sunday, march 9th, 2008

For many of us, our first introduction to phyllo dough is via the beguiling, syrupy seduction of baklava; every bite, cloying, nuanced bliss of endlessly layered sheets of phyllo clinging to each other via amber ribbons of syrup or honey flecked with toasted nuts. It's sticky sweet pastry heaven and a fine way to show off the virtue of phyllo. For many years, my relationship with phyllo dough was a one note affair, and while I am always more than happy to celebrate phyllo's virtues with a baklava fix, it was not until my friend's Moroccan grandmother from Casablanca used the paper thin layers of dough to prepare bisteeya, that I made a commitment to it for life. I appreciated at last its versatility and while my affection for baklava will never wane, I now prefer to incorporate phyllo into savory dishes. Its buttery snap adds dimension to virtually anything and now that I've mastered the phyllo speed test, its many savory possibilities are endless.

Phyllo means "leaf" in Greek and while the Grecians are credited with the creation of phyllo in the paper thin version we know today,  it was initially introduced in Turkey during the Ottoman Empire. This early version of phyllo was first mentioned in the 11th century in the Diwan Lughat-al-Turks, a dictionary of Turkish phrases by Mahmud Kashgari. Early Turkish phyllo was made with the same three ingredients of wheat flour, water and a small amount of oil or butter as it is today. In its earliest manifestation, phyllo dough was much thicker than its modern counterpart, but it retained its flakiness and impressive rise when baked due to the many layers folded into the dough during preparation. This version was similar to puff pastry or strudel dough and today phyllo is still compared to both as they all incorporate the same three primary ingredients and ascend to heavenly feathery heights when baked.
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