Spiced Ground Beef Gozleme with Maasdam

What is it about winter that makes me want to snack and eat meals consisting of sandwiches? A bite of this, a bit of that and pause; then start all over again. No, I don't want a plate of protein, veg and carbs. I want that leftover turkey coated in freshly cracked black pepper, slathered with whole grain mustard and stuffed into a cheesy toasted sandwich. Stuffed parathas? I'm down with that. Hawawshi? Yes to grease! Quesadillas? I'm not one to say no. So join me on my binge and make some gozleme stuffed with spiced ground beef and melted Maasdam. 

[This recipe was developed for Frico.]

Spiced Ground Beef Gozleme with Maasdam

3 cups of all-purpose flour 

3/4 of a standard 110g small yogurt cup

1 teaspoon of salt

2 tablespoons of olive oil

Water, as needed

6 slices of Maasdam cheese

2 tablespoons of butter

500 grams of ground beef

1 teaspoon of lemon juice

1 teaspoon of ground coriander

1/4 teaspoon of ground cinnamon 

1/2 cup of finely chopped onions

1 tablespoon of finely chopped fresh mint

1/2 cup of roughly chopped fresh coriander

1 teaspoon of black pepper

Salt, to taste

Melted butter, for cooking

Melt the butter in a large pan and sauté the onions until lightly caramelised then add the ground spices and stir for a minute before adding the ground beef. Season the mixture with salt and pepper then cook on medium heat until the beef cooks and browns. Stir in the lemon juice, fresh mint and coriander and set aside to cool. 

In a large bowl, combine the flour, salt, yogurt and olive oil and knead until it comes together. If it is still dry, add a teaspoon of water at a time until it comes together. Knead for 10 minutes until smooth. Cover with a moist towel and set aside for 20-30 minutes. 

Take a small ball of the prepared dough, dust it with flour and roll it out into a circle. Add 2 large tablespoons of the beef mixture and cover with half a slice of Maasdam cheese. Coat the edges of the dough with a little water. 

Take the edges of the dough and begin pleating the edges bringing them together in the centre to seal the gozleme. Twist the pleated edges and pinch off the extra dough that has gathered. Place the newly sealed side on the bottom and press it to flatten with a light hand. Dust with flour and roll out into a circle. 

Heat a pan until hot and cook the gozleme on both sides brushing lightly with melted butter. Flip once or twice until both sides are cooked well. Serve hot. 

Banana-Mixed Nut Espresso Smoothie

I was never one to turn down cake, especially if I was alone with it; if I was able to bite into its soft crumb with my gaping mouth that struggles to keep the frosting off my nose. On other days, it is the butt of a baguette with salted butter and a sticky glob of honey, scarfed down in seconds until there is none. 

It has been weeks. Three of them. No sugar, no yeast, only discipline. Surprisingly, at least to me, I am a happier human. I have more energy. I smile more often. It almost feels like a better side of myself has decided to drop by. 

On a Saturday, I dropped by the farmer's market at Arkan where I ran into these ladies running a branded booth, Fino's, that made all kinds of nut butters. For a moment in which I moped, I was told that they add honey to their products. A little heavy-hearted, I asked a question; the kind of question that would normally irritate me. 

Out loud, higher pitched voice: "Do you have anything that is unsweetened? No sugar? No honey? Nothing?"
Old Me to New Me: "Are you really turning into that woman on a diet/with an allergy/that can't accept a product the way it is and buy or walk away?"

But it turns out that people are nice sometimes (or maybe I need to socialize more often) and that these ladies do cater to my selfish needs. I ended up with a mixed nut butter; dense, smooth, rich, clean, good. I'm sold.  

Banana Espresso Smoothie
You'll need:
400 grams of frozen sliced bananas
2 1/2 heaped tablespoons of mixed nut (almond, hazelnut, cashew) butter
2 shots of espresso (Substitute: 1 1/4 tablespoons of espresso powder)
1 1/2 cups of milk
7-10 ice cubes, depending on the size
Honey to sweeten, optional (I did not use any so will be unable to give a measure.)

Blend, espresso, bananas, milk, mixed nut butter and ice. Serve.

Quick Fix: Mushrooms on Toast

This is not a fancy recipe. It does not require much effort and takes little time to make. Comfort food that puts me right back in my mom's living room in the early 90s, that makes me want to dig my teeth into mediocre toast. This is breakfast, lunch or dinner. 

Scallion Cream Mushrooms on Toast

You'll need:

150 grams of button mushrooms, quartered

35 grams of scallions, sliced
100 ml of light cream
1/4 of a large lemon's zest
Salt and freshly ground black pepper
A pinch of chopped parsley
A good drizzle of olive oil
2 slices of toasted bread (Use good bread if you have some.)

Cook the mushrooms over high heat to retain their moisture. Don't stir much at first to give them color. Once their color begins to change, add the scallions and toss. Cook for around 30 seconds. Pour in the cream and turn down the heat. Immediately after pouring the cream, add your lemon zest and season with salt and pepper. Add some chopped parsley if you'd like. Give it all a quick stir and turn off your heat. Pile over toasted bread while hot.    

Browned Orzo Pudding

“Chili sauce? But where’s the ketchup?” I huffed and puffed at my bag of artery-blocking fries, limp after their trip to me on the back of a motorbike. Only having started to eat ketchup recently, I could not understand why my new home at the time, Kuala Lumpur, was not delivering on my need to fit into the ketchup-dunking French fry-eating globalized world of 2008. Surely I could not yet be expected to accustom my tongue to rojak (a mixture of fruit and a zingy shrimp paste dressing) when I was still so fresh off the Boeing.

When I ordered what I like to call the Cholesterol Special, I expected a thick double cheeseburger and fries with a side of the all-important pseudoplastic ketchup. No sweet chili sauces lay seductively in my fantasies and no downsized buns; but reality put them both in my path along with fried chicken that had none of the classic MSG-laden peppery KFC flavor. Instead, they were pushing something called “Tom Yum Crunch” for a limited time only that seemed to last for a lifetime and which was similar on your tongue to Chipsy’s unpleasant chili-lime flavor, industrial and heavy.

Now, let’s dismiss the fact that I was indulging in disgustingly corporate fast food in the largest of sizes, and in its place focus on the customization of fast food chains. Why couldn’t I find what I was looking for at a chain that was supposed to offer me the same product worldwide?

In my annoyance as a customer, I forgot about my background in advertising and that these corporations were willing to shake off some of their roots to embrace new cuisines thus achieving “market penetration” via bizarre offerings like the McArabia in the Middle East and the McSatay in Indonesia. It wasn’t their fault. I was just in the wrong “me” society — one that demands of companies to tailor their products to the culture to survive and dominate. I felt completely left out.

As featured in The Egypt Monocle

Amidst rethinking my relationship with ketchup and my taking it for granted at my neighborhood McDonald’s, I decided that I would teach myself to eat better, leap into the food culture that was presented to me and to eventually customize our own Egyptian recipes to tame, reinterpret or enhance the flavors for my Southeast Asian dinner guests.

This lasted a while and out of it came a remodeled koshari pasta dish without the added heaviness of the rice, a fillet of sole en papillote with dukkah, a brûléed lemon mehalabia and poached pears in spiced karkadeh among other things; but then it stopped and I became corporate, uniform, bland.

I took the easy way out: pesto pastas and brownie variations; recipes that you could easily find elsewhere; food that despite enjoying never became “me”. Like those fast food corporations, I did as I chose until I gained approval and found demand for ease, convenience and comfort.

So I’m slacking no longer, at least for as long as it lasts. I’m shaking up those old recipes I’m bored of and I’ll try not to be much of the staunch traditionalist that I’ve gradually become. I’ve already managed to embrace all the sweet chili sauces that have been thrown my way and will watch out for international interpretations of local favorites. Zooba in Zamalek has been doing it for a bit now and it’s about time we begin to experiment with what we’ve got, using the influx of new ingredients on the Egyptian market.

Browned Orzo Pudding

(Makes 4 small or 2 medium sized servings)
You’ll need:
½ cup of orzo
1 tablespoon of ghee
1½ cup of milk
¼ cup of sugar
3 large grains of mastic, crushed
½ a teaspoon of ground cloves
Zest of ¼ of an orange
1 heaped teaspoon of cornstarch + 3 tablespoons of cold water

In a medium-sized pot, melt the ghee on medium heat. When hot, add the orzo and fry in the ghee, stirring constantly until golden brown. Add the milk and bring to a gentle boil then turn your heat down, add the mastic, clove and orange zest then leave to simmer for around 7 minutes. Add the sugar and stir to incorporate. In a small bowl, add the cornstarch to the cold water and stir to dissolve. Pour your cornstarch mixture into the pot and again, stir to combine. Leave to cook for another 3 minutes or until the orzo is cooked through and al dente. The pudding should start to hold on the spoon. Pour into individual bowls and serve warm or refrigerate for at least an hour then serve cold.

Fusilli & Fuss

As featured in The Egypt Monocle

Educated Cairenes are a funny bunch, often blurring the lines when it suits them, merging reality with a glorious fantasy world where they are “better” for speaking English, where they are proficient based on a skill learned, in no detail, online.

​Among the new things that have recently astounded me in Cairo is the ability of some to flounce around the city introducing themselves as chefs without toiling in the grease of a hot kitchen — day in, day out. Some could argue that a chef in essence is the mastermind behind the menu, the director of the show — but how can we take control of the laborious task of coordinating a kitchen if we have received neither the education nor the training to apply commands correctly, let alone delegate them?

​It is unfortunate that Egyptian chefs who deserve to be called chefs aren’t the ones gaining that recognition. They are not the ones asked to be stars of an article praising both their skill and knowledge. They are not busy celebrity “cheffing” but are caught up in cooking and management, often not being the ones to get the likes on Facebook. These people are behind the scenes, cooks waiting to take the next order, invisible; and there are thousands of them in Egypt.

​So what is the difference between a cook and a chef?

​According to the three-starred New York restaurant Le Bernadin’s co-owner, Chef Eric Ripert, “A chef is a title. So, as a chef, you’re manager, basically, of your team — with many duties including the creativity and the leading role of the kitchen. Being a cook, it’s understanding the ingredients; it’s being good at the act of cooking, which is craftsmanship.” He goes on to say, “Now, I don’t think you can be a good chef if you are not a good cook.”

​This is not what I’m seeing, Cairo. Far from it. Instead, I’m seeing Egyptians and inefficient foreigners hired by Egyptians who believe they’ve been reincarnated as prettily boxed gifts bestowed upon Cairo’s food scene, doling out their PR routine at one event after another, popping open one unfinished restaurant after the next, with minimal focus on the food.

​This is not how awarded restaurants are made and it is far from what the food service industry truly represents — skills, humility and patience. Instead, we are rushing to wear our made-for-us branded toques, filling them with ambition, desires and dreams of reality TV.

​Creativity in food is no easy feat, especially once you’ve taken a long hard look at the international food world, old and new, and what people have been bringing to the table for years.

​By all means, become a chef in Cairo and call yourself one but if I’m speaking to you about outdated classics, it would be beneficial to have an idea about those I’m referencing as well as how to cook for a party of a hundred or more. If I criticize the way you cook your eggs, address my concern instead of unfollowing me on Twitter.

​It is exactly this behavior that is putting us nowhere on the global food map — all fluff and no substance.

​If you’re toying with the idea of finding a career in Cairo’s strange food world as a chef, begin as an apprentice and not the featured chef of a one-night-only event. Work your way up through the ranks of the iron-fisted restaurant kitchen hierarchy to learn the trade. Accept the advice you’re handed graciously. Don’t drink on the job. Study and hide your ego.

Creamy Cinnamon Fusilli with Broccoli & Chicken

You’ll need
350 grams of fusilli
1 small onion, diced
3 cloves of garlic, thinly sliced
7 grams of butter
1½ cups of cream
½ cup of chicken stock
A pinch of cinnamon
50 grams of Edam cheese
½ teaspoon of white pepper
½ a head of broccoli in florets
3 chicken breasts
1 tablespoons of vegetable oil
5 grams of butter

Salt and pepper to season

For the pasta, bring a large pot of water to a boil and cook for 5 minutes. It should be a little underdone when removed from the water. Set aside. In a large pan on medium heat, add the butter. Once it has foamed, add the garlic and onion. Cook for a few minutes until softened. They should not change color.

Add the cream and stir into the onions and garlic then add the chicken stock and bring to a high simmer. Lower the heat then add the cinnamon, pepper and salt. Leave on a low simmer for 5 minutes to thicken. Add the cheese and stir to combine. Add the pasta to the sauce and allow to cook for another 2-3 minutes until al dente.

In a separate pot, boil a pot full of salted water and add your broccoli florets. Cook for around 3-4 minutes then remove. Drain then add to the pasta.

While the sauce is left to thicken, heat a pan with a lid to medium-high heat then add the butter and oil. Swirl the pan to coat. Season the raw chicken breast then add to the pan. Leave to cook for approximately 7 minutes on each side, depending on how large the chicken breast is. Once done, allow the chicken breast to rest for a few minutes before slicing.

Slice the chicken. After plating up the fusilli with broccoli, rest the chicken on top. Feel free to add the chicken into the pasta pot to coat it with sauce before serving.

Jam Cakes & Wild Food

As featured in The Egypt Monocle

“What are those?” I asked, looking down at my sneakers, at the stains beneath them sprawled over the floor of my friend’s garage, free of cars and quietly enclosed behind the looming gates of their villa. “I can’t remember their name,” Jinan shrugged, “but we can eat them.”

Away from today’s trends of foraging for plants we can eat, I hesitated at the notion back in 1994. “Are you sure?” I said making way for the burgundy stains to show themselves, to reassure my insecure self that they were ingestible as she comforted me — 10-year-old to 10-year-old.

I, after all, belonged to the supermarket generation of expatriate Abu Dhabi — one that did not see fresh markets except on our trips back home to our respective countries. Things were delivered, clean; the entirety of it had to be deemed safe before reaching our homes.

Popping it into my mouth, street dust and all, I smiled as it burst and started collecting more of these little bumpy purple gems with my foraging friend. Rinsing them in tap water and setting them down on the floor, we surrounded the bowl, descending on it to consume the fruit forbidden for us to pick up off the ground in vacant garages.

For years, I thought that what I had secretly shared with Jinan were blackberries. Only later did I find out that these were mulberries, grown in our region, sprouting high up on smooth-stemmed trees, seemingly black in the shade, plump and sugary. Blackberries on the other hand are grown on thorny vines, round and fragile-skinned, more uniform and smaller. The fact is that most people cannot differentiate between them and these days, most kids at first instinct would tell you that the blackberry is a phone and not a fruit that stains the spot it falls on.

I remember watching the stain on my fingers spread, creeping further on my skin, leaving tangible memories for me to take home, for me to ask my mom what those beautiful berries are called.

“Toot,” she said and so I trailed through my childhood calling them “toot” unable to understand that we Egyptians call most berry-looking berries “toot” with the exception of strawberries, holding a special place in our hearts.

“Blackberry jam” I read today on the jar’s label — “toot shami” neatly typed in Arabic. We as a market, still remain confused, unable to determine the genus of the plants around us. “Toot shami” were in fact Levantine mulberries, juiced in the hotter months by the sellers on the streets of Damascus for passersby to quench their thirst. I do not know what to do about this problem of misidentifying ingredients except to single them out, to make things easier for the interested to know.

I am lucky to live in one of Cairo’s gated communities but find that not many actually use the sprawling gardens away from the children’s playground. While walking our dog, I’ve come across ingredients lying around, often growing out of control. I’ve spotted a fully grown button mushroom but did not eat it out of fear that I picked the wrong kind. Instead, I pulled it out of the ground, broke it in two and examined it; feeling the same anxious excitement I first did with that tall mulberry tree. What I have managed to pick regularly is fresh basil for my caprese salads and saucy pastas.

I can barely even call myself an amateur forager but I’m curious to know if our gardens are full of edible wild plants that might serve our weak fine dining scene well, changing the way Egyptians perceive their weeds. If René Redzepi of Noma, chef of the best restaurant in the world 2010, 2011 and 2012, can deep fry moss and roast lettuce to make juice, it’s about time someone steps up to the plate to dig up the resources around us that have long been neglected. I wait eagerly for the day one of our restaurants, old or new, serves something intelligent, inspiring and wholly ours. Until then, I’ll keep on searching for the discrepancies and point out the correct names and origins of our region’s food.

Mulberry-Strawberry Jam Cake

You’ll need
1 stick of unsalted butter, room temperature
1 1/2 cups of sugar
3 eggs
1 1/2 cups of cake flour, sifted
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/2 cup heavy cream
1 teaspoon of vanilla extract
3 tablespoons of mulberry jam (Toot shami, often marked as blackberry jam)
3 tablespoons of strawberry jam
Icing sugar, to dust

Butter a round cake pan and dust with flour. Tap out the excess flour and discard. In medium-sized bowl, sift together the flour and the salt. Combine the cream and vanilla in a cup and set aside.

In a large mixing bowl, combine the butter and sugar and whisk at high speed until pale, light and fluffy. Begin to add the eggs one at a time making sure each one is incorporated before the addition of another. Beat hard for two minutes until it begins to slightly rise in volume. Add the flour in three batches alternating with the cream. Begin with the flour and end with the cream. Mix just until all is incorporated. Pour the thick batter into your greased pan and smooth out the top. Dust each dollop of jam with flour before adding it to the top of the cake. Once done, swirl the jams around with a knife. Pop into a cold oven at 175 degrees Celsius and bake for a little over an hour (approx. 65 minutes). Remove from the oven. Cool before turning out of the pan. Slice; dust with icing sugar and an extra spoon of jam of your choice. Serve.  

Pan-fried aubergines with a ginger-mustard mayonnaise

As featured in The Daily News Egypt

I am so uninterested in shopping with friends that I cannot hide my indifference. A lone shopper, I saunter through the passages of ladies' fashion inattentive to the new styles emerging in place of past fads; I buy what sits comfortably on my hips, pieces I would take pleasure in feeling against the first layer of my skin. Immediately after, I rush out and do not return for months.

Seeking refuge in a nearby supermarket, open market or roadside stand, peace is found. Sweet red torpedo onions promising milky white juice, plump tart lemons in want of a squeeze, freckled strawberries packed to knit a tight pattern of royal red — I could spend hours here.

Regularly I am given a sharp look; a glare uncomprehending of the causes which would explain why I would spend more on food purchases, my motive for paying three extra pounds for a more yellow bunch of unspotted bananas.

Some women lust after shoes, I spend on pretty food. Justifying it I'll say, “This what I do, my job,” to soften the blow of buying good quality saffron, wiry and unaltered with added oils.

I deliver recipes and colorful food photos to people online and in print, to motivate them to cook at home; it's as simple as that. Photogenic foods are what make my blog work, they are what make my words weigh more than their real value; they are that promise of making something that brightens up the kitchens of both my home and yours.

Now that I've chosen this uneven path as a career choice, I struggle with the words “food blogger.” After moving to Kuala Lumpur and taking a break of a year (and a half) of unerringly doing nothing, I started writing about food and taking photos in my living room. Two years onward, I am made uncomfortable by the reluctant smiles sympathetically sent my way when asked what it is I do.

There must be a better title for “food blogger.”

Kathy Patalsky of “Healthy Happy Life,” an inspiring vegan and fellow “food blogger” (if we must call it that), has pushed me, along with many others, to start finding an alternative title for what we do. As recipe developers, part-time photographers, food writers and researchers, what can we be called?

“I'm an Internet Content Producer in the Culinary sector — specializing in vegan recipe development and food photography. I also produce freelance work in the print and mobile sectors,” declares Kathy. And I'm listening to her.

If I too manage to make something substantial out of my blog then why not? To some, it might seem a little unrealistic to call ourselves something other than what we initially started out as but throughout the last few years, bloggers of all kinds have moved on to becoming political analysts, journalists, television reporters, cooking show hosts and caterers. We just can't seem to find a better word for those who cook, write and photograph their work all at the same time. Food bloggers usually grow to become full-time writers, professional food photographers or hired recipe developers. When will all three merge away from the internet?

Hello, I'm Sarah and I'm an internet content producer in the culinary sector. I specialize in Middle Eastern food culture, recipe development and food photography. I also produce freelance work as a food columnist in the print sector.

Does that sound better? More like a cooking show? Let's continue.

Today, I want to share with you a recipe inspired by the way we Egyptians fry fish, sealed in a garlicky cumin crust, made crunchier with the cornstarch I learned to use in Malaysia and lifted with the heat of ginger and mustard, my flavors of India. Staying taut when you pick up a slice, it stays flat like an over-sized potato chip, able with its outer strength and soft center to hold dips, spreads and finely-chopped salads. This recipe simplifies what I'm about — an Egyptian-Indian tired of monotonous food, scouring the market to find a firm aubergine, widely eaten in Egypt and India, that will pose for a picture with grace and end with an adventure in your mouth and mind.

 Pan-fried aubergines in ginger-mustard mayonnaise

For the aubergine, you'll need:
2 medium aubergines, sliced lengthwise 6.5 mm thick
2 large eggs, beaten
½ cup of all-purpose flour
¼ tablespoons of cornstarch
1½ teaspoons of garlic powder
1 teaspoon of cumin powder
1 teaspoon of chili powder
1½ teaspoons of salt
¾ cup of olive oil

For the mayonnaise, you'll need:
½ cup of mayonnaise
½ teaspoon of yellow mustard
½ teaspoon of whole-grain mustard
½ teaspoon of minced garlic
1/8 teaspoon of ginger powder

Measure out the mayonnaise and place it in a small bowl. Add the garlic and ginger powder then the yellow and whole-grain mustard and stir until completely incorporated. If you're making this ahead of time, refrigerate. In a separate bowl, whisk together the flour, cornstarch, salt, garlic, cumin and chili powders. Set aside. Dip each aubergine slice into the beaten egg then dust with your flour mixture. Gently tap off any excess flour to avoid clumping and place each prepared slice on a clean baking sheet lined with parchment paper.

In a large pan, heat 2 tablespoons of olive oil at a time over medium-high heat. Dip a few aubergine slices at a time until golden brown on both sides. This should take around 2-3 minutes on each side. Continue to add two tablespoons of olive oil to the pan before adding each batch. Prepare the rest of the aubergine in the same fashion and place on a clean plate. Serve with the ginger-mustard mayonnaise.

Unboxing fluffy vanilla bean pancakes

As featured in The Daily News Egypt

There's a calming medicament in our home for the common cold; it paints in tinges of pink the cheeks of the runny-nosed, enlivens the spirits of the feverishly faint, and layers the room with the luxurious scent of true vanilla: pancakes.

Taking short minutes to measure and mix, the batter comes together with ease, making it undemanding of me— the temporarily ill as well. In between the dappled sunlight and fierce winds of this Cairene winter, pancakes keep me warm.

There are as many kinds of pancakes out there as there are people who make them, but in essence the term “pancake” stems from an age-old world history of quick bread, cooked on a heated pan, eaten at any time seen fit and with a rich array of spreads, toppings and fillings. Tagenias, the earliest form of pancakes recorded in 5th century BC texts, were mentioned by comic poets, Cratinus and Magnes. Made from wheat flour, honey, olive oil and curdled milk, these pancakes were prepared on frying pans and served hot for breakfast. Today, tagenias, or pancakes, have been adapted by cultures worldwide to suit the unique taste buds of their region.

Visiting Paris as a child did not strike the chord in me that seemed to reverberate with emotion in many adults. I only cared to visit small sidewalk cafés in hopes that I would skim the foam away from my mother’s frothy café au lait and onto my dessert spoon making it mine; I only cared to watch slender ladies and gangly men evenly spreading out their secret batter to cover even the utmost edges of their griddle, making crêpes as thin as the finest and most translucent of chiffon.

As I grew older, my love for quick hotcakes, thick and thin, grew and extended to my affection for waffles, equally tempting with deep holding pots for warm syrup; but special is a pancake that retains its original pancake flavor, unmoved by the slosh of syrup, the heavy hand of clingy jam.

Saddened by the countless soggy pancakes I've had in my life that insist on behaving in sponge-like fashion, soaking up the wetness to make way for moisture, it was evident that there was need for better measurements and higher expectations; a way to prove that pancakes were indeed capable of imparting both sweet and savory notes.

These fluffy rounds of simplicity that I’m sharing with you, made up of butter, flour, eggs and milk, develop a thin crust, a shield if you may, from the tragedy that is spongy pancakes. Lightly resting atop the salt-edged pancake, your topping keeps its personality and substance, merging only in your mouth. Watching with excitement as my batter’s bubbles rise and pop, luxuriating in the satisfying smell of black vanilla woven through, there is no better remedy for the self-pity that comes when being sick.

Fluffy Vanilla Bean Pancakes

You'll need:3 cups and 2 tablespoons of cake flour
½ heaped teaspoon of salt
3 tablespoons of baking powder
2 tablespoons of sugar
2½ cups of low-fat milk
3 medium eggs
Paste of 1 whole vanilla bean
2 teaspoons of vanilla extract
60 grams of butter
Additional butter for your topping
The toppings of your choice

In a large bowl, mix all your dry ingredients together. No need to sift. In a separate bowl, mix the milk, eggs and vanilla and whisk lightly to combine. Add the wet ingredients to the dry ingredients, stirring gently until combined. The batter will look and feel lumpy; this is the way it should be. Melt your 60 grams of butter and add it to the batter, gently mixing just until it comes together. Turn your heat on to medium and grease your large pan with butter or oil spray. Place on the heat and pour the batter in ¼ cup amounts. Cook on one side until set and colored. The batter will bubble on top; the bubbles will then begin to pop. Flip over carefully and cook for a minute before removing and stacking them, one on top of the other. When serving, add a bit of butter on your pancake stack then liberally add your chosen liquid topping before eating.

Note: You can choose to eliminate the vanilla bean and replace it with one additional teaspoon of vanilla extract.

A Virtual Potluck with Gojee

Have you been on Gojee before? A while back, I had spotted it and was so excited at the prospect of screen-sized food photos at the touch of a button that I was on it all the time. Getting a little more engrossed, I decided to get in touch with the great team behind Gojee to see if I could contribute. Veronica emailed me, informing me that they weren't looking for new contributors. Oh, the heartbreak.  

A while later, Veronica contacted me again telling me that they've accepted my recipes and that my blog was now included. Happy day! Today, Gojee is hosting a potluck that I can't be there for but Veronica asked me so kindly to join the fun in Gojee's virtual potluck. 

Starting on Thursday, January 26, check out other potluck dishes fellow gojee contributors shared. Go to gojee.com and enter "gojeepotluck" into I Crave. You can also follow #gojeepotluck on Twitter. This is my contribution. 

One last bit of niceness to Gojee before I go: Gojee has now been nominated for "Best Design" at the 2011 Crunchies. I wish our wonderful team plenty of luck, hugs and food to keep the anxiety away. I can honestly say I'm very proud to be part of such an exceptional group of people who spend time, money and effort to bring homemade food to the world.

Basterma Pasta Bake

As featured in The Daily News Egypt

You'll need:

4 cups of pasta

100 grams of butter

110 grams of basterma

2 long red Italian onions, sliced

¼ cup of all-purpose flour

2 cups of full cream milk

½ a teaspoon of whole-grain mustard

½ cup of heavy cream

2 egg yolks, beaten

½ cup of Mozzarella cheese

½ cup of Cheddar cheese

½ cup of Parmesan cheese

salt and pepper to taste

Preheat oven to 175 degrees Celsius. In a large pot, cook the pasta until it's tender but undercooked. Drain and set aside. In a medium-sized pan, pan-fry the basterma in a drizzle of oil until it changes color and becomes slightly crispy around the edges. Keep the basterma fat that has melted in the pan on the side to use for later. In the same pan, melt 50 grams of butter and saute the onions over medium-low heat for approximately 10 minutes. They should have started to slightly color but should remain soft. Remove from heat and set aside.

In a medium-sized pot, melt 50 grams of butter. Add the basterma grease you previously reserved and add the flour. Whisk constantly as it cooks for around 1 minute. Add the milk and cream and cook for 3-5 minutes or until it begins to thicken.

Add salt and pepper and turn your heat down.

In a separate bowl, combine the egg yolks with 4 tablespoons of your bechamel-like sauce. Stir quickly then pour the egg mixture back into the sauce. Let it combine for a minute. Add the cheese and stir. Once the cheese has melted, add most of the basterma and onions and mix. Keep some on the side. Add the pasta and coat it all with the sauce. Tip your pot over a baking dish and pour your pasta mixture. Sprinkle with the rest of your onion and basterma mix and bake for around 20-25 minutes. Serve steaming hot. 

Three-cheese Baked Eggs in Tomato Cups

As featured in The Daily News Egypt.

I will never run after donuts, long for frosting or fantasize about a smooth square of chocolate coating my tongue with its melted magic. Shiny black olives, bubbling cheese, crunchy pickled carrots and crusty bread smeared with salted butter — this is what I crave. On naughty days, my leering appetite lends itself to crispy potato chips and thirst-inducing mixed nuts. My sweet tooth is not so sweet after all.

When I left Cairo four years ago, there were two main brands of potato chips on the market: one that had been around for as long as I can remember and whose name has become as generic in Egypt as using “Kleenex” in place of tissue. The other was entering the monopolized market hoping to satisfy if only a small percentage of the Egyptian people's hunger for cheap snacks.

Of course, there were others as well that would appear one day and disappear the next but due to their lack of availability I've chosen to disregard them.

Today, walk into any supermarket and look for a bag of Egyptian chips. A large number of brands will be waiting to greet you, to entice you with their colors and cartoonish food images. You'll find the spicy ones, the not-so-spicy ones, the cheesy ones and the plain old salty option. There are thick ones, thin ones, crinkle-cut ones, puffy ones, and ones made with powdered potatoes. They all share one common trait: the level of secrecy involved in the ingredients used.

Conduct an experiment: pick up three different Egyptian brands of chips (because most of us indulge anyway regardless of the mysterious nature of what we're devouring). Read the ingredient label and begin to ask questions. I've found that the ingredients listed are usually as follows: fresh potatoes, vegetable oil, salt and so-and-so flavor. That is it.

There are over 100 types of vegetable oil and at least 11 of them are major oils used worldwide. So which oil is it and how processed is the oil they're using? Is it a blend or is it one type of vegetable oil? Do they add an anti-oxidizing agent (sulfites that can trigger an allergy or asthma attack) to prevent rancidity? And it’s only the oil that we’re now discussing.

What about the potatoes? Have they been stored and treated with chemicals to improve color? Oh my. Why do we forget to think of these things, Egypt?

After potato chips are fried, they're usually passed through a drum that coats them with powdered seasonings. Artificial seasonings? I'm sorry, the text on the chips pack doesn't clarify.

How can I “Buy Egyptian” when I don't know what's in my food? Why should I “Buy Egyptian” when I cannot foretell if my child, my guest, the person I am feeding, will get an allergic reaction because I was not told the truth?

Why are we progressing on the surface level alone?

Since we cannot control the food industry and what they are disguising behind friendly commercials with catchy beats, I only ask you to start reading the ingredient label while you're munching on that snack. Question what is in local products and most importantly, have breakfast. I've found that the only thing that limits multiple bad-for-you cravings throughout the day is indulging in a proper breakfast. You won't reach out for the mixed nuts or the salty chips by noon and the chocolate pangs might never come.

Buy Egyptian, not processed Egyptian but real Egyptian food: fruit, vegetables, eggs, cheese. I don't know about you but I'd rather eat real cheese than bulk up on empty calories from cheese-flavored powder.

Three-Cheese Baked Eggs in Tomato Cups

2 large tomatoes (variety of your choice)
2 large eggs
¼ cup of white cheddar cheese, thinly sliced
¼ cup of Gruyere cheese, thinly sliced
3 tablespoons Egyptian roumy cheese (can be substituted with parmesan), finely grated
1 tablespoon of thyme, preferably fresh
Salt and pepper, to taste

Preheat the oven to 220 degrees Celsius. Slice off the top of each tomato. Using a sharp knife, carefully carve around the inside of each tomato and remove the pulp and seeds. Place the tomatoes in a shallow oven-proof baking dish, with or without the tops. If your tomatoes don't stand upright, you can lean them against the sides of the baking dish. This allows the egg to stay centered as well. Depending on the size of the tomatoes you use, layer the white cheddar and gruyere cheese at the bottom. Over the cheese, sprinkle some fresh thyme leaves. Crack one egg into each tomato cavity. The trick is to keep all the egg whites contained in the tomato with minimal leakage. Do this slowly and don't rush it.

Bake your egg in a tomato for 10 minutes. By this time, they will begin to set. After 10 minutes, slide your oven rack carrying your baking dish out and sprinkle with roumy cheese. Push it back into the oven and bake for another 7-10 minutes or until the eggs are set to your liking. Remove the eggs from the oven and allow them to rest for two minutes. Remove from the baking dish and sprinkle with salt and pepper then garnish with fresh thyme. Serve.