry toasted masala as you like, stirring and tasting as you go. Save any unused masala for your next batch.
    8. When you’re happy with the flavor balance, remove from heat, let cool, and pour into your clean jar(s), smoothing out the surface and covering with mustard oil to keep the air out. Close and refrigerate.

    I recommend refrigerating these and eating within a few weeks because they prioritize quick tastiness over salty fermenting durability. (The higher durability recipes would use a couple tablespoons of salt rather than a couple teaspoons here.)

  • Preorders and Pickles: Sweet and sour rose pickles

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    (Part of the recipe collection from Haroun and the Study of Mischief. But also, it seemed like a pink and rose-petaled recipe was quite suited to start off February! And I’ve just opened preorders for Chai and Charmcraft this week; I’ll keep adding links to the page as more distributors come online. I seem to have an accidental Thing about preorders and pickles, remembering the pre-release post for Haroun too…)

    The distinction I make between quick pickles and slow pickles is whether you plan to sterilize things for long term use or whether you’ll eat them within a few days. You’ll also find that distinction noted in the medieval cookbooks – some of them note that they’re meant to be eaten after two or three days, and others say they’ll be good for a year (assuming appropriate cleanliness and saltiness in the making, of course).

    For all that turnips have an unfortunate reputation for being bland and unpleasant, that made them a marvelous candidate for medieval pickling. In the table of contents of Nawal Nasrallah’s translation of Kanz al-Fawaid / Treasure Trove of Benefits and Variety at the Table, there’s over twenty recipes for pickling turnips alone. The Sultan’s Feast by Ibn Mubarak Shah, translated by Daniel Newman, offers many pickling recipes as well. (It’s a condensed version of Kanz al-Fawaid, but it’s available in an ebook, which means it’s more accessible to me; I’ve worked back and forth between the two.)

    Among just the turnip pickles alone, you get salted brines, vinegared brines with and without sugar, saffron for dyeing the pickles yellow, and yeasted brines. Like an upscale market’s olive bar, the cooks also took already-cured olives and applied new flavors to them: walnuts, hazelnuts, coriander seeds, salt preserved lemons, and olive oil, smoked olives, and so forth.

    Some of the recipes include instructions for scenting or smoking the jar they’re to be preserved in. And rose petal pickles are particularly fragrant.

    Sweet and Sour Rose Petals with a Low Spoons variant

    Recipe 609 in Nasrallah’s Treasure Trove either has three sub-variants under the same number, or this one might have been meant to be 611 but it just wasn’t numbered? I can’t tell for certain because of the clipping in the Google Scholar preview. I’m clearly going to have to try this with my damask roses this summer. And I was delighted that this historic recipe also contained a Low Spoons variation built into it!

    “Another recipe [for sweet and sour rose petals]:

    Take [the petals of] white roses of Nusaybin, put them in honey, and leave them in the sun until they wilt. Fold wine vinegar and a bit of mint into them, and put them [in a jar], and use [as needed].

    Those who do not have fresh roses can take ready-made rose-petal honey jam and add vinegar to it. If it turns out to be too sour, sweeten it [with sugar or honey]. This will be as fine as the first one mentioned. It will look nice, and it is quite easy to make.” (Nasrallah’s Treasure Trove / Kanz translation, somewhere between recipe 609 and 611)

    My modern note: You can find gulkand or Yunnan rose petal honey jam online if you’d like.