Lynn Strong

Cozy fantasy and beyond

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Tag: recipe

  • Charmcraft’s release and a jasmine meditation

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    By the time you’re reading this, I will (or won’t) have gotten through the 25-pages-and-4-spreadsheets launch plan for Chai and Charmcraft.

    If you haven’t ordered it yet and are interested, this week (May 1-8) is a good time to do that, because the preorder 50% discount lasts through the May 8 Cozy the Day Away Sale and it will go from $2.99 to $5.99 at some point after that.

    (The other Catsprowl books will also be on sale on May 8 — along with over 100 other books! I tend to open a gazillion tabs at the start of the day, go do the day job, and come back and read the details in the evening, because if I get sucked into the book shinies at the start of the day, I might be late for work.)

    I… have had better weeks than this one. This is a strong contender for “top five worst weeks of my life,” between a treasured friend in the ICU, multiple tornadoes resulting in stacked migraines and power outages and most of my local friends group having refrigeration failures at the same time, day job work being aggressively too much, all the way down to completely trivial things like the lack of refrigeration meaning I couldn’t do a housebound mini book party or even have a tablespoon of milk to make a fresh cup of chai with.

    The big stuff is big and hard. But I was under the delusion that surely I would be able to do something about the small stuff, right? I got instant chai packets and ordered a tin of baklava because it wouldn’t need refrigeration, except I was so tired I nearly dropped the baklava, except the adrenaline jolt from nearly dropping honey pastries all over the floor meant that I didn’t get sleep for the second night in a row… The world was already Way Too Much, and the petty stuff stacking on top of the major stuff is even more Too Much Stuff. I’m in the land of being afraid to move because I’ll drop something or break something because the universe is clearly not done saying Ha in absolutely any way it can.

    But the show has to go on. So I’m trying to sound coherent on 3ish hours of sleep in 3 days and also feeding the coolest bits of foodie research I can find into the Bluesky repost game. Latest bit: a fascinating (to me, anyway) look at how the medieval cookbooks’ instructions to smoke a container with incense before filling it is still in use today!

    And Siavahda’s review is giving me life. Seriously, every time I start crying at how much too much everything has been this week, I go reread parts of that, and I try to find the shining faith in humanity that Sia saw in it.

    There’s some cosmic balance in that Charmcraft helped Sia through a rough spot and Sia’s review is helping me through a rough spot too.

    I’m not doing 75% of what an indie author “ought to do” when releasing a new book. That 25 page list would be a lot longer if I were capable of facing down Meta’s Eye of Sauron on top of the pile of marching Murphy’s Law beasties sticking claws in this week.

    I can’t do the classical book launch with a couple hours standing around mingling over canapes at a local bookstore or library. My low key, safe from red-hatted family, and disability friendly version is that Bluesky thread of lots of fun history and food research details, likely with a lot of cat videos thrown in.

    (I am delighted that I get to call both pet-grooming videos and delicious-street-food videos “research time.” 😸 Also I need to go add Pyaari to the thread because I hadn’t met her when I started writing but she looks exactly like what I imagine Sahar to look like.)

    So of course I need a recipe to go with the book launch blog post, and a character to talk about… and I did think about Shai Madhur’s sticky date balls, but really, I need something to be very, very, VERY simple in my life right now.

    So does Irfan.

    Irfan is Faraj’s extremely harried hajib / chamberlain / really-not-a-vizier, on account of how word association with “vizier” usually unearths “evil,” “scheming,” or “backstabbing” within a few guesses to speakers of English who have been exposed to Disney’s Aladdin et al. (I very nearly named him Jafar, because I feel so badly for all the perfectly decent people named Jafar who have to survive that cultural baggage, except that I knew my small indie self was not going to armwrestle the Mouse’s cultural legacy into reconsideration; it was much more likely that people would see Jafar and think I meant a villain.)

    I really hope that people don’t read Irfan as the villain. If people read him as a villain, I’ve failed him as a writer. If this book wasn’t a cozy fantasy, he would likely have been the hero. The trope expectations of an epic fantasy would have meant he was absolutely correct in his fears. (Still utterly delighted that Sia saw that too!)

    Since Irfan doesn’t have his shahzada‘s type of prophetic foresights, he’s got to be even more cautious than Faraj if he expects to intercept the trouble before the trouble makes its way into Faraj’s life. And Irfan is the variety of neurodiverse that takes chaos as both an affront to the way things ought to be and a personal failing. After all, it’s literally been Irfan’s job for decades to prevent as much chaos as he can, before his dear prophet catches troubling foreshadows of whatever chaos Irfan didn’t manage to avert in time.

    (In Katayef and Kittens, Irfan is getting a break as much as Faraj and Ashar will be. I thought I owed him that, from early readers’ feedback!)

    In bookworld, I haven’t pinned down whether the outside-the-Empire trade connections extend as far as China and Japan, or whether the Zen Buddhist tradition has an analogue here. I’m inclined toward yes, I just haven’t written anything that needed a formal answer further afield than “kashmiri goats exist in this world because Varsha-auntie deserves the softest fiber arts to play with.”

    Likewise, Irfan deserves the simplest, calmest possible recipe for a man who thrives on calm, simple order that’s in short supply for both of us right now.

    (I really am sorry I surrounded you with such catful chaos, Irfan!)

    Chameli ki sharbat / mogra ka sharbat is what you make when you have time and ingredients and a kitchen and boiling pots and sterilized jars for storage and …a fair amount of fuss.

    I don’t always have that much time or that many spoons in my life. But I discovered between last year and this that I didn’t need that much time, and sometimes a sip of jasmine-scented bliss helps refill the spoon shortage. Sometimes the simplest possible solution is an exquisite grace of its own.

    On the flip side, there really isn’t a substitute for the luxury of fresh, clean, fragrant blossoms here; it doesn’t work the same way with dried jasmine blossoms, and dried herbs don’t float away from a sip the same way, and I’m just not fond of a mouthful of dried herbs in water, and if you have a jasmine tea bag, you’re getting jasmine tea, which is a delight of its own but not caffeine-free for all day enjoyment.

    If you would like your own blossoming jasmine plant, and you have a pot and a sunny window, they’re wonderfully gratifying plants — sometimes so fragrant they kick off my allergies! There’s a reason I specify only three blossoms below. But you can do it with just one, if you’re patient.

    I don’t live in a jasmine-hospitable climate. I didn’t plant it in the ground; I carry the pot indoors in the fall and outdoors in the spring, and I’ve done so for nearly 20 years. So if you think fresh jasmine blossoms are for other people but not for you… Charmcraft is a book about how lovely things that other people can have are also for you too. So I’m here to encourage anyone to try a jasmine plant in a pot wherever you are. And if your windows don’t get much sun, I have loved these plant halo lights for several years.

    A Meditative Jasmine Infusion

    Three fresh jasmine blossoms

    A beautiful cup with a lid or a saucer

    Cool, crisp water

    Fill the beautiful cup with water to three quarters full. Float the three jasmine blossoms (stem side down) in the cup. Cover it between sips.

    The space between the water and the lid will fill with a remarkable fragrance, and the blossoms last all day in cool water.

    (You can also try this with other fresh, fragrant, un-sprayed flowers or herbs, such as damask roses, lavender, or your own favorite edible flowers or herbs.)

  • 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.)

  • 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

  • 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.)

  • Cheeses: Qanbaris, dahi, and paneer

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    (Part of the recipe collection from Haroun and the Study of Mischief.)

    There are two versions of qanbaris in The Sultan’s Feast, one of which is made like paneer with acid and the other of which is made like dahi with hung yogurt. Both of these varieties of cheese are among the easiest cheeses to make at home, because unlike halum/halloumi and cheddar and others, you don’t need rennet and you don’t need aging. (In fact, paneer is so easy to make at home that I have accidentally made Earl Grey paneer in a teacup before.)

    Historic qanbaris with Boiling Acid, Ranveer-style: Mad Alchemist’s Cheese

    This historic recipe feels like one of Ranveer’s alchemy experiments: they’re taking the “throw a stick of dynamite in, shut the blast door, and run away” approach to making absolutely sure there’s enough acid to curdle the milk. Instead of boiling milk and adding a couple tablespoons of vinegar, this one boils a whole pot of vinegar and adds the milk. I love the original scribe’s commentary on people who think cheese is an essential food group too:

    “Take new pots, pour in tart vinegar, and place over a fire until it starts boiling. [When it does,] remove from the fire and pour in milk. Set [the pots] aside and do not touch them. In the morning open them up, and you will find that [the milk] has coagulated into qanbarīs. Milk has harmful properties, but these are outweighed by its benefits; it is tasty and there are people who do not enjoy their food unless there is cheese on the table.” (The Sultan’s Feast recipe 182)

    Paneer with So Much Less Boiling Acid

    I suspect part of the reason for the “boil all the vinegar, throw milk in, clamp the lid on, run away, and see what’s happened by the next day” tactic comes from the unpredictability of homebrewed vinegar acidity levels. Nowadays you can buy industrialized vinegar standardized to particular strengths; 5% is the minimum for preservational pickling, and Essig-Essenz comes in at 25% in the bottle (along with a hazard warning not to drink it undiluted). I’ve seen paneer made with both vinegar and lemon juice, and the lemon juice recipes also tend to have “keep some spare juice on hand” notes as well.

    One of the unique features of cheese made with this acid method is that, like halloumi, it won’t melt. If you drain it well and shape it solidly, you can grill paneer just like kebabs. It’s more likely to crumble than to melt, so cubes in curry are a classic for a reason.

    • 2 quarts or thereabouts animal milk (cow, goat, whatever)
    • Up to 1/2 cup vinegar and/or lemon juice
    • A sieve or colander
    • Cheesecloth, muslin, or a flour-sack kitchen towel (smooth and densely woven) – I honestly prefer muslin or the flour-sack towel here because the “cheesecloth” I have is too loosely woven and shaggy

    Line your sieve or colander with your cheese-making cloth (and if it’s actual cheesecloth you probably want a couple layers).

    Pre-measure your acid into a pourable container.

    Bring the milk up to a boil, stirring constantly to keep it from scorching or scorching.

    Pour a couple tablespoons of acid into the hot milk. If you don’t see it begin to separate out into clumpy curds and pale whey, add some more acid.

    When your curds and whey have separated in your pot, take the pot off the heat and carefully pour it through your cloth-lined sieve or colander.

    Gather up the ends of the cloth and twist carefully to wring more of the liquid out of the cheese and encourage it to form a ball.

    Some people will tie a knot in their cloth and hang it over their faucet to drip. My faucet is too curvy for that, so I put the colander into a large bowl and let it continue to drip.

    If you’d like for it to be really solid, you can put a plate with a can on top of it in the colander and bowl arrangement to press additional liquid out. You can also put the weighted plate and colander and bowl arrangement into the refrigerator to continue draining and firming up overnight.

    Accidental Earl Grey Paneer

    Believe it or not, some people have done this on purpose, and Earl Grey cheese is surprisingly expensive.

    • 2 cups milk
    • 1-2 double bergamot Earl Grey tea bags or 2 tsp loose leaves in a tea ball
    • 2 oz lavender syrup that happens to be preserved with citric acid (though you could produce the same effect with lemon juice)
    • Colander and cloth apparatus from above

    Simmer the tea directly in the milk until it’s tan and fragrant.

    Assuming you’re more prepared for this outcome than I was, remove the tea containment system from the simmering milk before adding the acid.

    Add the lavender syrup and/or lemon juice.

    Stir until you have curds.

    Pour through cloth and colander.

    Wring and squeeze gently, unwrap your tea flavored cheese, and nibble.

    Historic qanbaris with hung yogurt

    I suspect the hung yogurt qanbaris is the variety that Treasure Trove recipe 529 recommends flavoring with the oil-based za’atar-meets-pesto paste, rather than the “throw milk into the boiling acid and run away” qanbaris. It seems easier to get flavorings into a softer cheese, as opposed to marinading and brining harder / crumblier cheeses. But this recipe is basically identical to the modern methods of making yogurt and yogurt cheese, aside from the historical measurements:

    “Take milk and boil it until it starts bubbling. Then take a new pot and leave it to cool for an hour. Then take laban yāghurt – for each ten raṭls of milk, take half a raṭl of laban yāghurt, and stir with a ladle. Cover the pot and leave in a warm place. Put a little bit of straw underneath and leave overnight, and it will become like a disc. Put [the yoghurt] in a bag, and strain, after which it will become qanbarīs. Remove it from the bag, add salt, and serve when you need to. Afterwards transfer to a clean container [for storage].” (The Sultan’s Feast recipe 189)

    What’s a ratl, you say? That’s an excellent question and the answer can range anywhere from eight ounces to eight pounds depending on what you’re measuring and what city you’re in when you do it. For these purposes, just pick a volume that suits your heating container – maybe a half-cup or a cup, if you’re planning to use a slow cooker for your low and steady heat source.

    Dahi and other hung yogurt cheese variations

    Dassana’s Veg Recipes has a dahi recipe that’s strikingly similar to the historic version above. It does require animal milk, though, and if you have food sensitivities, you might need to use a different yogurt variety.

    All the cheese-making magic here is mechanical, not fermentational, and you could do something similar with cashew or coconut or other non-dairy yogurts.

    Still got that colander and cloth arrangement from paneer above? That’s it, really.

    • Some quantity of yogurt (animal or plant) that you’d like to make thicker
    • Cheesecloth, muslin, or flour-sack towel
    • Sieve or strainer
    • Optional: Flavorings of your choice

    If you’d like to flavor the yogurt before condensing it into cheese, stir it in and leave it in the refrigerator overnight before continuing.

    (Extra history points: Stir in some of the fresh thyme and oil-based za’atar blend. Low spoons modifier: Use dried za’atar or pop open a small jar of pesto and add a couple spoonfuls.)

    Set up your cloth and sieve or strainer arrangement.

    Soft cheese: Let it hang out in your colander (and/or hang the cloth from your sink faucet if your faucet is cooperatively shaped).

    Medium firm cheese: Tie up your curd, put the plate and/or rock on it, and put it in the refrigerator overnight to see how much more you could press out of it. (Okay don’t just put a rock on it, that would sink in, the rock is an optional addition to the plate!)

  • Cheeses: Haloum and Halloumi

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    (from the recipe collection in Haroun and the Study of Mischief)

    The spice mixes in this collection also make delicious additions to cheese. You could stir atraf al-tib into a drained Greek yogurt or sprinkle za’atar into the makings of qanbaris or dahi. Mozzarella balls or paneer or halloumi chunks rolled in za’atar and served with flatbread and olives are also delicious and easy.

    If you want non-dairy cheese, Sam Turnbull has a highly-rated 15-minute soft cashew cheese recipe at It Doesn’t Taste Like Chicken, and one of her recommended spice blends is very like za’atar. With a bit of honey and atraf al-tib, this could make a fascinating cousin to honey cinnamon cashew spreads too.

    If you want a firmer vegan cheese or are sensitive to cashews, Ela from Ela Vegan has a highly-rated sliceable nut-free vegan cheese recipe with a suggested spice blend that you could either add to or substitute za’atar for.

    Halum and Halloumi

    While Cyprus has laid legal claim to what’s modernly known as halloumi cheese, which is firm and grillable, the word halum / haloum was also used for cheese in medieval Egypt. Both Treasure Trove and The Sultan’s Feast give a recipe for flavoring halum with thyme and citrus, and since the recipe describes layering the cheese with citrus leaves and thyme, I imagine it must have been firm enough to handle as objects.

    If you’d like to make your own halloumi to start with, Matthew Evans gives a recipe involving rennet (also known as junket) at SBS Food. If you’re vegetarian, check the source of your rennet. But the historic recipe below assumes you’ve already got some cheese to flavor, so I’m going to start there.

    Historic halum flavoring

    “Boil milk with salt and Syrian thyme until one third of it has evaporated. Remove from the fire, and let it cool. In a silk cloth add a little bit of ground soapwort with cheese in the jar, together with a bit of (sour) orange, kabbād citrus, citron, lemon, and fresh thyme. Put one layer of cheese, one layer of fresh (orange) leaves and thyme until the jar is filled up. Then, add the boiled milk until it fills up the jar, and seal [the top] with a bit of good quality olive oil, and store. Transfer to a container when needed.” (Newman, The Sultan’s Feast recipe 186)

    I’m supposing that low-bacteria milk of the general thickness of cottage cheese liquid is probably what they were aiming for with the milk cooking, with some extra flavors added along the way.

    My easier modern version of flavored halum

    If you have the ambition and the organically grown citrus tree access to try layering cheese with citrus leaves, I’ll cheer you on. I don’t have either of those, though.

    (Quantities? Honestly, whatever suits your ambition and a reasonable sized container.)

    • Firm but not dry cheese (halloumi, paneer, mozzarella, drained cottage cheese: yes; parmesan, romano, cream cheese: probably not; hung yogurt cheese: maybe)
    • Some zestable citrus fruit, preferably organic: lemon, citron, lime
      • (You probably don’t want to use the citrus juice itself, or the milk you’re covering it with may become additional cheese)
    • Fresh thyme and/or oregano (if you want to use za’atar here I’ll endorse it, just be careful with how much sumac is involved, because malic acid also makes milk into cheese)
    • Pinch of salt
    • Pasteurized milk (or the liquid from your drained cottage cheese) to suit the size of your jar

    If you want to simmer the milk to condense it by a third and flavor it with herbs, go for it. If not, pasteurized milk is helpful for crowding out air pockets in the container.

    If your cheese is one large object, cut it into some smaller objects so the flavoring can distribute more.

    Mix your citrus zest and your herbs with your cheese chunks in a bowl.

    Pack them into a jar, cover with milk (or your reserved cottage cheese liquid), and refrigerate overnight.

    Eat within a few days.

    Vegan version:

    Use the vegan cheese of your choice and cover with almond or coconut milk or olive oil.

    Lowest spoons version:

    Stir whatever non-acidic flavorings you like into a container of cottage cheese. Refrigerate overnight. Nom the next day.