Bellies and Baklava

            Two weekends ago, I had the opportunity to belly dance at a carnival. I channeled my inner gypsy and danced to the spellbinding rhythms of a live drumming band. I can now check off one item from my list of life goals.

Despite the unfortunate fact that I was nauseous with nervousness the entire day, my time on stage was like a dream. I could smell the sun on the grass as the wind wound its fingers through my hair. The drummers played a beat that echoed the pulse of my heart. When my hips shimmied, the coins strung around me rang out across the stage and glimmered in the sunshine. And when I threw my head back and raised my arms to the heavens, the sky above me was deliciously blue.

There is something very elemental and eternal about belly dancing. I feel like it gives me a deep connection with myself as well as with the generations of women before me who have danced the same way. The hours of choreographing and rehearsal only served to make that connection even more profound—it was such a labor of love. But as I practiced and imagined the feeling of a hot desert wind across my skin (visualization is very important to me), I began to have a rather intense craving—a craving for BAKLAVA.

I love baklava. It is nutty, sticky, crunchy paradise.

            According to cookbook author and anthropologist Claudia Roden, baklava—the most well known of Middle Eastern desserts—first came to the region some time during the Ottoman Empire. In her cookbook The New Book of Middle Eastern Food, she writes that this ubiquitous treat is served during special occasions and is considered “a token of love to the departed” when devoured during festivities commemorating the dead. (If I am lucky, my baklava will please the little ghosties floating around this Halloween.)

            The first time I tasted baklava was when my neighbors—an elderly Egyptian couple—brought my family a plate. My parents weren’t crazy about it, which left more for me. How serendipitous.

After that, I began to order baklava at every Greek and Persian restaurant I went to. I was, more often than not, disappointed. I couldn’t help it! I was already spoiled. There simply is no substitute for homemade baklava—especially when it comes from a woman who has been baking it for years. In fact, I would not be surprised if she learned how to make baklava from her mother, who learned from her mother. So who knows how old her recipe is? I’ll have to find out some day. But in the meantime, I decided to make baklava myself.

To create this recipe, I consulted a variety of sources, including Giada De Laurentiis, Alton Brown, Michael Symon, and Claudia Roden. Then I tweaked the resulting recipe until it suited my own preferences. I would say this baklava is mostly Greek, with a very slight hint of Iran and Iraq (due to the almonds and cardamom) as well as a touch of Israel (because of the orange and lemon in the syrup).

Thankfully, my parents love this baklava recipe! As I am an only child, I usually cut this recipe in half. It gets demolished within a couple of days, but I do it for our own good. This time, however, I am sharing with more than just two other people and my belly dance-induced craving. I will be gifting this baklava to the sweet, sweet people who have helped me get this baking blog out of the tortuously windy and frenzied corners of my mind and into my own little space of the Internet. So a full pan of baklava, it is!

I only wish I had made this baklava sooner. My pre-performance hours should have been spent eating baklava. It is so delicious that it probably would have made me less nervous.

Baklava (Yield: about 38 pieces)

Ingredients

1/2 c. walnuts

1/2 c. almonds

1/4 c. chopped dried apricots

2 tbsp. light brown sugar

1/4 c. plain dry bread crumbs

1-1/2 tsp. cinnamon

1/4 tsp. ground cloves

1/4 tsp. ground cardamom

1/2 tsp. salt

33 sheets of phyllo dough, thawed*

1/2 c. vegetable oil

Syrup

1-1/4 c. honey

1-1/4 c. water

1-1/4 c. sugar

1 2-inch piece of fresh lemon peel, pith removed*

1 2-inch piece of fresh orange peel, pith removed*

*Note: Thaw the phyllo dough by leaving it in the refrigerator over night. When assembling the baklava, keep the phyllo dough covered with a slightly damp tea towel, as it dries out quickly. It is also very, very delicate and rips easily. In regards to the citrus peels used in the syrup, make sure the pith is entirely removed. The pith is the white spongy part beneath the peel. It is very bitter! You don’t want that in your baklava syrup. After cutting the peel away from the lemon and orange flesh, take a paring knife and run it across the back of the peel, until only the outer skin remains.

1.  Combine the nuts, apricots, sugar, breadcrumbs, spices, and salt in a food processor. Process until you have a relatively fine and uniform meal-like consistency. Be careful that it doesn’t become a paste! Set aside.
2. Preheat the oven to 350° F. Using a pastry brush, brush the bottom of a 9×13” pan with a little bit of vegetable oil.
3. Layer 10 sheets of phyllo dough in the pan, one at a time, brushing each with oil and letting the edges of the phyllo come up the sides of the baking pan.
4. Sprinkle one-fourth (about 1/2 c.) of the nut mixture evenly over the top.
5. Layer four more sheets of phyllo over the nuts—again, brush each individual sheet with oil. Repeat this process until you use the last quarter of the nut mixture.
6. After using the last of the nuts and spices, top the baklava with 11 sheets of phyllo, brushing each with oil. Brush the last sheet with extra oil.
7. Using a sharp knife, cut 1-1/2” wide strips, slicing through all the layers. Then make 1-1/2” diagonal slices. This will give you beautiful diamond-shaped pieces of baklava.
8. Bake for 45 minutes, flipping the pan around halfway through so that it doesn’t get too browned on one side. Meanwhile, make the syrup.
9. Combine the honey, sugar, water, and lemon and orange peels in a saucepan. (*Hint!* When measuring the honey, use the same measuring cup you used to measure the vegetable oil—it will allow the honey to slide right out, without too much stickage.) Set over high heat and bring to a boil, stirring until the sugar dissolves. Let boil for 10 minutes, stirring and watching it closely, as it tends to bubble over. Take off the heat and discard the lemon and orange peels.
10. Once the baklava comes out of the oven, pour the syrup over the top. And, trust me, this is the hardest part—let the baklava soak in the syrup, uncovered, for six hours. I usually can’t wait that long, but if you have more self-restrain than I do, wait those six hours. In fact, baklava is always better the next day.
11. Before serving, go back over the lines you cut into the baklava before baking.