‘Coincidence is better than a thousand agreements’ says an Arabic proverb. And it was thanks to a lucky twist of fate that Iraqi-American culinary historian Nawal Nasrallah stumbled upon the long-lost manuscript of the thirteenth-century cookbook Fidalat al-khiwan fi tayyibat al-ta’am wa-l-alwan.
Nasrallah was translating parts of this manuscript when she was asked by the British Library in 2018 to view a “very long culinary fragment” found in a medieval Maghrebi manuscript on medicines. It turned out, much to her delight, to be the lost manuscript. Her translation came out under the title Best of Delectable Foods and Dishes from al-Andalus and al-Maghrib. A wonderful book to get lost in.
It is the cookbook with which scholar Ibn Razin al-Tujibi wanted to preserve the food culture of his native Andalusia after he and his family fled. Al-Tujibi was born in 1227 to a prosperous family in the city of Murcia, who surrendered to the Christian king Fernando III in 1242. After a truce that allowed the population to keep their faith was broken by the royal family, Muslims and Jews fled to North Africa. Also Al-Tujibi, who eventually settled in Tunis via Morocco and Algeria. Out of melancholy and as an ‘exercise in culinary nostalgia’, he decided to record the dishes that had given his life in Andalusia so much pleasure.
Unique view
The book contains no less than 475 recipes, divided into sixty chapters that are divided into twelve parts. It offers a unique insight into thirteenth century Andalusian life through dishes, how they were made, what ingredients were available, and through the stories and anecdotes of Al-Tujibi. Nasrallah provides interpretation and historical context, which are indispensable for understanding the recipe and the idiom.
The first part is called ‘About bread, soaked bread, soups, pasta and the like’ and it contains five chapters. From tharid, bread torn into pieces and soaked in sauce with, for example, meat and vegetables, there are no fewer than 26 different recipes. It was (and still is) a beloved Arab dish and incidentally a favorite of the Prophet Mohammed, who also liked vinegar as an ingredient to whet the appetite. Then Al-Tujibi deals with meat dishes, poultry, fish, eggs, dairy, vegetables, legumes, sweets, condiments, pickled vegetables, locusts, shrimps and snails. It ends with a chapter devoted to the noble art of hygiene, with tips on how to wash and perfume your hands and to freshen your breath. It even includes a recipe that kings used, with musk and rose water.
But the focus is on the dishes. Al-Tujibi writes in his introduction that for him food is not only a prerequisite for good health, but also the most important instrument for a balanced mood. The most admirable people, he writes, are generous souls who avoid avarice. Only the best is good enough for their guests. “Their homes are as welcoming as their hearts.”
The New York Public Library / Best of Delectable Foods and Dishes from al-Andalus and al-Maghrib
Superiority
What is striking about the dishes that he lovingly describes (he regularly adds what he thinks of them: ‘tasty’, ‘very delicious’, ‘peasant dish’), is how many dishes have survived all those centuries and still hold an important place. in current culinary traditions. Take sambousek, a pasta filled with minced meat or seafood known as empanada in Spanish and samosa in India. Originating in Moorish Andalusia, the tasty snack found its way into the wide world. Although Al-Tujibi is critical of the variations he tastes in Tunisia, “look what the Africans make of the sambousek, it is neither advisable nor enjoyable”. He has little interest in ‘those Africans’, it appears repeatedly, he finds them little refined, in his opinion no one can compete with the ‘admirable and advanced’ Andalusians.
That sense of superiority was felt by many Andalusians who moved to North Africa, musicologist and Andalusia expert Amin Chaacho gently told a meeting about Andalusian culture in Rabat last year. According to him, Andalusians first and foremost felt Andalusian and only then Christian, Jew or Muslim. In North Africa they settled together and only intermarried.
Yet Andalusian culture, and certainly the food culture that Al-Tujibi describes so accurately, consisted of many influences from different parts of the world. Couscous was one of the dishes that moved with the Amazigh (the original inhabitants of North Africa) to Andalusia and from there to Italy (cùscusu) and Latin America (cuscuz), for example.
There is a misconception about pasta that Marco Polo brought it to Italy. In this book you can read how itriya (dried noodles) were made by mixing semolina or flour with some water and a pinch of salt, kneading the whole thing into a firm dough, rolling it out on a table or wooden board and then in thin strings, hand-rolling them to make them as thin as possible before letting them dry in the sun and then cooking them. Just like we do nowadays.
Bastilla, the queen of Moroccan cuisine, has also remained almost the same, although it was known under a different name at the time: judhaba. Thin, filo-like dough filled with, for example, chicken and almonds, sweetened with sugar and cinnamon.
Al-Tujibi recommends using rose water instead of plain water in his recipe and points out that the liquid should be completely absorbed before filling the dough. The principle of greasing was already known at that time: the pot into which the dough was placed was rubbed with sheep kidneys, which were cleaned and then pounded into a paste. Sheep’s kidneys have been replaced by butter or ghee, but the principle, a festive, savory-sweet pie, has not changed.
With this abundance of dishes, stories and anecdotes, the realization that we are not far removed from what people ate 800 years ago: fish cakes, stuffed eggplant, curd, bread pudding, sweet and sour chicken. The Spanish delicacy mojama, salted red tuna, comes from the Arabic mushama. This book gives us an insight into dishes, how they have changed or stayed the same over the years, and how dishes connect different communities. That arouses admiration and is an incentive to experiment with those old methods and recipes.
At the time, people cooked completely by feel, on an open fire or in the stone or clay oven. That also explains why Al-Tujibi’s recipes do not contain quantities and grams, but do contain indications that can reveal something about a quantity: arba’at asabi’, four fingers together. A ghorfa, either hand shovel, ladle or bowl. Shibr, the distance between the little finger and thumb. Sizes that are still common in Arabic.
The trained cook can safely try the recipes. In Cordoba, chef Paco Morales brings to life dishes from the Andalusian era in his impressive two-star restaurant Noor, based on historical sources such as Al-Tujibi.
But for those who don’t dare, Nasrallah shares 24 adapted recipes at the very end, both savory and sweet, with available ingredients and specified quantities and photos taken by Nasrallah herself. Among other things, she makes the famous ka’b el-ghazal cookies known as gazelle horns. Now it so happens that kaab means heel or hoof, so actually they are gazelle hooves and not horns. Over time, the shape has changed into the elegant horns as we know them today.
What a special document Al-Tujibi has left behind the world. Good thing, too. Anyone who claims that time travel is impossible has clearly never heard of this magical book.