So, I got this idea stuck in my head a while back, you know? I really wanted to try making some Syrian desserts. Not just buy them, but actually make them. I’d seen pictures, and they looked amazing, all syrupy and nutty. Figured, how hard could it be? Famous last words, right?
Getting Started, or So I Thought
First off, I went down a rabbit hole looking up what to even try. There’s so much! Kunafa, Baklava (though everyone argues about where that really started), Ma’amoul, Basbousa… a whole universe of sweets. I decided to start with something that looked, let’s say, ‘manageable’. I picked out a recipe for Basbousa, that semolina cake soaked in syrup, and something called Halawet el Jibn, which is like a sweet cheese roll. Sounded interesting.
Getting the ingredients was the first adventure. Semolina, okay, easy enough. But then there’s a specific kind of cheese for Halawet el Jibn, Akkawi cheese, or some people said mozzarella could work if you treat it right. And rose water, orange blossom water – my local supermarket looked at me like I had three heads. Ended up finding a specialty store quite a ways off. Already felt like I was on a quest.
The Actual Mess-Making Process
Okay, so the Basbousa. The batter seemed simple enough. Mix semolina, yogurt, sugar, a bit of butter. But the texture, man. Is it supposed to be this thick? Or this runny? The online videos all made it look so effortless. Mine looked… suspicious. Popped it in the oven, crossed my fingers.
Then, the Halawet el Jibn. This was a whole other level. You’re basically making a dough out of semolina and cheese. It’s hot, it’s sticky. My first attempt was a disaster. It was either too stiff or it just melted into a puddle. I was getting frustrated, thinking, “Why did I even start this?” It reminded me of this one time years ago, I tried to assemble this ridiculously complicated piece of flat-pack furniture. The instructions were garbage, pieces didn’t quite fit, and I swear I was one snapped dowel away from just throwing the whole thing out the window. My wife came in, found me sitting on the floor, surrounded by bits of wood and a cloud of pure frustration. She just laughed, made me a cup of tea, and said, “Deep breaths. It’s just wood and screws.” Sometimes you just need to step away, right?
So, I took a break from the cheese nightmare. The Basbousa came out of the oven. Looked okay. The syrup part was next – sugar, water, lemon juice, a splash of that rose water. The smell was incredible, I’ll give it that. Poured it over the cake. Patience is key here, letting it soak in. That’s another thing, these desserts aren’t a quick whip-up. They take time, they take patience. Something I’m not always great with, if I’m honest.
Second Tries and a Glimmer of Hope
After my little furniture-assembly flashback and a cup of tea, I went back to the Halawet el Jibn. Watched a couple more videos, really focused on the technique. Second try was… better. Not perfect, but I actually managed to make something resembling rolls. Filled them with the clotted cream, or ashta, which was another mini-adventure to make. You’re supposed to pistachio them up, too. My kitchen looked like a small, very sticky bomb had gone off.
- Semolina: Realized there are different grinds, that matters.
- Syrup: Getting it to the right consistency without crystallizing is an art.
- Patience: Cannot stress this enough. Lots of waiting, cooling, soaking.
By the end of it, I was tired. But I had these two dessert things. The Basbousa was pretty good, actually. Sweet, fragrant, a bit crumbly. The Halawet el Jibn rolls were a bit misshapen, not gonna lie. Definitely wouldn’t win any beauty contests. But the taste? Pretty darn close to what I remembered trying once at a friend’s place.
Was it worth all the fuss? Yeah, I think so. It wasn’t just about eating a dessert. It was about the process, the trying, the failing a bit, and then getting something decent in the end. It’s like that old furniture, once it was finally built, I actually felt pretty good. These desserts, they weren’t store-bought perfect. They were messy, a bit uneven, but I made them. And sharing them, even the slightly wonky ones, felt good. Will I be opening a Syrian dessert shop anytime soon? Absolutely not. But will I try making them again? Yeah, probably. Maybe something simpler next time. Or maybe I’ll just brave the cheese rolls again, who knows.
