A Taste of Lebanon: Vibrant Recipes from Yesteryear

By Mervat Chahine

‘In this book, I bring to life the stories behind the recipes, exploring the culture behind the ingredients and the poetry of their stories through a playful translation of language. It is a fusion of words and food; a cultural education.
‘Each recipe in this collection is inextricably linked to a memory or story from my colourful past; from watching a Lebanese neighbour cooking tomato paste on woodfire to exchanging recipes with my friends at college. My food expands the repertoire of Lebanese cooking by importing from the multicultural melting pot of contemporary London.
‘This is a celebration of seasonal fresh produce, family connections and friendships, and takes you back to basics. Something as simple as “Baked Potato with Kibbeh Spice” is a celebration of ingredients, flavour, and rural village life. This is food to nourish, to share, to enjoy, and to show the healing power that good food has on our lives.’
Mervat Chahine

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: May 31, 2022
• ISBN: 9781398404366

Mervat Chahine

Mervat Chahine’s passion for cooking derives from her traditional upbringing in Lebanon within a community full of love and admiration for food. Her studies in translation developed a fascination with language and storytelling and opened the doors to a variety of new recipes. After Mervat moved to London, as food became a cultural currency, she connected colleagues and friends, and commenced a culinary adventure.

Book preview

Introduction

I was ten years old when the war broke out and the quiet life of Beirut – the normal school days, the weekend trips to the high mountain resorts – started to disappear, and journeys to the south of Lebanon began to take place when the situation required. It was the best thing that ever happened during the dull war years. I loved the road trips along the seaside. There was nothing to block the sea view; looking at the banana fields alongside the road; listening to Fairouz and Wadih El Safi, our most prominent singers; stopping on the way to buy fresh vegetables, plaited onions and garlic, honey and molasses from the farmers who piled up their products on the side of the road on small tables and wooden boxes. Then, we would stop to have something to eat, which was usually Manakish and Lahme Be Ajeen, baked on a wood-fire oven. The last stop was usually reserved for the luxury desserts from the city of Saidoun before we reached our destination.

I started to go with my grandmother to pick figs from our orchard in the very early hours of the morning; we only had figs and olives planted. The trees would still be wet and sticky from the morning dew and the figs were golden-green in colour, and sweet and delicious.

I loved watching our neighbour, a very nice old lady, baking her fresh bread just outside our home, who as a treat used to fold a piece of her dough with sugar and bake it on the wood-fire, so the sugar would start to melt and ooze out. She also used to make the most amazing tomato paste on the wood-fire, leaving it in the sun to dry out and ferment. I could not resist the temptation to sneak out and run my finger around the tray to get a little taste.

Soon, we all started to make friends and go out to explore the village, making Tabbouleh to take to the nearest stream and eat with fresh vine leaves which we’d picked on our way, or go wild rocket and fresh oregano picking. Other days, we would light a fire and grill fresh broad beans and chickpeas on a bed of sticks, or we’d go for a run in the wheat fields and sing a special song for the arrival of fresh chickpea season.

Harvesting olives from our orchard and taking them for pressing was a big day for us and for many others in the village who waited in the queue to have the olives pressed. The pleasure when you tasted that fresh, cloudy, green liquid gold was very special.

The longer we lived in the haven of the village, away from the conflict of the city, the more we loved the nature and the people, and the more we learnt about how the villagers prepared their food stock for the winter season – ingredients like zaatar, sumac, jams, cheeses, molasses and many more, which left me with the most beautiful memories.

Making bulgur was always a special day, when the barley would be loaded in a deep barrel filled with water, left on a massive wood-fire to cook until soft. All the mums and girls used to gather to help make it, then enjoy eating it when it was ready by having a bowl of the barley with sugar to celebrate their work before the rest was drained and sent up in buckets to the roof, to be laid in the sun to dry. Almost all the roofs in the south of Lebanon are flat for drying all kinds of grains, fruits and vegetables. After two or three weeks of drying, the barley would be taken for crushing and when brought home, the fine bulgur would be separated from the coarse, as each one of them plays a different role in the cooking.

Those trips to the south of Lebanon taught us to find a way to play and get creative. While the boys went to make their games of draughts out of cardboard and bottle lids, and cars out of wires, I managed to make my doll house out of cigarette boxes and matchboxes – it was a time when everybody smoked. I was one of seven children who kept my mother very busy in the kitchen, but her love of cooking made it enjoyable, and it created a fun and loving atmosphere. She was a perfectionist, who would be able to turn any dull ingredient into something tasty and delicious. She had that sense of superiority and total confidence to be able to produce top quality food, jams and pickles. Her massive 5-10 kg jars would be lined up and down in a special food-storage room filled with olives, jams and pickles of all kind that would last for a very long time. Everything was on a large scale; even sugar and rice were purchased in large 25 kg hessian bags.

The best moments were when she used to bake her mini Lahmeh Be Agine – spinach pies – and her golden roast chicken. We used to sit on the kitchen floor waiting for the trays to come out from the oven. Those moments were always special because Lebanese cooking is mostly done on the stove top, as gas was expensive and sometimes not available, especially during the war, and the stove used less gas than the oven. Add to that the hassle of changing the gas cylinder if you are in the middle of baking when the gas runs out… The oven became mostly used as storage, and baking was very occasional and for special occasions. Sometimes people would use the local bakers to cook their food!

My passion for food comes from my involvement in the preparation of all kinds of food with my mother, especially during the summer months when the house would turn into a little food factory, and every room and every balcony was designated either for drying leaves like Mulukhiyah, oregano, and mint, or for cooking jams and pickling olives and vegetables.

This gave me great knowledge and experience about them and how to prepare, store and most importantly cook most of our meals, in addition to the amazing taste memories, which have helped me to recreate the food my mother produced.

My first attempt to cook was at the age of 18 when both my parents were away and I was faced with the responsibility of four younger siblings to take care of. It was a big challenge because I had never cooked before, not even an egg. I could make myself a sandwich from time to time, and so could my brothers, but no one was allowed to cook because my mother was a typical Lebanese mother, always in control of the kitchen.

But the real cooking adventure began when I came to London and started to learn about different cuisines, spices and ingredients that I had never seen before. I learned about my first biryani from a friend at college while I was learning English, and when I look back, I cannot believe that we spoke in such detail about food and made the effort to write recipes even though our English was very basic; nor can I believe I have been cooking biryani for more than 25 years.

The book is created from the recipes I grew up with, using ingredients that are rooted in our culture and cuisine, along with others that I have picked up and adopted in my cooking throughout the years. Other flavours like ginger became an essential ingredient in my cooking, in addition to turmeric, which was used in very few Lebanese recipes.

Translation also played a big role in my cooking, and while I was enjoying reading articles and stories, I was learning about cultures, dishes, ingredients and techniques. It is as if one moment I am on one side of the ocean and the second moment on the other side, all while sitting on my sofa.

I love puns and jokes in an article or a story, and food writing is rich with all kind of metaphors and stories.

I am lucky to have a culture that really loves food and dedicates so much time and knowledge to create delicious meals. We talk about food all the time – what we have made recently, and what we have planned for the next few days, because Lebanese people are mad about their food, and I think it is the one thing that unites them all. I’m reminded of this whenever I’m at Beirut Airport. We all love shopping at the duty-free, but while duty-frees around the world are one thing, at Beirut airport it is something else entirely. You can find fresh vegetables, fruit, cheese, nuts, bread and sweets, and if you wish to take home a fresh bunch of oregano, a punnet of fresh figs, or a packet of trimmed and prepared artichokes, you have not missed your chance until you board the plane.

During Ramadan, people used to share their food with the neighbours; they would offer a small plate of their food and the favour would usually be returned at the same time. This often led to a rush on the communal staircase to deliver the food before Iftar (the break of fast during Ramadan), enjoying a variety of delicious little plates full of love.

These memories make me smile and appreciate great days when there was a lot of sharing and caring. I missed those moments when I moved to the UK in the late 1980s, and while trying to ‘blend in’ with a new country, culture and language, I learned about ‘Comfort Food’. It’s a term and concept that does not have an equivalent in Arabic, but which has become the centre of my meal planning and choice of ingredients. It has changed my attitude to food. Baked potatoes or mash became the comfort food I used to have at college; and when I was in hospital with my son, porridge, puddings and fruit crumbles became the comfort of choice – and remain so to this day.

Basics

Pickling

Growing up in Beirut during the 1970s, we did not have an ice cream man but instead a ‘Pickle Man’, who would come round with a small open cart filled with pickling jars of all kinds. Children used to rush to buy their favourite pickle with extra chilli sauce on top, just like an ice cream.

Pickles are an important part of Lebanese cuisine, with many different varieties, colours and textures. Some are enjoyed as a side dish on the dinner table – like baby aubergines – while others are an important part of many dishes and takeaway meals like roast chicken, falafel, shawarma and many more. They also play a big part in the breakfast dishes of fava beans and chickpeas.

Cucumber Pickle

This was always made in massive quantities to fill very large jars.

Makes about 1 litre jar

600 g baby cucumbers

350 ml water

150 ml vinegar

1½ tbsp coarse salt

½ tsp sugar

2 dried chillies

Optional flavourings (e.g. garlic, dill, shallots, black peppercorns or mustard seeds)

Method

- Sterilise your jars by placing them in the dishwasher on a high temperature or steam setting to be ready when your pickling ingredients are ready.

- Wash the cucumbers and pat them dry.

- In a medium pot, combine the water, vinegar, salt, sugar and chillies and any additional flavourings of your choice.

- Simmer your pickling liquid for five minutes, then leave it to cool down.

- Fill up your jars with the cucumbers and pour over the pickling vinegar, leaving 1.5 cm head space.

- Wipe the rim of your jar and seal them properly.

- Store the jar in a cool dark place and leave to mature for around 3 weeks.

Turnip Pickle

This is famous for its pink colour, obtained by the addition of fresh beetroot to the pickling jars, which also adds a sweet flavour.

Makes 1 litre jar

150 g coarse sea salt

1 litre water

1 kg small turnips

1 small fresh beetroot

400 ml pickling vinegar

Method

- Prepare your brine by heating up 500 ml of boiling water with the salt, allow the salt to dissolve, then add the remaining cold water and leave to cool.

- Wash your turnips and remove the top and bottom parts. Cut them into 1 cm circles, then into 1 cm strips similar to chips.

- Place the turnips in a glass bowl and cover them with the brine, then leave overnight.

- The following day, rinse the turnips and pat them dry.

- Peel the beetroot and cut it into thin strips.

- Simmer the beetroot strips in the pickling vinegar for 10 minutes, then leave to cool down.

- Sterilise your jars by placing them in the dishwasher with a high temperature or steam setting to be ready when your pickling ingredients are ready.

- Pack the turnips into your sterilised jars, adding a few beetroot slices in the mix.

- Pour over your pickling vinegar leaving 1.5 cm head space.

- Wipe the rim of your jar and seal them properly.

- Store in a cool dark place and leave to mature for around two weeks.

Baby Aubergine Pickle with Vinegar

This much-loved pickle is considered a side dish.

Makes 1 litre jar

750 g baby small rounded aubergines of similar sizes

Coarse sea salt

15 garlic cloves

4 large medium-hot chillies

1 small fresh beetroot

350 ml pickling vinegar

150 ml water

½ tsp sugar

Method

- Start by boiling the aubergines in plenty of water over a medium heat until soft but not overcooked. The size of the aubergine determines how long to cook them. The very small ones require about five minutes and the slightly bigger plump ones need around ten minutes.

- The aubergines