Baklava

The Seven Wonders of the Ancient World are celebrated in stories and legends, but the eighth wonder of the world is much debated.

I propose that the eighth wonder is something that has endured throughout history, changed with time yet is still tied to its ancient roots. Like the other seven, it was shaped by human hands, using materials provided by nature to create a thing of beauty, wonder and, in this case, deliciousness. I give you the masterpiece known as … baklava.

Yes, this small, delicate yet intricate structure made up of layer upon layer of thinly rolled dough that encases a filling of nuts and spices and is soaked in a sweet, floral syrup is older than the statue of Zeus that graced the temple at Olympia in the mid-fifth century BC. Its origins are attributed to the Assyrians around 800 BC, when they stretched thin layers of bread dough and baked it with chopped nuts and honey for special occasions.

Fast forward more than 2,000 years and you’ll find that the Ottoman Empire was instrumental in perfecting this sweet pastry and eventually spreading it throughout the Mediterranean and Middle East so that, today, it is claimed as the national dessert by Turks, Arabs, Greeks, Bulgarians and Armenians, among others. According to the kitchen notebooks of the Topkapi Palace — the empire’s political seat in Istanbul — baklava was baked in the palace in 1473. And by the 17^th century, it is reported, the ruling sultan would present his soldiers with a gift of baklava on the 15^th day of Ramadan in what became known as the Baklava Parade.

But it is the Greeks who are credited with creating the dough that makes baklava’s multiple crispy layers possible, when they figured out how to roll the pastry as thin as a leaf. Thus, this dough was called phyllo, which is Greek for “leaf.”

Each country this pastry traveled to put its own mark on the delicacy. Armenian merchants plying the silk and spice routes on the eastern border of the Ottoman Empire integrated cinnamon and cloves into the recipe. The Arabs introduced rose and orange blossom water to their version of baklava, and the Persians added a nut stuffing scented with jasmine and cut the sweet treat into the diamond shapes still popular today.

In a nod to the multicultural background of this ancient dessert, I decided to make one with traditional flavors — pistachio filling and orange syrup scented with orange blossom water — and one less traditional but incorporating the flavors of another culture — macadamia nut and coconut filling with lime syrup — for a Hawaiian touch. For my pistachio baklava, I chose to make it in the concertina shape, where it’s rolled around a dowel and then scrunched to make it look like an old-fashioned concertina. I made my macadamia and coconut baklava in the traditional way, layering the phyllo and nut filling in a pan, then cutting it into rectangles (or diamonds) before baking it.

But first I had to make the phyllo dough. I’ve discussed before the different spellings — phyllo vs. filo — here, so I won’t go into that. No matter how you spell it, though, it’s a lot of work. If it weren’t for My Great British Baking Challenge, I would be picking up a package of phyllo dough in the freezer section of my local grocery store like every other sane cook in America. But because the bakers in the Great White Tent were required to make their own, I’m doing it, too.

If you’re rolling it by hand, it’s impossible to achieve the leaf-thin sheets that commercial bakeries can make. One recipe I found said to expect to reach the thickness of two sheets of copier paper. In my research, I discovered two methods for rolling it by hand (as opposed to using a pasta maker, as demonstrated here). There’s this method, which involves wrapping the dough around the rolling pin (skip to 1:44 in the linked video to see the rolling method), and this alternate method, in which several pieces of dough are stacked together, separated by a liberal sprinkling of a cornstarch and flour mixture, and rolled out together (skip to 3:40 in the video to see this method). I followed the phyllo recipe on TheSpruceEats.com but chose to try the stacking method for rolling it out.

This all takes time and considerable upper arm strength, so my suggestion is to make and roll out the dough the day before you plan to make the baklava. (Or, alternatively, purchase your phyllo dough at the store. I won’t judge.) Once you’ve divided the dough into pieces and rolled it out, it can be stacked, five sheets together, between two pieces of parchment paper, rolled up, wrapped in plastic and stored in the fridge for up to 24 hours. Then you can prepare your fillings and syrups the day you plan to assemble and bake your baklava. 

For my Pistachio-Orange Concertina Baklava, I started with this recipe but used only pistachios, omitting the cinnamon, and for the syrup I substituted orange slices for the spices and orange blossom water for the lemon. I also used only one sheet of phyllo for each concertina roll, since mine were thicker than the store-bought variety. After brushing the phyllo with clarified butter and sprinkling the ground nuts over it, I rolled it up around a ½-inch dowel, scrunched it together by pushing the rolled dough together with both hands, and then slid it off the dowel into a greased 8-inch square pan. Once I filled the pan with these rolls, I cut them into 1½-inch pieces and baked them until they were crispy and golden on the top and the bottom. After taking them out of the oven, I poured the cooled syrup over the still-hot pastry and left them to soak up the syrup for at least an hour.*

For my Macadamia, Coconut & Lime Baklava (adapted from this recipe), I used the more traditional method, layering nine sheets of phyllo brushed with clarified butter in a square pan; topping that with half the macadamia-coconut mixture; then adding four more sheets of phyllo and the rest of the filling mixture; and topping it off with four final phyllo sheets, each brushed with clarified butter. After cutting them into rectangles, I baked them at 350°F for 30 minutes, then lowered the temperature to 300°F and baked for another 1¼ hours, till the pastry was browned on the top and the bottom. This time, when I poured the lime syrup over the hot pastry, I made sure the syrup was hot, too. This is contrary to many baklava recipes but was recommended in New York Times Cooking.*

Because my sheets of phyllo were not as thin as the commercially available ones, my baklava may not have been as tender, but the pastry was still crisp, and the fillings were sweet and chewy, just like you’d expect of baklava you might find in its native region. Baklava is very versatile, and once you know the basic elements—phyllo pastry, flavored syrup and nut filling—you can experiment with different fillings and flavors until you discover your signature style!  

*There seems to be an endless debate, on the internet at least, as to whether the syrup poured over the baklava should be hot or cold. Several recipes I read stated that it didn’t matter which, as long as the temperature of the syrup was opposite the temperature of the pastry (i.e., cold syrup over hot pastry or hot syrup over cold pastry). For these two recipes, I followed different instructions for each. The first called for cooled (in this case room temperature) syrup over hot pastry. For the second, I followed the directions in the New York Times Cooking’s baklava recipe here, which called for hot syrup over hot pastry (contrary to other recipes). In the final taste test, I couldn’t tell the difference.

Next week: Schichttorte