A Christian Seder–the day of preparation

Today is the day of preparation. It is the day the linens are washed and ironed. The “good” dishes are pulled out of storage and given a good look-over. Are there chips? Cracks? Are there enough? Once that good work is done, it’s on to the rest. And by the rest I mean the cooking and the cleaning. Thankfully, my mother is here to do the cleaning part for me, freeing me up to do what I do best. And today that is making the Baklava, which is the dessert I always serve after the Seder.

There is something wonderful about a routine. A tradition. I’ve learned that. That a tradition is just a habit you’ve stuck with. And thankfully, this is one we’ve stuck with. For going on twenty years, we’ve done this Seder in one form or another. Sometimes it is at church, in the fellowship hall surrounded by dozens of people. Most times it is in our home with twelve people or less. One of my favorite years was when it was just nine of us. The weather was fine so we were outside, and that was the year we used one of our own lambs for the meal and the others were in the field behind us baahing away. It brought it home in a way it never had been before.

This year there will be fifteen. A slightly larger number. I am looking at the weather forecast closely, always hoping for an opportunity to recreate the time mentioned above. We’ll see.

But that is a task for tomorrow. Today is about ironing. And thawing the lamb, rubbing it with olive oil and garlic and rosemary so it can sit overnight in the fridge in those good juices. And it’s also about making that Baklava.

And this is how it is done.

One pound of nuts (any kind you like—this year I went with just walnuts. Some years I use a blend including almonds, or pecans or pistachios) are chopped loosely fine and lightly roasted. Once they’re cool, they’re tossed in a teaspoon of Ceylon cinnamon and set aside. Two sticks of butter are melted and also set aside. A nine by thirteen-inch cookie sheet is buttered and yes, you guessed it, set aside. This recipe is all about the prep work.

On the Farm, we use premade filo dough. You can get all fancy and make your own (as I hope to do one day, but since I’ve been at this for twenty years, I doubt I’ll start changing it up now). Usually, a box comes with two packages of wrapped dough; only one will be needed. Now, before you open that box, a warning. Filo dough is very persnickety. If it gets one taste of fresh air it will crumble right up on you. So, again, this is all about being prepared. A dish towel is lightly moistened with water. Lightly. And placed on top a sheet of plastic wrap. This will go on top of the filo dough the second it’s unwrapped and will stay there each moment it’s not in use. Just so we’re clear, it goes like this: filo dough, plastic wrap, slightly damp towel.

Alright. Now we’re ready to begin.

It works best with two sets of hands; one for uncovering the filo dough, setting the sheet, and quickly recovering all, and one for slathering on the butter. But this year, it will just be me doing the making, so I will have to be quick.

And that is how it is done. A sheet of dough is placed, slathered, another and so on and so forth until a good base is formed, about five sheets in all. Some of the nut mixture is sprinkled evenly of the prepared dough. Another sheet of dough is applied over that. Now, watch yourself here. It doesn’t have butter to anchor it down, it’s likely to slide all over the place when you try to slather.

This process is repeated until only five sheets of dough remain (these will be used for the top layer). So, it goes like this: five layers of dough (with butter between each) nuts, three layers of dough (with butter between each), nuts, and on and on, until it’s finished with five layers of dough, yes, with butter between each.

Finally, the rectangle of deliciousness is tidied up a bit in the way of a chef’s knife trimming all the edges to make a right, proper, and straight rectangle. Another thing about Baklava: it’s cut before it’s baked, so while you’ve got your knife out, get cutting: eight along the wide end, four along the narrow (for those of you who love math, that gives you thirty-two servings). You can cut those squares in half, making triangles, which is the traditional way it’s done.

It’s placed in a preheated three-hundred-and-fifty-degree oven and baked for forty to fifty minutes, or until it gets all toasty and golden. Or your house smells like Heaven. Either one.

While it’s cooking, a cup of sugar, a half cup of honey and three quarters cup water are set in a saucepan and brought to a boil. It’s kept on boiling for four minutes, at which time the heat is turned off and the whole thing set aside. As soon as the Baklava comes out of the oven, the syrup is poured over all. It will sizzle and spatter a bit, but that’s part of the fun. It’s left by itself to cool completely before serving or covering, otherwise you’ll have a gooey mess on your hands, and who wants that

And never. Never. cover it. That will take away all that crispiness. Instead, I set it in the cooled oven overnight. I just have to make sure I remember to take it out tomorrow, before I heat that oven up for that lamb.  

Until then-