Growing Up Baklava
As a child I would circle the dining room table pretending to play while impatiently watching my mother baking in the kitchen, all the while waiting for her to call me over – her “little helper”. How I loved to watch my mother bake, amazed as her delicate hands created culinary works of art. All of this done without the traditional tools of the trade. Nope, you wouldn’t find a measuring cup or spoons in her kitchen, everything done the good ‘ole fashioned way – keen eyes and precise hands.
Often times I would interrupt her to offer my assistance, stirring the pot of gold laden honey with citrus essence and cinnamon sticks churning into that anointing glaze for her infamous baklava. The house would fill with its precious aroma as I peered over the large pot. I would imagine the children marching over from the playground across the street, seduced by the trance of this scrumptious fragrance as though the pied piper himself was leading them back into my mother’s kitchen.
Meanwhile, more deliciousness oozed from the oven smothering my senses with the intoxicating sweet-smelling phyllo dough mixed with a fusion of sugar and mélange of spices… here’s my little piece heaven while growing up and my inspiration to be baker.
This special family heirloom recipe of baklava comes from the Peloponnese part of Greece. It’s easier than it sounds and I hope you enjoy it as much as I have. Here’s the recipe Baklava