Review: Persiana by Sabrina Ghayour.

With the news that I’m moving out in a few months, it’s time to buzz through the crap in the cupboards that I’ve left lying around the last few years and probe the forgotten depths of the freezer. Gone is the weird bag of dried mixed beans from the first time we went to the Otley Waitrose (pre-university, seriously). Used up are miscellaneous chutneys. Last weekend, the hour finally came to say farewell to one of my Mum’s impulse buys; a four pack of Lidl quails (I mean come on, just don’t buy food without me there, ok?). With the quails defrosting in the sink (and without my knowledge, a pheasant), out came a packet of yufka -essentially classy filo pasty- that I'd bought in December and frozen wonkily. Half a bag of chickpeas were soaked overnight and, having gone crazy in Leicester’s AMAZING fruit and vegetable market a few days before, there were also a lot of on-the-turn items queued up for a feast, namely tomatoes, cucumber, beetroot and weeny carrots. The avocados had succumbed to an early death and I was still recovering.

As well as forgetting about things I stash in the freezer, sometimes a cookbook slips my mind. Persiana, by Sabrina Ghayour was given to me for Christmas (it’s practically the same age as my yufka) and was the best-seller; a book that actually looked like it deserved it, rather than being another churned out Jamie Oliver or limp pretty-girlie-kitchen-bible (you know the ones I mean). I’d seen the recipes in supplements, I’d tried the Lamb Biriyani. But that was it. My cookbooks are “working cookbooks”. They’re not coffee table books and if they earn a place on my shelves it’s because they deserve it. Say that in the voice of a grim Yorkshireman who trains sheepdogs in the rain and you’ll get where I’m coming from. So I couldn’t leave Persiana behind. The book itself is beautiful; a really lovely layout and filled with pictures; especially useful in the “Breads and Grains” section because you wouldn’t really think rice as a side dish could be so varied but it just is.

Cookbooks are the one thing I still seem to have the capacity to absorb; since my English degree I’ve hardly touched a novel thanks to a fuzzy head and I really don’t like watching TV that much. With a cookbook on my lap I can relax and feel I am in control of my life –or at least of my kitchen. Recently, however, the “narration” of certain books has got to me; I’m sick to death of Nigel Slater and Nigella Lawson in particular, telling me not to bother buying the cheap version of this or that because it simply won’t do. It’s got to be white heart cherries, not the ugly sweet dark ones darling. Oh bugger off! Ghayour’s style is far more modest, perhaps it’s a “first book thing” but there is no ego here; her introduction (a concise two pages) states that substituting ingredients is a way “to build confidence and demystify Middle Eastern cookery”. As such, I felt like I was allowed to stray off the beaten track without being slapped on the wrist.

In a mad mood, I decided to try a batch of Ghayour’s recipes in one sitting; there was no way I was going to waste my yufka! Following recipes can be difficult, especially when exotic spices come into play but in 3 hours we had a table groaning with food. I was too shy to put all the lemon juice required into the hummus (p.28) but love the optional addition of coriander and the sprinkling of paprika. I’m really into “dressed up” hummus at the moment- spicy and sweet toppings can really make a meal out of the dip. I will definitely check out the cucumber-based recipes in this section in the future. To the Turkish Feta Pastry Cigars (p.33) I added the zest of one lemon and a handful of walnuts for crunch which went down well with the troops (the other three family members at the table); in fact, these salty cigars were one of the evening’s favourites and I only really needed one egg to brush over the pastry, rather than three.

I left Roger and then Amy in charge of the Eastern-Style Focaccia (p.53) but tipping the ingredients into the breadmaker saved things from getting too messy. The end result was a huge slab of bread, which always looks fantastic. The flavours are interesting; I love the proliferation of cumin seeds (in this recipe and in others) but the subtle hint of chilli is also a nice find in bread. I had to use black onion seeds instead of Nigella seeds- the internet doesn’t seem to think there’s much difference, but black onion seeds tend to make everything taste of Naan breads. That said, the end result was a flavoursome spiced bread so a hint of Naan in there wasn’t a tragedy.

The Chicken Bastilla recipe was what I’d been drawn to most of all (p.107). I feel sure I’ve eaten a Portuguese version of this before; spiced, sweet, crunchy yet savoury, something like an original, medieval mince pie. Fragrant spices and herbs blended together with chicken (or in my case a combination of quail and pheasant leg meat), they are really quite intriguing. I’m still undecided on these; the concept is brilliant but I made them too sweet- we didn’t have enough meat to balance out the dates but the herbs, honey and spices really do make for a special little parcel, dusted with a combination of icing sugar and cinnamon. How can you resist? The bastilla is an ultimate nibbly thing and I think this recipe is one of the best in the book. We balanced out the meal with a fresh salad, a crossover between Ghayour’s cucumber and tomato pomegranate salads (pp.154 and 160) but I couldn’t resist trying the Cumin-Roasted Carrots with Honey-Lemon Dressing and Goat’s Cheese (p.191); a simple recipe showing off good ingredients. We added a beetroot and substituted feta.

The feast was followed by Cinnamon and Citrus Almond Pastry Cigars (p.221); it was the last opportunity for my yufka pastry to prove itself and this was the recipe where it really shone. I had assumed the cigars would explode in the oven (as the feta parcels had done) but they held their shape and had a brilliant crunch, thanks to the brush of melted butter. I didn’t have orange extract so went for a squeeze of juice and rather than limes, I used lemon zest. They were so simple to make but were absolutely the crowning glory of the dinner; crunchy, sweet, chewy, fragrant… like hot marzipan crossed with macaroons or nougat. The Italians have totally copied these flavours, no doubt picked up centuries ago on along a trading route to Morocco. I know I'm on to a winner when my Mum shouts after taking the first bite; we ate them cheerfully, with ice cream.

Persiana is a lovely book but what I admire is its simplicity; I was cooking with familiar, mostly store cupboard ingredients but the recipes produced completely different, new flavours. One adage I always remember is “Herbs: when in doubt, add lots”; I can’t remember who said it but Middle Eastern food lives by those rules. Herbs and spices, in abundance is what brings Ghayour’s recipes alive; a cucumber is suddenly not a cucumber, it’s a delicious side dish. A carrot isn’t boring anymore; it’s sweet, sour and spiked with flavour. It’s hardly a catastrophe that I didn’t get round to cooking from Persiana until now but one bout in the kitchen has been enough to get me looking forward to the next time I pick the book from my shelves.