THE FLAVOUR OF NOSTALGIA
Ka’ak Al Quds, Jerusalem’s celebrated sesame bread, is a culinary thread binding the vast diaspora of Palestinians.
By Farida Ahmed
At Al Kafyah bakery in Sharjah’s Al Khan neighbourhood, between the Khalid and Al Khan lagoons, trays of manakeesh, fatayer, ma’amoul, mini kubz, cumin-coated bread sticks, packets of za’atar, and a gumball dispenser crowd the narrow shop. A metal rack holds an assortment of goods baked early in the morning, among them elongated rings of a crusty golden-brown bread embellished with toasted sesame seeds—ka’ak Al Quds, the very taste of home for Palestinian émigrés.
The Arabic word for cake, ka’ak refers to a host of baked goods from breads to biscuits. The genesis of ka’ak Maqdisi (literally, bread from Jerusalem) is difficult to trace—it has been a staple on Palestinian tables for centuries. Colloquially referred to as ka’ak Al Quds (Jerusalem bread—Al Quds is the Arabic name for the city of Jerusalem), this bread is one of the strongest culinary threads that binds together a Palestinian diaspora scattered across the globe. For many Palestinians, it is not just reminiscent of simpler times, when a trip to the old city could be undertaken without the arduously uphill battle of obtaining a pass. It has become the now-elusive taste of freedom.
Taste and smell are some of the strongest triggers of memories and emotions. The novelist Marcel Proust famously enjoyed a rush of memories as a result of eating a madeleine dipped into tea. For Palestinians, the emblematic flavour comes from ka’ak Al Quds.
Every Palestinian narrative that adoringly describes Jerusalem bread conveys the same sense of nostalgia. Even those who grew up away from their homeland share stories of ka’ak Al Quds borrowed from the memories of their parents and grandparents, who would walk the cobbled pathways of the old city and buy several rings of the freshly baked bread from street carts or family bakeries for a pocketful of change. They never forget to stress the newspaper scraps containing za’atar that are offered as a companion to the ka’ak. Some even recall buying falafel and oven-baked eggs to marry with that already perfect union of ka’ak and za’atar. Breakfast, lunch, or a snack, there is always room on the Palestinian plate for ka’ak Al Quds.
A typical Palestinian breakfast featuring freshly baked ka’ak accompanied by creamy dips like hummus and labneh, plates of fresh vegetables, olives, and cheese, washed down with cups of sage or mint tea.
UAE-based food artisan Dima Sharif recalls a childhood memory of a favourite uncle’s visit to her family home in Amman, where she grew up. The ka’ak Al Quds he brought back with him from Jerusalem evoked rapturous excitement and was promptly transferred to the kitchen where an assembly line of family members eagerly welcomed the bready loops. Everyone had a role—pairs of hands, small and big, working in unison to chop mounds of cucumbers, tomatoes, layer cheese, and other ingredients to create ka’ak sandwiches. They relished the rare treat as a shared meal while swapping stories of their native land, which although close enough geographically, could not be further politically.
Palestinian chef, author, restaurateur, and James Beard Award winner Sami Tamimi has been based in London for 22 years; he grew up in Bab Hutta in the Muslim quarter of the old city of Jerusalem. He believes that ka’ak Al Quds originated at a family run business in his neighbourhood and was preserved through generations, until its popularity spread to other bakeries in East and West Jerusalem. Tamimi describes a typical Palestinian breakfast featuring freshly baked ka’ak accompanied by creamy dips like hummus and labneh, plates of fresh vegetables, olives, and cheese, washed down with cups of sage or mint tea. At its most basic, ka’ak Al Quds combines flour, yeast, sugar, salt, and water to form a malleable dough that is later shaped into oval rings studded with sesame seeds. The bread has a crusty exterior and a soft, sweet-savoury, chewy interior.
There are probably as many recipes for ka’ak Al Quds as there are Palestinian families and each will swear that their version is closest to the Jerusalem original. Tamimi shares his version in his book, Falastin: A Cookbook co-authored with Tara Wigley. Others incorporate milk powder, warm milk, yoghurt, olive oil, grape molasses, sugar syrup, egg wash, toasted vs. untoasted sesame seeds, and more. Regardless which recipe you choose, the dough requires kneading to activate the glutens in the flour, with frequent resting between the kneading, portioning, and shaping to allow the dough to swell.
Dubai-based Youssef Mehelba, originally from Hebron, has visited Palestine only once and found his attempt at recreating ka’ak Al Quds to be an immensely gratifying experience. But the best part was sharing his ka’ak Al Quds with his grandparents, who have lived in Dubai for more than 40 years, transporting them to the Palestine of their memories.
Sharif poured her passion for Palestinian culinary traditions into her award-winning cookbook, Plated Heirlooms, where she too shares a recipe for Jerusalem sesame bread. She sells her ka’ak at local farmers’ markets in Dubai alongside her delicious range of mooneh (pantry items, such as preserved foods, dry foods, spices and oils) that are an homage to the respect and love that Palestinians have for their land and cuisine. During a conversation that meandered through the cultivation of sesame in Jerusalem to the ancient technique of fermenting dough with chickpeas, Sharif sheds light on why the collective Palestinian culinary conscience is so firmly embedded in this seemingly simple bread.
Sesame seeds pack a high nutritive value and add to the enjoyment of the hearty bread, Sharif notes. Combined with some olive oil and perhaps fresh wild herbs, ka’ak Al Quds makes for a complete and fortified meal, especially in homes that have little else. Sharif explains why every recipe only comes “close” to the old city’s version. Likening it to the importance of terroir to wine, she explains that ka’ak Al Quds is difficult to replicate unless you can import the air, climate, soil, and the inherent energy of the land into your own kitchen: “There is Jerusalem missing from the ka’ak.”
This, then, is the flavour of Palestinian nostalgia—the yearning for a bread that is an integral part of their culinary roots and that they have increasingly diminishing access to.
Photographs by wafa shami
