ENDING THE HOLY MONTH OF FASTING WITH TRADITIONAL NATIONAL SPECIALITIES
FOOD tastes best when it means something special, and even better when it’s both delayed and deserved. That’s why they call it “Sweet Eid”.
For the past lunar month, the global Ummah has been in a state of self-denial. Ramadan has achieved its purposes and Eid is now placed as the capstone of the arch. A month of daily self-sacrifice has strengthened the bonds of the faithful in a practical manner, and Eid acknowledges this not only by celebrating Ramadan’s closure (Eid al-Fitr means “festival of breaking the fast”) but also thanking Allah for the help and strength in persevering with it.
The trajectory of Ramadan and Eid also recalls, and so renews, the first decisive Muslim victory against the Meccans, at Badr in 624 CE. It solemnises the importance of that event for the future of Islam – sacrifice and triumph woven together and a new future shining on the world.
So, with day-time food forbidden for a month, the dawn of Eid naturally begins with a celebration breakfast. And as one would expect, a great variety of countries and cuisines are reflected in traditional dishes around the world, with innumerable distinctive national and regional specialities.
In India, the delicious mixture of vermicelli and almonds, cardamom, sugar and milk for the universally enjoyed sevaiyan ki kheer is more than just a taste – it is a realisation of a duty fulfilled and a feat achieved– and feats means feasts.
The sweetness – physical and spiritual – that characterises the commencement of Eid has many layered meanings, and the food tastes better because of both the soulful satisfaction and the links back through the generations that traditional dishes embody so well.
In Yemen, the use of eggs, flour and ghee, honey and nigella seeds for the traditional Bint Alsahan – “beauty of the table” – starts with thin layers of doughy pastry baked like a millefuille, topped with more savoury taste in the tiny aromatic black onion seeds; then the honey poured over. It’s a taste of the desert, the mixture of savoury followed by sweetness: a delicacy redolent of the journey’s end and the flavour of arrival.
Bohani in Afganistan, via Persia it is said, again draws its taste from the environment of the country. Being a harsh, mountainous territory, perhaps that is why the sweetness of honey is swapped out for another satisfying mouth sensation: a crunchy, shallow-fried outer of traditional flatbread, folded around a piping hot savoury filling with the aroma of salad onions and coriander leaves, mashed potato for the glucose rush, then sweet peppers. The Afghans like them spicy as well as hot.
In the Sudan, breakfast means sweets and the traditional Eid food, called Aseeda, is often, though not always, taken at lunch. Similar to Italian polenta, and not to be confused with the sweet, West African version (there are many regional variations), it’s made with rye flour and yeast. It forms the base or the plate of the dish, taking its flavour from the tasty dry tomato, meat and okra or onion stew, called naemiyah, served alongside it. The Sudanese eat it with Amar al Deen, an apricot-based syrup.
In Morocco it is (of course) cous cous, with butter and honey, the ingredients for the Eid breakfast pudding of Laasida, or if in Somalia, millet and wheat, for the traditional Cambaabur bread made with onion, garlic, turmeric and fennel, fried on a skillet and sprinkled with fine sugar and yogurt.
In the Eastern Mediterranean, in fact from Iraq, down through Syria and Lebanon and all the way south into Egypt (where Eid begins simply, with a date and a glass of milk), butter-based cookies are the big Eid delicacy. There’s graybeh with either pine nuts or almonds, mamoul with walnuts or dates, klaicha or kahk with a honey-based stuffing, following on from the restrained date and milk in Egypt. If the biscuits cannot be found here – and they are always more likely home-made – the perfect way to satisfy the Eid sweet tooth is to stock the more easily-sourced baklava, which is available now in all its bewildering and impressive species and sub-species.
Every year Eid becomes a bigger deal in the UK. Even the supermarkets have begun to seriously take notice of the end of Ramadan, although with the Muslim pound worth more than £200 million a year, they have been successfully stocking Ramadan goods for several years now, thanks to Noor Ali’s pioneering work, first at Asda and then at Morrison’s. Musadiq Jivra, senior world foods buyer at Asda, has responded to consumer demand by creating an entire aisle of Eid delights, and he readily sees the need for sweets. “We recognise that our customers want to celebrate with both traditional sweet dishes such as rasmalai and falooda, as well as non-traditional treats such as chocolates.”
Rasmalai – literally “juice and cream”, and a delicious Bengali delicacy, is rather like traditional cheesecake filling – not the light, American-style – very smooth; and you can add pistachios and almonds to that recipe, along with the warming spiciness of cardamom. Falooda, on the other hand, is cooling and dates to the arrival of the Mughals in India in the 16th century (they brought with them ice-making tech from the Chinese). Unsurprisingly, falooda is popular all the way down from Nepal to Sri Lanka, as the premier cold dessert of the subcontinent, mixing rose syrup, vermicelli, sweet basil seeds and jelly chunks with milk and often nowadays, though not traditionally, ice cream on top.
One other traditional sweet that Musadiq stocks, alongside the sugar jellies and kulfi ice creams, is gulab jamun, where evaporated milk (khoya) is mixed with flour into a dough, then cannon-balled and deep-fried before being steeped in a syrup of green cardamom and rose-water, kewra – a plant whose flower tastes of rose, hyacinth and honey – or saffron. To a Western palette, the Indian gulab jamun is a bit like a Rum Baba without the rum and the yeast, and irresistible.
After all this deliciousness, a slight warning about overdosing on sugar might be in order. It’s obvious with cakes, sweets and desserts, but not so much with fruit juices. Just because they are made from fruit does not mean they are as healthy as fruit. The natural sugars in apples and pears, apricots, oranges and all the rest, are imprisoned within the fibres of fruit, so when you eat them, the glucose is released slowly into your body.
However, when the fibre is pulverised and strained by juicing, you end up with no fibre and no brakes on the sugar spike. That means the juice will produce an insulin surge as glucose is transported quickly and at once from the liver to the blood cells. Fruit juice is fattening in a way fruit is not – you are also consuming about 10 oranges at once – and it risks Type 2 diabetes when consumed in excess. So eat fruit and drink water, separately sometimes, if you can.
In addition to all the food, feasting involves celebration, and according to the little heard-of but vital experts of Her Majesty’s Nautical Almanac Office, we expect the new crescent moon can be first sighted on the evening of Thursday (14) in the UK, and will be “easily visible”, they say, from sunset at 9.20pm until moonset at 10:56pm. In fact, most of the western hemisphere should be able to spot it then; the rest of the world should see it the next day, on Friday (15), although if you live in far north-eastern Russia, you might have to wait until Saturday (16) night.
In London, the following Saturday, June 23, a big Eid festival with free admittance will take place in Trafalgar Square from noon until 6pm, courtesy of the mayor and the London Assembly, offering an exciting stage line-up, family fun and delicious food.
The same weekend of June 23-24, another Eid celebration will take place at Westfield London in Shepherd’s Bush.
So, happy Eid – or Eid mubarak, Eid sa’id, selamat Lebaran, mutlu Bayramlar, and barka da Sallah.
