It was 5 pm on a Ramadan weekday in Cairo, two hours before sunset. A long pastry case stretched out before me, separating an army of bakers from a hungry mob of customers. Enormous aluminum platters filled with kanafeh were lifted out of ovens and carried like trophies above bobbing heads and bent backs. Two industrial machines chugged away incessantly, one producing streamers of pastry noodles ready to be fried while the other squirted out puddles of qatayef pancakes, round and fluffy, almost spongey. To place an order with one of the bakers meant to summon all your courage, take a deep breath, and execute a series of gestures, supplications, and commands that would, God willing, result in a package of the most heavenly sweets this side of the Nile delta.
The pastry scene in Egypt's capital takes on a life of its own during the month-long holiday of Ramadan. The city's 18 million inhabitants create a hefty demand for sweets, and mega-producers and factories in Cairo's suburbs are eager to comply. But in the hidden corners of downtown Cairo, small kitchens flourish. Newcomers from Syria, those brought by displacement, have set up shop in the city's famous Tala'at Harb Square.
The shop is called
and, unlike most Cairene pastry shops, it is new (less than two years old) and very small. I found it by intention, having heard of it through a reputable Egyptian academic with a refined sense for pastry. Syrians are known in the Arab world for holding the keys to the region's culinary treasures. In Egypt, housewives go silent when Syrian pastries are mentioned, murmuring only of the special
tik-ka
, that little way, that Syrians have with food.
And so, Cairo is blessed to play host to these visitors from Damascus, with their trays of
baklava
, thinly wrapped flaky sheets of phyllo dough separated by butter, stuffed with roasted nuts, and held together by a sticky, extra sweet syrup. Baklava here takes on several shapes, wrapped up in a cylinder or sliced into tiny cubes sized to make your cheeks swell but still with enough room to chew.
Namoura
is another specialty, with layers of buttery pastry encasing soft cream. Cream here is not whipped, nor clotted. It borders on butter, with a consistency almost of cream cheese. The flavor is clean and milky, with a rounded mildness (like mozzarella) that offsets the pastry dough perfectly.
Kanafeh
gets its treatment in the traditional hotplates, covering a layer of melted sweet cheese (
kanafeh bel jebneh
), or wrapped up into little birds nests (
'aysh el bolbol
, literally "the nightingale's nest").
And the two treasures of Bloudan are
halawet el jebn
and
warbat
, both rare in Cairo.
Halawet el jebn
, "the sweetness of cheese", is made with semolina and
'akkawi
, a soft and sweet Middle Eastern cheese found mostly in the Levant. Melted, rolled together with sugar and pistachios, and stuffed with fresh cream, this is what I imagine imperial courts in the Ottoman Empire served to visitors and guests.
Warbat
, baklava's triangular cousin, is like a flaky pita pocket stuffed with freshly roasted sugared walnuts, or pistachios, or almonds, or cream. The trick is in the pastry, which is at once light and flaky yet sturdy, and tastes of brown butter.
As sunset nears and the cars slowly empty from the streets, ribbon-wrapped packages sail out of Cairo's pastry shops to restore life to those at home. And though our Syrian friends are far from their homes, they've brought their food and their hearts along with them. And so, for now, downtown Cairo is blessed with a visitor who comes bearing the sweetest of gifts.
26 Mahmous Bassiouny Street
For more of Sarah's writing, visit her website.
Support HuffPost
Our 2024 Coverage Needs You
Your Loyalty Means The World To Us
At HuffPost, we believe that everyone needs high-quality journalism, but we understand that not everyone can afford to pay for expensive news subscriptions. That is why we are committed to providing deeply reported, carefully fact-checked news that is freely accessible to everyone.
Whether you come to HuffPost for updates on the 2024 presidential race, hard-hitting investigations into critical issues facing our country today, or trending stories that make you laugh, we appreciate you. The truth is, news costs money to produce, and we are proud that we have never put our stories behind an expensive paywall.
Would you join us to help keep our stories free for all? Your contribution of as little as $2 will go a long way.
Can't afford to donate? Support HuffPost by creating a free account and log in while you read.
As Americans head to the polls in 2024, the very future of our country is at stake. At HuffPost, we believe that a free press is critical to creating well-informed voters. That's why our journalism is free for everyone, even though other newsrooms retreat behind expensive paywalls.
Our journalists will continue to cover the twists and turns during this historic presidential election. With your help, we'll bring you hard-hitting investigations, well-researched analysis and timely takes you can't find elsewhere. Reporting in this current political climate is a responsibility we do not take lightly, and we thank you for your support.
Contribute as little as $2 to keep our news free for all.
Can't afford to donate? Support HuffPost by creating a free account and log in while you read.
Dear HuffPost Reader
Thank you for your past contribution to HuffPost. We are sincerely grateful for readers like you who help us ensure that we can keep our journalism free for everyone.
The stakes are high this year, and our 2024 coverage could use continued support. Would you consider becoming a regular HuffPost contributor?
Dear HuffPost Reader
Thank you for your past contribution to HuffPost. We are sincerely grateful for readers like you who help us ensure that we can keep our journalism free for everyone.
The stakes are high this year, and our 2024 coverage could use continued support. If circumstances have changed since you last contributed, we hope you’ll consider contributing to HuffPost once more.
Already contributed? Log in to hide these messages.
