Baklava Meets Java, Part 1

This blog is titled "Baklava Java" for one great reason (and possibly a handful of lesser ones). It is named after my most perfect dessert experience. It wasn't just one single experience; there have been nearly countless times I have enjoyed that lovely Middle Eastern couple. The beautiful Baklava, with her exotic perfume of rose, lemon and pistachio. The strong, dark and bold Java, with his crisp cologne of charcoal, lemon and honeysuckle. When they joined us for dinner, all eyes watched them, coveted them. They were dessert royalty.

I first met them in the early 1980s, in Pasadena, California. On Lake Avenue, near the intersection of California Boulevard, hides a small restaurant called "Burger Continental". It's a crappy name for a memorable place with wonderful food. Sort of like the old nickname truckers would give a truck stop: the choke 'n puke. Behind the restaurant was a garden area open to the stars, with lights wound through the tree branches, and tables and chairs set up. On a shirtsleeve Pasadena evening there wasn't a better place to linger over a glass of wine. They had a dinner there called the Armenian Feast, which featured a first course of Armenian salads and breads. Taboulis, olive salads, dolmas, pickled cucumbers and more covered the table.

Many were the neophytes and foolhardy who thought this was the Armenian Feast. They looked uneasy when the table was cleared. they looked dismayed when the main course arrived: various grilled meats (lamb, chicken, beef) layered over the top of a mound of rice pilaf, all covered by warm pita bread soaking up the delectable meat juice. Dismay would turn to chagrin. Then chagrin to just grins. By the time all this was eaten, most diners would just look for a soft place -- perhaps a pile of uneaten pitas -- to lay their head and nap. But this was where things got interesting for me. Because I had a secret weapon: a dessert stomach.

Not everybody is blessed with one. Oh, most people have a rudimentary one that kicks in once a year, somewhere between the sage dressing and the pumpkin pie. It lies dormant, much like their subconscious. For me, no matter how full I am, there is always room for dessert. Especially if dessert is baklava. (Or pie, but that is another posting. Stay tuned....)

The Burger Continental's default dessert was a white sheet cake. You had to actually request the baklava. After nibbling on crisp baklava and sipping strong black coffee under the stars just once, you never went back to the sheet cake. Back then all this came to about $12 a person. Now it's just under $20. But it's been a quarter century; they're entitled.

Years passed, not all of them in Pasadena. Regretful of not having authentic baklava at hand, and resistant to paying $2 or more for a tiny diamond of often not very good pastry, I started making my own. Thanks to a childhood friend, Beth, and her foolproof recipe, I never had a bad batch. I don't know the recipe's provenance, but she named it "Baklava That Will Make You Cry". And it does.


Baklava That Will Make You Cry
The Sauce
3 Cups sugar
1 ½ Cups water
2 Tablespoons lemon juice
2 to 3 teaspoons rose water

Combine all ingredients in a large, heavy saucepan. Bring to a boil, stirring frequently. Reduce heat. Once mixture boils and sugar is dissolved, do not stir or syrup may cloud or crystallize. Cook, uncovered, over medium-low heat to 212-218 degrees F. (100-102 C.). At this temperature, syrup dropped from a cold metal spoon will fall in a sheet. Remove from heat. Add two or more teaspoons rose water (optional, but that's what makes the baklava good). Cool. While it is cooling, work on the Dry Ingredients.

The Dry Ingredients
3 Cups finely chopped walnuts
1 Cup finely chopped pistachios
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
½ teaspoon ground allspice
½ teaspoon ground nutmeg
¼ teaspoon ground clove
¼ teaspoon ground cardamom
¼ Cups sugar
40 filo sheets (about 2 lbs.), refrigerated
2 Cups unsalted butter, clarified

Lightly butter a 13 X 9 baking pan. Set aside. In a medium bowl, combine nuts, cinnamon, allspice, nutmeg, clove, cardamom and sugar. Set aside. Stack filo sheets on a flat surface. Trim to fit pan. Cover with plastic wrap or a damp cloth to prevent drying out.

Clarify butter by heating until melted, either over a low heat or in a microwave. Skim milk fat off the surface and discard. Also discard butter sediment on bottom of container.

The baklava will have five layers of multiple filo dough sheets, between which will be four nut mixture layers. Layer 10 filo sheets in a baking pan, brushing each sheet with clarified butter. Spread one cup nut mixture over layered filo sheets. Top with 7 more filo sheets, brushing each with clarified butter. Spread one cup nut mixture. Layer 6 more filo sheets, brushing each with clarified butter. Spread one cup nut mixture. Layer 7 more filo sheets, brushing each with clarified butter. Top with 10 remaining filo sheets, brushing each with clarified butter. Brush top sheet with remaining clarified butter.

Cutting all the way through pastry, cut into diamond shapes approximately 1-inch wide, without removing from pan. Bake approximately 30 minutes at 350 degrees F. Reduce heat to 200 F. Bake approximately 30 minutes longer or until golden brown. Pour cooled syrup over warm pastry. Let stand several hours before serving, to let liquid mixture soak into pastry. Serve at room temperature.

Next, pastry meets coffee. Romance ensues.