Dessert fit for a Seder: Baklava
Each year as Spring comes to the Farm, there is one dessert which is made without fail: Baklava. I know, I know, this makes no sense. The Farmer is German, and his Wife a strange blend of Irish/Scottish/Norwegian?. Absolutely no one on the Farm can claim Greek roots. Never-the-less, this dish makes its way into the hearts and mouths of all those who live on the Farm and a few dozen besides each and every year, because this is the very (and only) dessert that’s made for the annual Seder.
This Seder has been hosted by the Farmer’s Wife and her mother for forever so long, or the last twenty years, whichever seems more to you. And each and every time the same dishes are served: roasted lamb slathered in olive oil, crushed garlic, minced rosemary with good dash of salt and pepper, roasted potatoes treated the same, and roasted carrots, bathed in good, salted butter. There’s flat (pita) bread and horseradish, salted water and fresh parsley. And wine. Lots of wine. All in all a veritable feast. Oh. Of course. And this Baklava.
Now, I know they didn’t have this particular dessert at the Last Supper, if any dessert at all. Possibly there were figs or raisons, nuts and honey. It’s the combination of the last two that led to the selection of Baklava for the dessert we serve. It’s what we like to call Close Enough.
And here’s how we make it:
One pound of nuts (any kind you like—this year we went with a blend of pecans, almonds, and walnuts. Some years we just use walnuts, some years just almonds; whatever floats your boat) are chopped loosely fine and lightly roasted. Once they’re cool, they’re tossed in a teaspoon of Ceylon cinnamon and set aside. Two sticks of butter are melted and also set aside. A nine by thirteen-inch cookie sheet is buttered and yes, you guessed it, set aside. This recipe is all about the prep work. We use premade filo dough. You can get all fancy and make your own (as I hope to do one day, but since I’ve been at this for twenty years, I doubt I’ll start changing it up now). Usually, a box comes with two packages of wrapped dough; only one will be needed. Now, before you open that box, a warning. Filo dough is very persnickety. If it gets one taste of fresh air it will crumble right up on you. So, again, this is all about being prepared. A dish towel is lightly moistened with water. Lightly. And placed on top a sheet of plastic wrap. This will go on top of the filo dough the second it’s unwrapped and will stay there each moment it’s not in use. Just so we’re clear, it goes like this: filo dough, plastic wrap, slightly damp towel.
Alright. Now we’re ready to begin.
It works best with two sets of hands; one for uncovering the filo dough, setting the sheet, and quickly recovering all, and one for slathering on the butter. This year Hannah did the slathering and I did the dough. A sheet of dough is placed, slathered, another and so on and so forth until a good base is formed, about five sheets in all. Some of the nut mixture is sprinkled evenly of the prepared dough. Another sheet of dough is applied over that. Now, watch yourself here. It doesn’t have butter to anchor it down, it’s likely to slide all over the place when you try to slather. Hannah found a solution to that. Instead of slathering, she splattered and saved her slathering for the next two sheets, at which time another coating of nuts is applied. This is repeated until only five sheets of dough remain (these will be used for the top layer). So, it goes like this: five layers of dough (with butter between each) nuts, three layers of dough (with butter between each), nuts, and on and on, until it’s finished with five layers of dough, yes, with butter between each.
Finally, the rectangle of deliciousness is tidied up a bit in the way of a chef’s knife trimming all the edges to make a right, proper, and straight rectangle. Another thing about Baklava: it’s cut before it’s baked, so while you’ve got your knife out, get cutting: eight along the wide end, four along the narrow (for those of you who love math, that gives you thirty-two servings).
It’s placed in a preheated three-hundred-and-fifty-degree oven and baked for forty to fifty minutes, or until it gets all toasty and golden. Or your house smells like Heaven. Either one. While it’s cooking, set a cup of sugar, a half cup of honey and three quarters cup water in a saucepan on your stove and bring to a boil. Keep it boiling for four minutes and set it aside. As soon as your Baklava comes out of the oven, pour all that goodness over all. It will sizzle and spatter a bit, but that’s part of the fun. Let it cool completely before serving or covering, otherwise you’ll have a gooey mess on your hands, and who wants that?
