Hallab Sweet Palace

On my first night in Tripoli, my father-in-law took me to the famous Abdulrahman Hallab sweet palace which occupies most of a city block. The Hallab family is famous throughout Lebanon for its sweets. We visited the original Hallab, and at some point I'll probably visit the brother's Hallab. The Hallab family underwent a family upset that is the sweet equivalent to the savory split in the Kreusz barbecue dynasty of Lockhart, TX sometime back, but most of the people I have spoken to prefer the original Hallab, although they agree the brother has his moments of transcendence. Hallab ships internationally and I have had their sweets on many occasions, but I have been taking the opportunity since I have arrived in Tripoli to eat the desserts that feature Ashta or Lebanese cream. I should be getting a tour of the facilities in the next few days and I'll report back on how they make Ashta, but for now, I'll share a few pictures of some of the fine Ashta delicacies.

My first night here we had Kunafeh. It is made with a semolina cake with the texture of cornbread that is stuffed with Ashta. Kenafeh is then served with orange blossom jam, crushed pistachios, and orange blossom and rose blossom syrup. This afternoon, my lovely partner and I returned to Hallab for a spot of gluttony. We tried Mafrukeh and Znud el Sitt.

Mafrukeh begins with a thin layer of semolina pudding flavored with ghee, orange blossom and rose blossom water and sugar. It is then covered with Ashta and the usual accompaniment of orange blossom jam and crushed pistachios, as well as blanched and fried almonds and fried pine nuts. The texture was a lovely mixture of unctious and crunchy.

Znud el sitt is also known as Ladies Arms. You stuff filo pastry with Ashta, deep fry it, and add the usual accompaniment.

Katayef

Thanks are due to world renowned fruit expert Helmet over at Phronesisiacal for identifying what is known colloquially in Lebanon as the Ashta fruit. The Custard Apple, otherwise known as a Netimoya was no stranger to Helmut's vast knowledge of fruit in all its diversity.

Ashta is the Arabic word for cream, and the Lebanese variety is entirely decadent. It is reminiscent of clotted cream, but fluffier. It is really kind of a mystery to me and I plan to explore it in great detail over the next few weeks, regardless of any gastrointestinal distress it might cause my somewhat lactose intolerant self.

I first encountered Ashta in a fairly dismal rendition of a dessert known as Ladies Arms at a not especially good bakery in Houston. These are puffy pastries injected with Ashta and then soaked in a simple syrup flavored with Mai Zaher and Mai Wared - infusions of orange blossom and rose water. The heart of Ashta country is Tripoli, Lebanon where I will be traveling later today with my mother-in-law and my lovely partner who are long time residents of the city.

Tripolitans are notoriously fussy about their sweets, and largely intolerant of their specialties when they are reproduced elsewhere. With this in mind, I have been informed that until my arrival in Tripoli, the only Ashta of any worth that I will be able to find is at one specialized bakery in Beirut.

My mother-in-law and I visited this bakery yesterday and departed with several Katayef, their specialty. Katayef is a pancake which you smear with Ashta, adorn with a small dollop of jam made of the blossoms of bitter oranges, and slather with the ubiquitous simple syrup, this one made with an infusion of rose petals. They were a scrumptiously sticky pleasure.

Ashta Mystery Fruit

Hi, Bianca here. I know that I promised beet cake, and it is forthcoming, but I have far more urgent matters to discuss. I am visiting my lovely partner's family in Lebanon where I have encountered a new mystery fruit. Ashta fruit is new to me, and to Lebanon where they have named it for the Arabic word for a local and especially decadent sweet cream. I'm pretty sure I have seen this fruit before, but I cannot recall it's name in English. Do you have any ideas? It is, by the way, entirely reminiscent of its namesake. You peel the lumpy bits off the outside and suck up the delicate and creamy innards.