Finding My Groove | Eggplant, Salami + Gouda Sandwich

Having a baby and not wanting to cook came hand in hand. There were many things that I wanted to do in the little time I had when I wasn't carrying my child like, and I say this in all seriousness, showering. It took me a while to get back into it away from the cooking I had to get done for work every single day.  

We were faced with an issue at home. Do we really want to eat what I cooked for work? Do we just order in or do we find that little reserve of energy we had left to actually throw something together in less than a half hour? In the first year of our child's life, I don't think we really enjoyed any food. It was all for survival. We ate late, we ate crap but we ate.  

Things slowly started coming together. I started showering more often. I began looking less sallow. My cooking for work became routine and we started cooking things we wanted to eat; and it all began with soups, salads and sandwiches. Endless combinations, fulfilling flavors. Quick to eat and fun to make. Next time you find yourself in a rut, make a sandwich. This recipe was developed for Frico.    

Rustic Eggplant, Salami & Gouda Sandwich 

2 slices of gouda cheese
6 slices of eggplant 
3 cloves of garlic
4 slices of salami
4 large button mushrooms, sliced
4-6 fresh mint leaves 
1 cup of deseeded Kalamata olives
1/2 teaspoon of fresh thyme leaves
A handful of rocket leaves
1/2 tablespoon of lemon juice
2 thick slices of bread
1/4 cup of olive oil 
Black pepper, to taste
Salt, to taste

Blend the Kalamata olives with garlic, thyme, salt, pepper, lemon juice and 2 tablespoons of olive oil until smooth then set aside. 

Heat a frying pan then pour in the olive oil. Pan-fry the slices of eggplant after seasoning with salt and black pepper until golden on both sides. Remove from the oil then sauté the mushrooms in the same pan, seasoning with salt and black pepper. 

Toast the bread then coat with a thick layer of the prepared olive tapenade. Add the rocket leaves, slices of gouda, fried eggplant, salami and sautéed mushrooms. Top with mint leaves and freshly cracked black pepper. Serve. 

Note: this can also be assembled and toasted in a panini press. 

Guest Post: Matters of the Belly

I enjoy connecting with other Egyptian food bloggers, maybe it's because there aren't many of us; maybe because I can't seem to find enough Egyptian ladies interested in the kitchen the way I am.  I recently found another kindred spirit and thought I'd share. Noha Serageldin is new on the scene. Starting in August, she's already got a bunch of posts for you to consume and her pleasant, friendly voice comes through -  genuine, honest with a constant urge to learn. Support her on her journey and connect with her directly on her blog Matters of the Belly, on Facebook, on Instagram, on Twitter & on Pinterest. Here's Noha below. Make sure to try out her recipe. 

I have a borderline obsessive love for eggplants. So much so, that I seriously contemplated calling my blog ‘The Anxious Aubergine’ before settling for ‘Matters of the Belly’. I kid you not. There is something quite magical, I find, about how its spongy and seemingly inedible interior in the raw state transforms into this incredibly creamy, sweet and earthy flesh once cooked correctly. As I mentioned before on my blog, I was one of those weird kids who always loved  vegetables... growing up, just the mention of Moussaka or Fattah for lunch always got me excited. 

Not much has changed since then… if anything, my love for vegetables has continued to grow as I have… and now, I am always on the lookout for new ways to enjoy them. Especially eggplants. Technically, the eggplant is a fruit from the berry family. I know, shocking right? However, I refuse to call anything a fruit if it cannot be part of a fruit salad (you heard me, tomatoes), so I shall proceed to refer to it as a vegetable. Go ahead, tell the veggie police… I like to live on the edge.

This recipe is inspired by a classic Turkish dish called ‘Imam Bayildi’, which translates to ‘the Priest fainted’. Legend has it that a Turkish Imam fainted when his new wife prepared him this dish; some say it was because of how delicious it was, others claim that what caused him to faint was the fact that the dish used up all the olive oil in his dowry. You see, traditionally, the eggplants are meant to be fried, and anyone who has ever cooked with eggplant before knows that it is a SPONGE for oil, and sucks up obscene amounts if you allow it. As tempting as that sounds, I choose not to fry them, for the sake of my expanding waistline. Also, the original recipe is vegetarian, whereas in my version I add minced beef to the stuffing, which is how we have always made it in our household.

As it always is with family recipes, this one has evolved and changed each time I make it, resulting in a version I can proudly call my own, yet still reminds me of the Imam Bayildis of my childhood. Our family cook of over 30 years, whose name is Iman, liked to joke that this dish was named after her, and called it Iman Bayildi. I still call it that, and it never fails to give me a warm, fuzzy tingle in my heart each time I do.

Iman Bayildi (stuffed Eggplant)

Prep time: 20 min          

Cook time: 25-30

Servings: 2-3

Ingredients:

2 medium/4 small eggplants

250g minced beef

3 tbsp olive oil plus extra for drizzling

1 medium onion, finely chopped 

3 cloves garlic, minced

2/3 tsp cinnamon

¼ tsp nutmeg

¼ tsp cardamom

½ tsp sumak

3 tbsp pomegranate molasses

¼ cup raisins or sultanas

Salt & pepper to taste

250ml tomato puree (I use store bought passata, but any tomato sauce will do)

2 tbsp pine nuts

½ tsp ghee (optional)

Fresh basil or mint leaves for serving

Instructions:

Preheat the oven to 180 degrees C.

Wash & dry the eggplants, then slice each lengthwise in half. Using a vegetable peeler, peel the skin, leaving a 2cm border along the edge (as shown in photo). If you are using smaller eggplants, you may leave the skin on if you like, but mine were on the larger side so the skin could be too tough and bitter. 

Using a spoon, scoop out about a third of the flesh of each eggplant half, then set aside. Chop up the scooped up flesh into small pieces (to be used in the filling).

In a large non-stick pan over medium heat, add the olive oil and onions. Cook until softened, about 5min. Add garlic, cook until fragrant, about 1min. Add the minced beef and cook until colour changes. 

Add the chopped up eggplant flesh and the spices, cook until the beef begins to brown. Add the pomegranate molasses & raisins, season to taste and remove from the heat.

Using a spoon, stuff the eggplant halves with the mixture. In a baking tray, pour in the tomato puree/sauce, and arrange the stuffed eggplants on top. Drizzle liberally with olive oil and bake in the oven for 25-30 minutes, until the eggplant is soft and slightly golden. 

If the stuffing is browning too fast, you may cover the dish loosely with some foil.

Meanwhile, in a small non-stick pan over low heat, melt the ghee if using and add the pine nuts. Cook, stirring continuously until golden. You may do the same without the ghee (dry toasting) if you wish, but the ghee just gives it the most amazing flavour. 

When the eggplant is ready, remove from the oven and sprinkle with the toasted pine nuts and basil/mint leaves. Serve immediately.

Winter Stubbornness + Radishes

There is a lady that does not bore me. We have not met but she fills my Twitter timeline with paleolithic love along with her must-do-more-with-his-food-photography husband.   

So what happens when you like people but cannot seem to work around your schedule (or your lazy butt) to meet them? You ask them to guest post, to fill your little online space with energy that you may not have, that may vicariously revitalize you. So here's Rehaam and Amr - she does the writing, he takes the shots.  You do the reading and the cooking. Fair deal.  

Photo credit: Amr Adel Amin, April 2013.

It happens every year and every year we're: Egypt has no spring. We go from cold to khamaseen to beads-of-sweat-down-your-back heat. Flowers bloom right before they're singed in 40 Celsius heat. We know this. So why is it that when Egypt propelled itself straight from bitingly cold mornings to muggy, dusty ones and then propelled its way right back again did my heart fill with dread? Was my precious winter coming to an end so soon? But I hadn't yet had my fill of broccoli, spinach, cauliflower, strawberries, green leafy anythings…

Truth be told, we'd been eating salads almost every day since last summer. We'd burned out on blanched broccoli and roasted carrots and turned to spinach salads and salsas. Despite the liters of chicken stock in my freezer, I hadn't made a single winter soup. Despite seeing broccoli every time I perused the isles of the grocery store, I hadn't actually bought it once. Despite having eaten sweet potatoes almost daily last winter, I can count exactly two I've eaten this year, one of which was from the side of the road. Save your angry waving fists and head shaking, I know I've done wrong.

So I panicked. I bought strawberries like they were going out of season, literally, and froze them. I picked up broccoli and ate it three times in a row. I washed, ate and froze a total of three cauliflower heads larger than my sink would even fit. I had to do something more, I thought, to hold on to the last remaining trickles of winter. And while at the grocery store in my manic vegetation spree, I saw these bright red, perfectly round plump radishes poking out from a crate of greens. I have to buy these, I thought. I don't even like radishes but I'm going to buy them. And I did.

When I took them home, however, I was at a loss as to what I'd do to them. Radishes rarely made an appearance at my family dinner tables despite my mother's penchant for them in fattoush. Chopping them up into a salad was entirely too summery and their bitter heat wasn't my favorite in salad anyway. So I turned to my go-to cooking method for getting myself to eat vegetables I don't like: roasting.

I plucked up a bunch of leeks, pulled out some salmon from the freezer and decided I'd make a meal entirely in the oven. Never mind that it was actually pretty hot that day. Never mind that my husband's face puckered up in distaste when he slipped a slice of radish into his mouth. Never mind anything. "Those aren't going to be any good roasted, they're awful," said my husband. "You can eat all the leeks, I'll eat all the radishes." I was warming up our (already warm) house with roasted vegetables whether anyone liked it or not.

Forty-five minutes later, I had little crispy nuggets of radishes, melt-in-your-mouth sweet leeks and perfectly pink salmon. And a very warm house.

Almost burning his fingers right on the roasting pan while popping a radish into his mouth my husband said, "These are actually really good." They were good. That bitter heat was replaced with a sweetness that had a bite, and they went from crunchy to golden and crisp edges encasing soft flesh.

"All right I'll have some radishes," said Amr.

"Maybe. If you turn on the air conditioner first."

Roasted Radishes

Serves 2-4

6-8 medium-sized radishes, washed, dried and sliced into same-sized wedges

1 tbs olive oil

1/2 tbs white wine vinegar

Salt and pepper to taste

Preheat your oven to 180°C/350°F and line a baking sheet or roasting pan with foil or parchment paper (I think parchment makes for a crispier vegetable). In a bowl, toss together your ingredients until the radishes are shiny. Place radishes onto your pan and shake to distribute them in one layer. Roast for 15 minutes then rotate the pan and toss your radishes. Repeat. You may need to do this one more time until your radishes are almost translucent and brown around the edges.  

Rave Reviews & a 3-Bean Salad

As featured in The Egypt Monocle

It is a rare occasion to find me visiting a Cairo restaurant based on a local review; but how much of this is my fault, this fear that I should not trust what is seemingly penned down without an afterthought? Do I skip over errors in technique descriptors and succumb to a world of uninteresting words that gives me nothing but cues that the reviewer cannot move past terms like “mouth-watering,” “amazing” and, I say this with a sigh, “perfect”?

Today, many Egyptians who have not stepped foot in a kitchen have decidedly taken on the online job of restaurant critic, with a virtuoso opinion that is customarily courteous and inclusive of the word “yummy,” that disregards the gray and congealed sauce that has been served atop a dry and under-seasoned steak.

It is known that the internet has opened doors to many who would in the 1980s have had no place to sound their voices. Food blogs and restaurant review aggregators have come to Egypt. We are now able to click through a multitude of links that invite us to eat at neighborhood restaurants through our screens and other people’s palates but most of the verbiage dedicated to restaurants ends up similar in style: dazzled amateurs happy with their cozy new positions, preferring not to write anything if they didn’t like the food.

It takes thick skin to tell the truth and most reviews have been ultimately forgiving about the food and service. On some days, the glorification and praise know no bounds and we are left to wonder how many of those favorable reviews are concealing a simple monthly fee.

There are ways to fix this doomed scenario we’re living in. It just takes some effort in between eating and kowtowing to the popular.

If you’re planning on becoming a published restaurant critic, begin to draw on your experiences as both an eater and a cook. If you have never cooked, get yourself into the kitchen and begin following tested recipes from reputable sources, both traditional and others with international flavors that may be fresh and unusual when paired. Learn what the world considers good.

Work on your writing skills; poorly constructed reviews will often be taken less seriously. Prove yourself through detailed pieces over a lengthy period of time. Visit the restaurant at least three times before liberally handing out your review, cover as many menu items as possible and check for consistency. If you’re going to be reviewing, no free meals should be accepted.

Do not hide behind your reviews claiming that you are only an amateur. If you’re regularly providing the market with reviews, you’ll need to get better. Recognize how hard the process can be: eating, having a critical opinion, maintaining anonymity at the restaurant, taking notes, revisiting and writing as honestly and intricately as possible to convey the atmosphere of said place.

Finally and for the love of our country, find a better word for “delicious.”

Three Bean Salad
You’ll need
70 grams edamame, shelled and cooked
90 grams black eyed peas, cooked
70 grams chickpeas, cooked
2 tablespoons of scallions, chopped
1 small onion, diced
1 clove of garlic, minced
1 medium red pepper, diced
1 tablespoon of sugar
2 tablespoons of apple cider vinegar
1½ tablespoon of vegetable oil
Salt and freshly ground pepper to taste

In a pot, boil some salted water and add the edamame in small handfuls. Cook for 4-5 minutes and drain in a colander. Set aside to cool. Once cool, remove from their shells and place in your salad bowl.

Prepare another pot of salted water. Place the black eyed peas in the water then bring it to the boil. Allow to boil for 3 minutes then lower the heat. Simmer for another 30 minutes then drain. When the black eyed peas have cooled, place them with the shelled edamame in the salad bowl.

If you’re using canned chickpeas, drain and rinse before using. If you’re using fresh, allow to soak overnight before cooking the next day. To cook, place them in a pot of cold water and bring to the boil. Reduce the heat immediately and simmer until tender and plump. Drain and cool. When they’ve lost some heat, add them to your salad bowl. Toss the beans together.

In a small bowl, mix together the sugar, vinegar, oil, salt, pepper, onions, scallions and garlic and pour over your salad. Mix and chill before serving.

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.

Salmon and zucchini in the rush of the city

As featured in The Daily News Egypt

For years, my phone would not ring. It would rest beside me, disturbing nothing, a simple prop in the room. To Cairo, Kuala Lumpur was at the farthest corner of our Earth and needed no attention paid except for the dreamy package deal honeymoon of a once in a lifetime experience, “Malaysia, truly Asia.” The fact that I had moved there meant nothing to those Cairenes surrounding me other than that I had chosen to trade my tiring job for a fantasy four years away.

During my first few months back in Cairo, I spotted a new pattern that scattered the retelling of my day into tidbits of “before I spoke to” and “after I spoke to”; my phone learned to catch its breath briefly before making way for another long call. Finally finding time to sit with a saucy plate of moussaka, a Cairene would interrupt as with every meal, because there is never enough time to drop by in the flesh.

I have managed to maintain discussing matters with friends on the phone for months, never catching a glimpse of their shapes, their changed body language, the newly-formed rings around their fatigue-filled eyes; that is until Cairo forced me up and out of my shell, gently nudging me with business opportunities as a reminder to connect with other like-minded ones.

This week, I was invited to a small get-together of online acquaintances and in between bites of deep-colored beetroot, felt for the first time like an outsider, unable to grasp the number of new changes that have taken place in my Cairo, that have shifted in between the openings of new restaurants I had never been to. I couldn't recognize the new friendships that had already been formed, alliances I didn't know were there. I was officially thrust into Egypt's “food business” and was gradually gaining recognition, but will food take away my peace of mind? Will it also become the job that consumes me, that ravages my nerves?

Cairo has an ability to suck you into the giant machine it has become, turning you into one of its wheels, spinning to find a way to flaunt your individuality. Despite my loyalty to the city, I cannot help but compare it to the calm that surrounded me for so long, which I can now only remember as the light-handed tinkering of chopsticks and quiet families sinking into their white bowls of rice, not the buzz of Cairo, of boisterous conversation that encircles a table lined with forgotten crispy pigeon and cunningly arranged fruit desserts.

Our palates are changing and our restaurant scene is at last growing positively, Cairo; this pleases me and allows me to agree with destiny that I could not have chosen a better time to come back and get involved. So for now, I shall follow through with my current deadline but shall find some calm in my kitchen, away from the restaurants, away from the job that food has become and make salmon.

An exceedingly popular fish in upper crust Cairo, this trembling pink meat has steadily gained in popularity throughout history. It pleases the palates of those that enjoy their food untouched by heat while equally exciting the mouths of those that require their food to meet a scorching flame and a temperature to guarantee thorough cooking. It needs no fuss and this is why I chose it for a much needed quiet night with my companion for life, my husband.

Pan-seared salmon with sumac-tossed zucchini and chilli tomatoes
You'll need:2 salmon fillets
1 tablespoon of Worcestershire sauce
2 slices of lemon
25 grams of butter
The zest of half a lemon
Salt and pepper to season

For the chilli tomatoes:1 large tomato
1 tablespoon of olive oil
¼ teaspoon of chilli powder
¼ teaspoon of cumin
Salt and pepper to taste

For the summac-tossed zucchini:4 small zucchini, halved lengthwise
¼ teaspoon of ground black pepper
1½ teaspoons of summac
1½ tablespoon of olive oil
Salt to taste

With each salmon fillet, score the skin about one half inch deep. Score down the entire length of the fillet. In each score, sprinkle a little salt. In a small bowl, mix together the lemon zest, Worcestershire sauce, lemon zest and pepper. Place the salmon on a plate and glaze it with the mixture on both sides; top each fillet with lemon slices and leave to rest in the fridge for 20 minutes.

Place a pan over medium heat and melt the butter until it gets frothy. Allow the pan to get hot before adding the salmon fillets skin-side down. Don't fiddle with it and don't turn it over for approximately 7-8 minutes. The skin will crisp up and the flesh will have cooked through except for the top. Turn the fish over carefully and baste it with the pan juices as it continues to cook for 1 minute. Turn the heat off but leave the salmon in the pan to remain warm as you plate.

For the tomato: Cut the tomato into thick even slices. Sprinkle the tomato slices with spices and seasonings on both sides. In a large pan, heat 1 tablespoon of olive oil on medium heat. Once the oil is hot, arrange the tomatoes in the pan and leave them for a minute and a half before flipping them over to the other side. Cook for another minute or two until the tomatoes are tender to the touch and have started to color. Take them off the heat and reserve for plating.

For the zucchini: Coat the halved zucchini in olive oil then dust with sumac and black pepper. Finish off with salt and place in a hot pan on medium-high heat. Cook for 3-5 minutes and toss frequently. Remove from the heat when fork-tender. Reserve for plating.

Fears, regrets and crust-less quiches

As featured in The Daily News Egypt I stretched, laying flat, fingers flopping around my side table in search of something to pull my hair up and away from my pillow-creased face. Happy to see some sun moving stealthily into the farthest corner, my corner of our room, I turned to find our bed empty — my husband already stirring his sweet coffee as he spoke on the phone. Popping myself off the mattress at a healthy 7:30 am, I prepared for a day filled in my mind with dog walks, deliberating ingredients and food writing. “Uncle Hassan passed away at dawn. I'm getting dressed.” Core trembling, I hushed my voice as I spoke to the man who shared my life, “I'll go with you.” Never having been to a funeral prayer or a burial, I prepared to battle the tears that came for a military man I had met six years ago; a man whose eyes beamed volumes of understanding despite his tired body, whose patriotic achievements, forgotten by the young, stood witness to his good intentions and bravery. Although Uncle Hassan and I had shared few words and many a sincere smile throughout the home-cooked meals, burgers and ratatouille we ate together, I had never really gotten to know him outside of the stories, long and short, recanted to my listening ears; but as I sat praying for his soul, as my heart in constant sniffles merged with the Quran recited at his final place of resting, I could not have felt him to be nearer. There are fears that arise in you during burials, those that subside and those that bury themselves deep in you, surfacing only as cracks in your face. Of all the things that preyed on my mind, going back to sleep in the Earth I walk on bothered me no longer. Entering the wake days later, I watched as women walked in wearing their most somber faces to extend their condolences. As they sat on edge, slowly unraveling to reveal a more comfortable state, they went back to living — bejeweled hands caressing glasses of tea over a friend's endearing stories of those who have passed, distracted minds looking into bitter cups of concentrated coffee as they contemplated a smoke, teenage girls playing a quick game of “Spot the Handbag”. I could only think that I should have known him better, that I had never asked him what dish he missed most from his mother's kitchen, which meal he loved his wife to prepare, what he ate when he was busy fighting a war. I was so intimidated by his war hero history that I didn't allow myself to break the barrier of age. That is what I regret the most; but away from regrets, will I too one day turn to find an empty bed with loss sleeping next to me? Will I be lucky enough to have my close ones embrace my home as theirs, make it feel alive if only for a while until I feel slightly right again? When I am old, will the young forget that I was once young like them and uncomfortably shy away from my veiny hands? If I am certain of one thing, in death there is always finger food but no appetite — aniseed biscotti passed around to maintain some semblance of energy, store-bought cakes and crunchy breadsticks to break the awkward silences and moments of heartache, mugs heavy with coffee making rings on tabletops and several cans of cola, all in the hands of people dressed in black. The only solid decision I've made is to earnestly get to know the people in my life that I hold back from, ones that I will grow through because nothing replaces people's real life accounts of eras gone by, foods long forgotten and heroes of our past. A long forgotten favorite recently learned is 'Egga, an Egyptian dish dating back to the Ancient Egyptians who often used duck eggs instead of our common chicken egg nowadays. Beaten egg, parsley and onions with an optional diced tomato or potato are poured into a baking dish and baked in a hot oven making this an ideal family dish. These days, it's commonly referred to as a crustless quiche, belonging to no specific country, versatile, neatly carried and easy on the stomach in times of hardship. Crust-less Broccoli-mushroom Quiche with Green Chili Salsa You'll need: 5 button mushrooms, sliced 1 medium onion, diced ½ a head of broccoli in florets, blanched and chopped 6 large eggs plus 6 egg yolks ½ cup of milk ¼ cup of cream ½ cup of grated cheddar cheese Salt and pepper to taste Vegetable oil for greasing For the salsa: 10 large green chili peppers 1 medium tomato, roughly diced 2 cloves of garlic 1 tablespoon of lemon juice 1 tablespoon of water ½ teaspoon of sugar ½ teaspoon of cumin powder Preheat your oven to 190 degrees Celsius. Brush a mini muffin pan with oil. Place a medium-sized pan on medium heat. Sautee the mushrooms and onions until soft. In a large bowl, whisk together the eggs, egg yolks, milk, cream, salt and pepper. Add the mushrooms, onions and broccoli and stir. Reserve some on the side for later. Transfer to a jug. In the muffin pan, place some cheddar cheese to line the bottoms. Pour the egg mixture until just below the rim then sprinkle on top the reserved vegetables and cheese. Bake for 15-20 minutes. They should puff up and turn a light shade of golden brown. Allow to cool for 5 minutes before turning them out of the pan. For the salsa, roughly chop the green chilis, deseeding if you want to eliminate extra heat. In a food processor, combine the chopped chilis and tomatoes with the garlic. Add the water, cumin and lemon juice. Blend until desired consistency; I prefer mine on the chunkier side.

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.

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.

Food Myths and a Roasted Aubergine Salad

As featured in The Daily News Egypt.

We sit in the sticky tropical heat, a lone cat observing us from afar, wondering with a tilt of its head, why we have occupied her bench with our derrieres. In reality, it is not the cat's fault. We rarely sit on my friend's bench in her garden except for when she forces me to smoke outdoors (which is good for my manners). Staring at the cat as I enjoy my guilty pleasure, she asks me if I wash my chicken before cooking. Should I lie?

I knew that many Egyptians scrub their chicken to oblivion before cooking — some with salt, some with flour, some with both and some even choose to douse it in vinegar — not to improve its texture but for cleanliness.

“No, maybe a quick tap rinse if it's been leaking,” I answered, secretly afraid that my level of hygiene would fall victim to judgment.

“Mmm. That's what I learned in class. The French chefs are saying it's pointless. You kill the bacteria when it cooks. My mom still washes hers the old way,” she says, exasperated.

The reality of it is that many of your older relatives will do this. What's sad is that they will try to pass this habit on to you, which will only lead to tough, chewy chicken. A year later, when I took the same class, I was taught the same — do not wash unless necessary. Yet still, the Elders refuse to listen to their youth, despite my certificate and official entry into adulthood through the golden gates of marriage.

In countless modern cookbooks today, you'll find recipes that do not include rinsing chicken. It is not because it is a given, it is due to research that confirms washing your chicken leaves room for cross-contamination in your kitchen by scattering its juices unnecessarily thus leaving you more at risk of contracting salmonella.

The next time you are unsure of a tedious kitchen habit that you have been dictated, do your research or learn from a professional. You'll understand that many food myths have been debunked throughout the years. Let's run through a few.

Fat-free is not calorie-free. Adding salt to your water will not make it boil faster. Microwaves do not zap away all the nutrients; neither does boiling your ingredients. Best of all, you have no excuse for the extra calories you consume because your body does not crave something when it is deficient in one of its nutrients. You are not a deer despite how svelte you are and you are not prone to salt licks. My apologies for breaking it to you so bluntly, but chocolate cravings are indeed emotional.

Learn that you are not a sheep. There are habits worth following and others that you can dismiss to make room for better ones. Instead of scrubbing your chicken dry, blow dry it (yes, with a blow dryer) until the skin loses its moisture. This will result in beautifully crispy golden skin. New habits, new start.

Today, I'd like to share one of my favorite salads with you. One that is regularly found in my mom's fridge and now with a few updates, in mine, making this one of the good habits I'm willing to carry the torch for. Taking more time to prepare than a regular salad, it rewards you by sticking around longer than a fresh salad and can be eaten at just about any time of the day. It's also worth the garlic breath.

Roasted Aubergine Salad

You'll need:

4 small yellow bell peppers
4 medium-sized aubergines
2 cups of button mushrooms, sliced
1 teaspoon of whole grain mustard
10 raw almonds, peeled and finely chopped
2 handfuls of flat leaf parsley, chopped
5-7 cloves of garlic, minced, depending on the strength
Juice of 1½ lemon
1 large chili pepper, finely diced
1 teaspoon of chili powder
40 ml + 1 tablespoon of olive oil
Salt and pepper to taste

Preheat the oven to 190 degrees Celsius. Line a baking sheet with parchment paper or aluminum foil. Place the bell peppers on the sheet. Pop them in the oven. Every 20 minutes, turn the peppers using their stems so that they aren't lying on the same side throughout the roasting process. Their skin will start to puff up and char all around. Rotate the peppers evenly throughout the process. After an hour, they should be evenly browned. Take the peppers out and let them cool in a covered bowl. When the peppers have cooled, peel them. The peel should slip off and the peppers themselves will be slippery. Slice them and set aside.

At the same time, place the aubergines in a hot pan on high heat. Every few minutes, rotate them until they become black and blistered all around. Continue to do this for half an hour and remove when they become very soft. Cool and peel. Mash in a bowl, add the peppers and set aside. On medium heat, heat 1 tablespoon of oil. Add the mushrooms, mustard and a dash of salt and sauté for 5-7 minutes. Set aside.

In a separate bowl, combine the aubergine, peppers, mushrooms, garlic, chili pepper and chili powder, salt, pepper and almonds. Mix then and then add the chopped parsley at the end. Add the lemon juice and olive oil. Serve cold or at room temperature.