Monthly Archives: April 2012

This post is dedicated to my dear Eema (mother in Hebrew) and to my dear sisters, who don’t understand why it has taken me so long to publish this recipe.

My family and I have been eating these bread rolls almost every Shabat dinner since the day I was born. None of us can fully enjoy the Moroccan feast without these traditional rolls. Especially the endless variety of Moroccan cooked salads that my mother makes every week for Shabat, like the famous Matbucha (long and slow cooked tomatoes salads with spicy peppers and garlic), the Spicy Carrot Salad, the beet salad, the Babaganush, and the Eggplant with Oven Roasted Green Peppers and Scallion.

When I was a kid, I loved watching my mother and grandmother’s hands stretching, flattening and pressing the dough quickly, in an amusing confident manner. Then later rolling and braiding it effortlessly into beautiful shapes. They both used to give me a small piece of dough so I could roll my own roll. I was especially fascinated by my grandmother’s mumblings and tears over the dough. She used to rip twelve small pieces of the dough, mumble something, then combine all the pieces into a mini round roll that was forbidden to eat. It’s called Truma (donation in hebrew), a jewish tradition. It was a small sacrifice to God, an expression of gratitude. I asked her once why she was sad when she made the bread and she said, “I was not sad, I was happy”.

Later in life I learned that the mumblings were prayers for her family’s health, bliss, and abundance. The tears were “tears of contentment”. After making the bread rolls on my own for the first time, I experienced what my grandmother felt for myself. Even today, no matter how many breads I make, I still feel excitement and anticipation. Something about the process makes me feel alive and vital. Then when it comes out of the oven and we all sit around the table and eat it together, I feel grateful. Grateful for everything in my life, but mostly grateful to be my mother’s daughter.

Bread has always been and still is very sacred to my family. My grandmother used to tell us to never throw bread away. She used to keep it in a plastic bag and give it to birds or other animals. And even when she gave it to the animals; she would kiss it and place it gently on the ground as if it was a living thing. When I was a kid, kissing bread seemed very weird and crazy to me but I was afraid if I didn’t, something bad would happen to me. So I did, quickly and discreetly. At sixteen, I officially stopped kissing bread. I still feel guilty about throwing bread away, so once in a while I find myself kissing it for good bye. Continue reading →