Saudi Meat Pie, a nod to my childhood

This meat pie is something of my childhood years in Riyadh. There is a dominant spice mix that is the hero of this pastry. Without it, it isn’t really a Saudi meat pie.

That spice mix is known as b’zar or bezar, otherwise known as the Arabian Spice Mixture. It consists of ten ingredients, and is indespensible in Arabian cooking. The history behind this spice mix is shortly before Ramadan households will get busy preparing their b’zar to last Ramadan and probably the rest of the year. The various ingredients are often bought fresh at the souks, and then enjoying the ritual of grinding everything together at home and preparing your pantry cupboard. I was small growing up in Riyadh, but it gave me my most valuable insight into life of the East during those tender years. It usually garners a raised eyebrow when I mention I grew up there, something I often laugh or smile at, because I know what is to follow, and patiently wait for it. I can’t discourage the raised eyebrow nor say I disagree. However, there is much I take away from living there; things that have moulded me into the person that I am; things that have opened my eyes from a very early start, in comparison to most; things I do not take for granted, because they are non-existent for women there; and most of all, a desert way of life, which if you haven’t lived there, you won’t truly understand.

It is home to a large territory of Bedouins, who live by their traditional ways in the desert. The simplicity but nourishment of this pie is everything that is part of the diet they relied on. In a way this could be why the pie is symbolic for both the indigenous and Saudis, two tribes within one place. I have grown up in the West for the latter half of my life, but it is my youth that holds the most important memories and stories that shape me. The Saudi meat pie embodies the tastes of my childhood spent against the desert backdrop, with dry harsh climates and a way of life that is unforgiving. The meat pie lacks in significant history, but makes up for giving face to its cuisine within the Arab world. This post is more so putting one symbolic food of the Arabian Peninsula a little more in focus.

The base of this pie is a form of bread pastry. It is more flaky like a pastry, but its ingredients equal bread making. Bread is a way of life in the Middle East, and as I often mention, it is emblematic to every territory and region across our continent, but the same goes for the rest of the world. It dates back to the beginning of time when bread was the one common made food even for the Vikings and Anglo Saxons. Everyone relied upon fruit and bread. New food innovations began to evolve following the evolution of bread and fire cooking. Doughs were slowly turned into pies, pastries and soon enough cakes. Dough has survived generations and centuries of adaptations. It is probably the beginning of putting food on the map, if one can say that. More importantly, it is the staff of life in all three major religions. There is no animosity against dough, and bread. It is the main staple, universal, a global language, and everyone finds common ground breaking bread together or in this case buttery flaky pastry, which is just as relatable.

With that, this meat pie not only takes the simple ingredients that have been available throughout the centuries, which is why it isn’t a very lustrous pie, but it has become symbolic as a snack or main food for many Saudis. I used a recipe based off of Anissa Helou’s version in Feast that had a lot of similarity to what we grew up with. It was a very close rendition and I give it top marks for that. Anissa makes an important statement reminding us that the early Muslims wouldn’t have had much access to vegetables or fresh produce, as it is a primarily desert based land, with harsh climates and very little rainfall. This pie has evolved to feature at least one green vegetable, and that is probably primarily to add color to the dish by way of leeks. The most accessible of vegetables, so much so they say it was cultivated in Egypt, Mesopotamia (modern day Kurdistan and Iraq), and even Ancient Rome. Saudi Arabian land is hardly fertile for most of the year. It speaks to why the diet is mainly meat and dairy based, with a lot of dates, especially in Saudi, where date palms would line every single road. There is something about the smell and sight of date clusters ready to be harvested as you’re driving up any small or large road. It’s something I’ve never seen since, and miss it. Walking beneath them, though, you felt a moment of adrenaline wondering if any dates would fall and hit your head, and I’d wonder how hard or soft it would feel. Though dates do not feature in this pie, per se, it is distinctively Arabian whenever I think of them. Perhaps because it was the national tree or the snack most accessible to anyone and everyone. I don’t think any household didn’t have dates. That would be sacrilegious over there.

Land fertility isn’t an issue for all of the Middle East and that is critical to remember. Kurdistan, Iraq and Syria, for instance, have the most fertile lands with terrains ranging from mountainsides and hilltops to desert and flat, or a combination of all, such as Kurdistan. These nations have been the source and abundance of fresh produce and lush terrain for the neighboring dry climates, such as Saudi. So here it begins, the movement of conquering and exploring, and the start of culinary traditions being expanded into outside territories. For instance, taking the leek and any other produce to upscale simple dishes, like the meat pie. This is the history behind the tales of battles and exile, conquering new lands, but importantly, it is the start of cultural and cuisine identity of those communities. With these conquests, they also conquered great chefs or family traditions and recipes. In a way, it helped expand the influence of cooking across the Middle East and beyond, as Helou documents.

On the flip side it opens the doors to cultural and food appropriation, something I often come back to in my posts. It is important for others to expand their culinary skills and cook whatever they want or like. Italians don’t just need to develop the pasta recipes, or Middle Easterns solely be responsible for falafels and hummus. What is missed though is the recognition and origins behind these foods through appropriation. What our foods represent to us should be documented and annotated correctly, no matter who is attempting to make it. Robert Alan makes a profound statement about how cultural diversity brings a collective strength that can benefit all of humanity, and should not separate us from each other. The problem is that today our foods are still not being associated with our lands and heritage correctly. This goes for all the world’s cuisines outside of the great West. Saudi meat pie is not known beyond the Arabian peninsula, and that is because it has rarely been appropriated beyond the continent. It doesn’t make me feel great to state that, because it reminds me that not all of the foods of our continent are understood or known. There is still so much hidden from the rest of the world through food and in part that relates to how the country is itself. Closed off. Dark. Hidden behind facades. Unknown yet infamous. This is how its cuisine is also represented. Saudi food may seem indifferent and perhaps boring to some, but it is a land that took meat, dairy and dates and transformed their palette to make nourishing plates, delectable treats, and incredible spice mixtures to enhance food.

All it took was spice mixtures to transform an entire food culture. That is what this meat pie symbolizes. Without the spices we have today by way of the great East, we would be an extremely boring and plain planet. This is more than a nod to my childhood, and the flooding memories through its taste, it is a reflection of the nation in one dish; simple and understated, but powerful.