Qatayef Asafiri, Ramadan’s Sweetest Treat

Whether to celebrate Ramadan or soothe a longing for home, the highly anticipated dessert is also prepared in U.S. kitchens like that of Suhaila Daoud, a Jordanian home cook who sat down with me on a friend’s patio to discuss the confections over a pot of Turkish coffee. “Being here in this country . . . you miss home,” Daoud said. “[So,] you cook the food, [and] the smell of it reminds you of your mom, of where you grew up, and your childhood.”

Regardless of the cook’s whereabouts, most qatayef batters are made with a blend of nutty-sweet semolina flour, all-purpose flour, milk, a leavener, and aromatic spices such as mahlab (ground cherry seed kernels that evoke bitter almond and stone fruit), ground anise seed, and cinnamon. Fresh, floral rose water and herbaceous, lightly bitter orange blossom water feature prominently, too. I also add a measure of honey for pancakes that taste well balanced on their own as well as with their accompaniments. 

Some recipes lighten the cakes with yeast, others, chemical leaveners. I like a combination of baking powder and baking soda; the acidity from a touch of yogurt helps the latter react. (Fear not if your batter initially seems quite thin; after the standard 30-minute rest, the flour will hydrate and the mixture will thicken.)

The batter is portioned onto a hot griddle or into a nonstick skillet to create disks about 4 inches in diameter. Importantly, the springy cakes are cooked on only one side, until bubbles cover the pale top surface and the bottom is golden brown. These tiny pockets become the moist, tacky suction cups that seal the pancake partway closed and cradle the luscious cream and syrup.

It’s vitally important to not dry out the holey tops of the pancakes: “If you overcook [them], the edges of it will dry up . . . and [they] won’t shut completely,” warned Daoud. Layering the cooked cakes between sheets of parchment paper helps keep them moist so that their pinched edges hold fast.

For the filling, ashta—lush dairy made by boiling raw milk, skimming off the cream that collects on the surface, and then clotting the cream with acid—is traditional. Like the pancakes, the milky ashta is sweetened and infused with spices and intensely floral rose and orange blossom waters.

Arab cooks in the United States often use ricotta or mascarpone in place of ashta. I prefer mascarpone, which is made in a similar way to ashta, by coagulating cream or milk with acid and then cooking it until it reaches a spreadable consistency. The fresh, velvety cheese can be loosened with a little milk, if needed. 

To assemble the dessert, it’s common to spoon some filling onto the honeycombed side of the pancake and then press and partially close its edges around the filling. But I like the efficiency of a pastry bag: Seal the disk into a beak shape first and then use the bag to load the sweet cheese into the opening. 

To finish, I lightly dip the plump pancakes into a bed of crushed pistachios before arranging them prettily on a platter (they’re often plated in a circular pattern like spokes of a wheel); and drizzling them generously with honey. (I favor the simple mellowness of honey over attar, which is typically scented with the same flower extracts contained in the pancakes and filling.)

The vibrant colors, scents, and tastes of these pillowy delights may transport you to a new setting—or offer a chance to taste home again.