Manakeesh (Za’atar flatbreads)
Manakeesh, which is the plural for Man’oushe, is a big deal for us. It is Lebanon’s version of the pizza, and it is one of the most identifiable flatbreads out of the Middle East.
There is something beautifully satisfying about this snack. It can be made heartier with extra toppings (cucumbers, mint, cheese, labneh), but truly it is best as is to break bread over. You will have oily fingers, crumby lips, and most certainly a full heart. This belongs to Lebanon, but it is revered and loved across the Middle East, specifically the Levant region and its cuisine. Historically this dish is hard to document, but we do know it dates as far back as the 10th century. This dish has many spellings and pronunciations depending on where you come from - are you surprised by this by now? Arabic is an incredibly complex language, with many dialects, intonations and accents, therefore, lots of different spellings have arisen across the regions. Manakeesh is probably one of the most recognizable ways of spelling it. Growing up in Saudi Arabia, I was spoiled by the British/American schooling system and the lack of learning Arabic was apparent. Therefore, understanding the singular vs plural variations of a dish name or which spelling to familiarize with can be a struggle. The complexity of the language equates to the complexities of their cuisine. Za’atar is tangy and acidic, salty and nutty, woodsy and floral and has that zing. Our spices and mixtures are what complete our dishes.
Za'atar is a spice mixture, not a spice, though wild za’atar, the herbal plant also known as hyssop or wild thyme, is a component. Something easily misunderstood, but extremely crucial to know. It is probably one of the most important spice mixtures out of the Middle East. Za’atar is the definition of all of our homelands, but most importantly it identifies all of us. It is said that there is much historical significance to za’atar for Palestinians, who see its presence as the signifier of a Palestinian household. It signifies the homes, lands and regions from which they hailed. That can be said for many of us, alike. Similar to cumin, cardamom, sumac and tahini, just to name the very few, you will not come across a Middle Eastern household that does not have za’atar stored in the fridge (or pantry). It would be a sin (I kid you not) and most definitely questionable if that spice mixture was no where to be seen.
It is said that za’atar could derive from the spice plant possibly known as sarsar in the old Akkadian language. Akkadian is an old Semitic language spoken in ancient Mesopotamia which, as you know by now through my posts, is modern day Kurdistan/Iraq. There is more relation to us than I thought, before writing this. Though it is only a theory, there is still some testament of heritage and lineage, by means of Assyria and Babylon. Over the centuries za’atar recipes have become secret measures of success to generational family recipes and professional cooks. It makes foods and condiments like eggs, yoghurt, olive oil and chicken burst with flavor and aroma. Your tastebuds are entirely opened and it is special. It feels new for anyone not from the Middle East, but it feels familiar and comforting for anyone from the Middle East. You can try to make your own recipe and keep it a secret too, but this is one of the times I prefer to find the perfect brand you grew up with (or didn’t) and let it own you. A little of this goes a very long way. It is like salt. Seasoned food is taste and eye opening. Za’atar can be a second partner following salt, in my opinion, when you want to add that extra punch of flavor or seasoning that enhances or turns your entire dish around. Do not forget that it is already salty, so when seasoning your food you need to be cautious of this and possibly lessen the usual palmfuls of salt you use to counteract with the za’atar. You don’t want salty food, you want perfectly seasoned and flavored food.
I haven’t dived too deep into the method of this recipe, because the dough is similar to all other doughs I have talked about in previous posts and the topping is simply za’atar with a copious amount of good olive oil. The most important part of this was giving za’atar its stage moment and identifying its purpose for the Middle East.
Two things do, however, stand out when making manakeesh. It is important to get your fingers in there when spreading the topping. I often bring this up, but your hands are an element in bread making. You don’t always need a machine, especially when the kneading part is over, because our ancestors didn’t have machines, so utilizing your hands as part of baking, where you can, is always more wholesome and there’s a connectivity to the process. I’ve seen people spread the za’atar mixture by spoons or ladles and personally I don’t believe it gets everywhere well enough. Dig your fingers in there and spread spread spread nice and even, get to those edges and really feel your dough. After all, you are the master of it. The second note is the oven. Manakeesh is most definitely not baked in a home oven, so whatever you do this will never be as perfect as the traditionally baked. They are typically finished on a saj, which is a domed metal griddle, mainly using natural gas, where you place your thin bread flat on top for seconds and it is extremely hot like a wood-burning pizza oven. It is the opposite look to a tandoori oven, which bakes on the interior, but in similar fashion. It is impossible to buy or find saj griddles outside of the Middle East, some professional cooks have actually had to ship them to the US or retrofit griddles.
Za’atar, like tahini, is becoming more and more popular in the West, that is thanks to the expanding dialogue around Middle Eastern cuisine through professional cooks and food documentaries. However, I still believe there is a certain amount of food appropriation that comes with it, where it is still not being widely understood and its origins lightly glazed over for the sake of it. There is ancestry with za’atar, but more importantly it is generational to family recipes, our history, and our homelands. There is something to that that needs to be respected. Otherwise, we can continue to repeat the cycle of food and cultural appropriation all we like and never truly understand what comes from our neighbors around us. Food isn’t simply ‘food’. It’s history and identity.