Molokhia: Gaza's fragrant, savoury Ramadan 'lucky charm'

Gaza City – Siham Abu Shaaban, 40, never has to think about what she will cook for iftar on the first day of the holy month of Ramadan.

Molokhia is the obvious choice: the thick, earthy stew made with the leaves of the jute mallow plant, is always the “opener” Ramadan meal in Gaza.

It’s a custom that the Abu Shaaban family, like many families in Gaza, treasure. Mothers and grandmothers say molokhia’s green colour inspires optimism and believe it will bring good fortune in the holy month, Siham recounts.

Palestinians in Gaza still hope for a better, greener year every year, in spite of the repeated assaults by Israel they have suffered during recent Ramadans. There have been so many, in fact, that the preparation of molokhia can be at turns ironic and hopeful as Palestinians wonder if it will ward off attacks, this time.

“My husband, my children and I adore molokhia. I used to hear my grandmother saying molokhia is one of the dishes that [brings] blessings,” Siham tells Al Jazeera as she picks molokhia leaves off the stalks.

The mother of four makes molokhia throughout the month, not just for her children and husband but also for her mother, father and two sisters.

“It’s part of the custom to have family gatherings in Ramadan, so when I invite my family over and propose a menu, my father insists that molokhia has to be on the table, along with the main meal,” she says.

On the first day of Ramadan – or any other day molokhia is making an appearance – Siham’s husband goes to market to buy fresh jute mallow. Then, Siham and her mother spend a few hours picking the leaves and cleaning them, after which she chops them by hand until they are a soft paste with just enough leafy flecks showing. Finally, she cooks the molokhia with garlic and meat or chicken.

“I grind molokhia by hand using a makhrata,” Siham says, referring to a double-handled knife with a curved blade, similar to the Italian mezzaluna.

Many people now use a food processor to whiz up the leaves, but Siham says she prefers doing everything by hand because “manual grinding has a special taste”.

Every family in Gaza has its own way of cooking molokhia. Most prefer a finely-chopped version that makes a thick soup, while others cook the leaves whole, adding meat and nuts for a dish called molokhia borani.

However it is cooked, molokhia is served alongside other Ramadan specialities like Gazan fatta (toasted saj bread soaked in meat or chicken broth, topped with white rice and chunks of meat or chicken), maqlouba (meat, veggies and rice cooked in layers then flipped to serve) and musakhan (chicken roasted with sumac and nuts, all served on layers of olive oil-soaked taboon bread).

Siham likes to serve her molokhia with fresh-baked bread, vegetables, rice and grilled chicken.

“Most Gazans, including my family and I, prefer to eat molokhia by dipping it with fresh, home-baked bread,” she says.

Siham is adding other Gazan delicacies to the table: falafel stuffed with onions and sumac, hummus, sambousak, soup and “Ghazzawi salad”.

“Ghazzawi salad is another queen on the table, beside the molokhia,” Siham explains as she preps the ingredients. “[It’s] crushed tomatoes, hot green peppers, salt and lemon [and] is served exclusively with molokhia.”

Siham’s father, Jamal Abu Shaaban, is waking up from a nap to prepare the salad as he likes it, starting with a clay bowl.

“Salad has no taste if it is not prepared in a pottery bowl. This is an authentic Ghazzawi ritual,” Jamal insists as he grinds tomatoes in a mortar and pestle.

In Siham’s home, as in nearly every household in Gaza, it is the father who makes the salad. Jamal uses plenty of Palestinian olive oil, green pepper, dill seeds and lemon in his.

It was “absolutely perfect”, she says about her experience of making molokia for the first time.

“Molokhia has a special place in my heart. It is the first dish I tried to cook and succeeded from the first attempt,” she explains as she pours rice into a pot.

“After which I moved on to cooking all traditional Palestinian dishes, as well as other oriental and western food, in addition to sweets.”

Her passion led her to take cooking courses and last year she joined a local culinary association for chefs and cooks in Gaza.

During Ramadan, the association started cooking for poor families in the Gaza Strip, working together to cook, package and distribute food.

“I’m so happy to be a part of this beautiful initiative. The poverty rate among families in Gaza is very high and we need social solidarity, especially in Ramadan,” Siham says.

“I divide my time between volunteering at the cooking initiative and home and preparing iftar for my family,” she adds, glancing at her watch to see that the time for Maghrib prayers and iftar is just half an hour away.

Siham and her family – mother, father, sister, and husband – all hustle to get iftar on the table, working around and beside each other like bees in a hive, adding finishing touches and carrying dishes to the table set on their roof terrace. All except for one.

Molokhia has two essential, near-magical moments in its life cycle. The first is when the ground leaves are added to just the right amount of bubbling stock and stirred gently to make sure they don’t sink to the bottom of the pot. If the leaves are prepared wrong or there’s too much or too little stock or the stars are not aligned, they will separate and the molokhia hasn’t worked.

The second decisive moment, admittedly a more dramatic one, is the “tashsha” moment, which Siham says has come. The tashsha is named after the “tshshshshsh” sound made when piping hot garlic and ground coriander fried in ghee are tipped into the simmering molokhia and the aroma in the kitchen changes from earthy to mouth-wateringly savoury.

“Tasha takes the taste of molokhia to another place. It is impossible to taste molokhia without it,” the passionate cook says as the sounds and smells of fried garlic waft through the air.

The sun is about to set, and the iftar table is almost ready, waiting for the star to arrive as Siham pours molokhia into bowls just a few minutes before iftar so it stays hot.

Everyone sits around the table, as the call to prayer rises in the neighbourhood, announcing the time for iftar and the end of a day of fasting. The family breaks their fast with a glass of water, while Siham’s mother pours out bowls of soup and distributes bread to everyone.

As is typical of mothers, Siham is last to sit at the table: she was putting the finishing touches on two roasted chickens that had just come out of the oven.

Soon, everyone is singing the praises of her cooking, wishing Siham “sufra aamra dayman” (a plentiful table for always) in between bites of perfectly tender chicken and spoonfuls of fragrant, savoury and oh-so-green molokhia.

Once the meal is devoured and prayers are performed, everyone pitches in again to clean up and soon Siham’s father motions to her to put the coffee on.

“Coffee is sacred after iftar,” he says with a laugh.

Siham prepares the coffee and pours it into a dallah – a traditional coffee pot used throughout the Arab world – and serves it with a selection of chocolate-covered dates and nuts that she made herself.

“I adore these family moments and meetings. Family is a blessing. I always pray that Ramadan passes calmly without disturbances,” she adds wistfully, sipping her coffee.