Before writing The Arabesque Table, Reem Kassis thought that its predecessor, 2017’s The Palestinian Table, might be her only cookbook. To start with, she didn’t think of herself as a food writer. After she left her home in Jerusalem in 2005, aged 17, she was ambitious, ticking boxes for a fast-track corporate career: a business degree from the University of Pennsylvania; an MBA; a postgraduate degree at the London School of Economics; stints at the global management consultancy McKinsey and the World Economic Forum.

But growing up in a food-obsessed family of excellent home cooks meant her mother had sent her off to university with olive oil, za’atar and instructions to write down everything she made. On moving to the US, then London in 2011, Kassis was surprised how little was known about Palestinian food – and people. Putting together the proposal for what would become her first book also prompted a change of priorities. “There are thousands of people who could do the job that I was doing,” she says, from her home in the suburbs of Philadelphia. “But how many people could be the mother to my children that I am, and also safeguard this culinary treasure and share it with the world.”

The Palestinian Table was nominated for a James Beard award and established Kassis as a new voice in food writing. Its successor continues the theme of telling a larger story through the food she eats – this time a portrait of modern Arab cooking and its evolution.

“The history of Arab cuisine is a story of fusion and cross-cultural interaction,” she says. At home, she adapts traditional Palestinian dishes to ingredients available to her, or tweaks them with changes she’s learned from other cuisines. Across the world, her friends cook in a similar way: a family recipe of spleen evolved into a dish of stuffed chicken thighs (“I mean, go find spleen now.”); an Australian pavlova given a Levantine lift with the addition of orange-blossom cream.

Like her first book, The Arabesque Table is filled with personal stories – her father’s favourite food, shortcuts recently passed on by her mother – but also draws on extensive research, including dishes from some of the earliest cookbooks on record: “I realised that you cannot put out a book like this with integrity if you don’t trace the history of the food.” Most ancient recipes lacked the kind of specific directions we now take for granted, so Kassis had to employ a bit of guesswork when it came to recipe development. Many of them did not feature ingredients now commonly associated with Arab cuisine.

“Today, if you ask someone what they eat at home, across the Middle East, it’s often a grain with a stew on the side, and the stews are, by and large, tomato-based,” Kassis says. Prior to the introduction of tomatoes, stews were thickened with almonds, and vinegar or lemon gave the acidity. “It really is the origin of the ingredients that tell the tale of this food’s evolution,” she says, explaining why the book has been structured by ingredient, rather than types of recipes.

“There are dishes in here from the Gulf, Sudan, north Africa. But it’s a personal book, so inevitably the bulk of the inspiration is going to come from my experience in the Levant and the people who know that cuisine,” she explains. Fatteh are what Kassis calls “an entire concept” of recipes built using toasted pitta – a way to use up old bread and also a way to bulk up a meal – and there are a few in different chapters. The fried aubergine and tomato salad is a reimagined version of a favourite sandwich from her childhood, while the butternut and za’atar version is a new recipe, developed for New England’s seasonal produce glut. Za’atar and tahini balance its sweetness, while pitta provides contrasting texture.

Kassis is currently wondering, as she initially did after The Palestinian Table, whether The Arabesque Table is the end of her work as a writer. After her first book, she felt she had a responsibility to carry on. “I felt compelled to continue,” she says. But for now, Kassis feels she has said all she needs to. Probably. “I do love writing. And it’s never just been about the food, it’s about sharing the stories behind it. So, who knows if something will trigger me in a couple of years?”

Caramelised butternut squash fatteh with za’atar (pictured top)

While I’ve used pumpkins and squash in salads and stews, simply roasted, and even in desserts, my Arab roots rear their head every once in a while, and I can’t resist making a fatteh. Probably born out of poverty as a way to bulk up meals and not let bread go to waste, fatteh relies on stale (now we use toasted) bread as a base for a variety of meats or vegetables topped with sauce and garnish. But even the wealthy used to eat this way as evidenced by the numerous dishes referenced in medieval Arab cookbooks called “thareed”, basically pieces of bread soaked in meat, vegetable, or legumes and their broth. This dish takes that classic concept but applies a seasonal and local twist to it.

Serves 4-6
pitta bread 250g, cut into 2cm squares

For the butternut squash
butternut squash 1 medium (about 750g), peeled and cut into bite-size cubes
red onion 1 large, cut into 16 wedges
olive oil 3 tbsp
salt 1 tsp
freshly ground black pepper ¼ tsp

For the yoghurt sauce
yoghurt 300g
tahini 3 tbsp
fresh lemon juice 2-3 tbsp, to taste
garlic 1 small clove, crushed in a garlic press
salt ¾ tsp

For serving
za’atar 1 tbsp
Aleppo pepper or crushed chilli flakes for sprinkling
pomegranate seeds for garnish (optional)

Preheat the oven to 160C fan/gas mark 4.

Arrange the pitta bread squares on a baking sheet. Bake until the squares are completely dry and crisp and starting to darken in colour, moving the bread around from time to time, about 15 minutes. Remove and set aside. (This step can be done a couple of days in advance and the pitta chips stored in an airtight container or a zipseal plastic food bag.)

For the butternut squash, if the oven is still on, increase the temperature to 220C/gas mark 8); or preheat the oven. Line a baking sheet with parchment paper.

In a bowl, toss together the butternut squash, onion wedges, olive oil, salt and pepper, and spread on the baking sheet. Try to keep the onions hidden between the squash as they cook faster and you do not want them to burn. Roast for 30 minutes, moving the vegetables around once during cooking.

Meanwhile, make the yoghurt sauce. In a bowl, combine the yoghurt, tahini, lemon juice, garlic and salt, and stir until smooth.

To serve, place the bread on a serving platter. Top with the roasted squash and onions and toss gently to distribute evenly. Pour the yoghurt sauce on top and sprinkle with the za’atar blend, Aleppo pepper and pomegranate seeds (if using). Serve immediately.

Fried aubergine, tomato and chilli salad with toasted pitta

Whenever my mother made maqlubeh for us growing up, she would have a platter of fried aubergines off to the side in the kitchen. I would take a few slices, slip them into a pitta bread with some tomatoes and green chillies, then drizzle a very sour tahini sauce on top. It was, and remains, one of my favourite sandwiches of all times. As simple as it sounds, the flavours and textures were sublime. This salad is my take on those childhood sandwiches.

Serves 4 as an appetiser or as part of a spread
white pitta bread 60g

For the sauce
tahini 4 tbsp
yoghurt 2 tbsp
fresh lemon juice 1 tbsp, plus more to taste
salt ¼ tsp, or to taste

For the aubergine
aubergine 1 medium (about 350g)
vegetable oil for deep-frying
salt

For serving
tomato 1 small, finely diced
green chilli 1 small, thinly sliced

Preheat the oven to 160C fan/gas mark 4. Cut the pitta bread into 2cm squares and arrange on a baking sheet. Bake, moving the bread around from time to time, until the squares are completely dry and crisp, and starting to darken in colour, about 15 minutes. Remove and set aside. (This step can be done a couple of days in advance and the bread stored in a zip seal bag or airtight container at room temperature.)

To make the sauce, stir together the tahini, yoghurt, 3 tablespoons of water, the lemon juice and salt in a bowl. Taste and adjust the salt and lemon to your liking. Set aside.

To make the aubergine, halve the aubergine lengthwise, then in half lengthwise again, then cut each strip crosswise into cubes. Pour about 7cm of vegetable oil into a deep-fryer or casserole dish and heat to 180C or until a morsel of bread immediately rises to the surface when dropped in. Pat the aubergine dry with paper towels. Working in batches, fry the aubergine until golden brown, 5-8 minutes. Remove with a slotted spoon and drain on paper towels. Sprinkle with salt.

To assemble, scatter the toasted pitta on a serving platter. Spread the fried aubergine evenly on top. Drizzle the tahini sauce over the aubergine. Top with the diced tomato and chilli. Serve immediately.

Herb, garlic and chilli-stuffed chicken thighs

Little goes to waste in traditional Arab households, especially when it comes to butchering livestock, and my family is no exception. Around the holidays, my mother often made a dish of spleen stuffed with the most piquant garlic and herb filling. As a child, I hated spleen because I found it too minerally, but I would always take a piece of bread and mop up the delicious stuffing that had fallen out into the pan. Here I replicate that filling but with milder, and more easily accessible, chicken thighs for the best of both worlds. The potatoes are optional, but I love the crispness and flavour that come from cooking them alongside the chicken and its rendered fat. The stuffing works just as well with other cuts of meat, such as flank steak or chicken breast, and of course, with lamb offal.

Serves 4-6
For the chicken
chicken thighs 8, bone in, skin on
salt 1½ tsp
olive oil 1 tbsp

For the stuffing
garlic 6 cloves, crushed
red chillies 3 fresh, finely diced
jalapeño peppers 2, finely diced
coriander leaves 15g, finely chopped (see note)
walnut pieces 25g, finely chopped
olive oil 3 tbsp
fresh lemon juice 1 tbsp
ground cumin ½ tsp
salt ½ tsp
ground black pepper ¼ tsp

For assembly
potatoes 450g, cut into wedges
salt and freshly ground black pepper

Pat the chicken thighs dry with paper towels and trim off any straggly bits. Sprinkle all over with the salt. Drizzle with the olive oil, rub all around, and refrigerate for at least 30 minutes and up to overnight.

Preheat the oven to 200C fan/gas mark 7.

To make the stuffing, in a bowl, combine the garlic, both chillies, the coriander, walnuts, olive oil, lemon juice, cumin, salt and black pepper, and mix to combine.

Gently loosen the skin from the thigh meat with your fingers to make a pocket, but make sure the skin is still connected to the meat. Divide the stuffing evenly among the thighs and place it in the pocket between the skin and the meat, pulling the skin so it covers the chicken and stuffing.

Put the potato wedges in a 23cm x 33cm roasting pan and sprinkle lightly with salt. Nestle the thighs between the potato wedges and use any drippings or remaining oil to rub on the potato wedges. Top everything with a few twists of pepper.

Transfer to the oven and roast until the meat is cooked through, the skin is crisp to your liking, and the potatoes are crisped and browned, 45-60 minutes.

Rest for 5 minutes, then transfer to a platter or individual plates and serve.

Note You can replace the coriander with 2 tablespoons of crushed dried herbs, such as za’atar, oregano, marjoram, thyme, dill, etc. If you do, reduce the salt in the stuffing to ¼ teaspoon.

Lentil and vegetable soup with preserved lemon

Almost every family I knew growing up had a lemon tree in their garden. Ours was the star of our garden. In addition to squeezing lemons in season for freezing, my mother, who read widely on food, took to preserving some in salt as she had seen in Moroccan cookbooks. When ready, she would grind all the lemon peels in a food processor and store them in single-serve containers in the freezer, ready to be used at a moment’s notice to liven up a dish. One weekend, when all I had at home was lentil soup – a dish I am not a fan of – I took out one of those containers she had sent home with me and dropped it in. I had never tasted a lentil soup before that I wanted to eat more and more of. So if, like me, lentils are not your best friend, this soup may very well convert you.

Serves 6-8
olive oil 2 tbsp
onion 1, finely chopped
carrots 3 medium, finely chopped
celery 4 stalks, finely chopped
garlic 4 cloves, minced
salt 1 ½ tsp, plus more to taste
ground cumin ½ tsp
freshly ground black pepper ¼ tsp
beluga or puy lentils 225g, picked over and rinsed
fresh spinach or chard 70g, chopped
fresh lemon juice 2 tbsp
preserved lemon rind 2 tbsp, finely minced (see note)
shattah chilli paste (see recipe below) or harissa 1 tbsp (optional)

For the shatta chilli paste (makes about 280g)
fresh red chillies 500g, such as long hots, jalapeños or anaheim
salt 1 tbsp
olive oil 2 tbsp, plus more for sealing

To make the shatta paste, preheat the oven to 100C fan/gas mark ½.

Remove the stems from the chillies and halve each lengthwise. Seed about half of the chillies.

Arrange the chillies cut-side up on a baking sheet and dry out in the oven until the chillies have started to shrivel around the edges, 60-90 minutes. The exact amount of time will depend on the size and variety of chilli you are using, so keep an eye out and adjust accordingly.

Allow to cool completely, uncovered, at least 1 hour and up to 1 day. In a food processor, combine the chillies and salt, and process until coarsely ground. You don’t want it to become a liquid paste, but you also don’t want to see big pieces of pepper skin; it should be somewhere in between. Transfer the chilli paste to a bowl, add the olive oil, and mix until evenly combined.

Pour the chilli mixture into a 450g glass jar or airtight glass container. Gently tap the jar on a soft flat surface to even out the top. Wipe any chilli paste from the edges and drizzle olive oil on top until the surface is fully covered. Seal and store in the refrigerator. Chilli paste will keep for at least 1 month, as long as the surface remains covered in olive oil and you use a clean spoon each time you take some out.

To make the soup, in a casserole, heat the olive oil over medium-high heat. Add the onion, carrots and celery and cook, stirring regularly, until the vegetables have softened and started to brown around the edges, 6-8 minutes. Add the garlic, salt, cumin and pepper, and cook until the garlic is fragrant but not browned, another 2-3 minutes.

Pour in 1.25 litres of water and deglaze any bits stuck to the bottom of the pot. Add the lentils, stir and bring to a boil. Reduce the heat and simmer vigorously until the lentils are tender but still hold their shape, 20-30 minutes depending on the variety.

Stir in the chopped spinach and cook for another minute or so to wilt the leaves. Add the lemon juice, preserved lemon and chilli paste or harissa (if using). Stir to combine, taste and adjust the salt to your liking. (I usually end up adding another ½ teaspoon or so.) Remove from the heat and serve.

Notes The most flavourful part of preserved citrus is the rind. What I generally do at home is pick a variety of lemon with a thick rind, and once it has been preserved and is ready for consumption, I discard the flesh and seeds, grind the rind in a food processor, and store in ice cube trays in the freezer.

An alternative to oven-drying the chillies is to grind them fresh, mix with the salt, and cook on the stovetop over low heat, maintaining a very gentle simmer and stirring periodically, until much of the water has evaporated. Exact time will vary, but somewhere between 20-60 minutes, depending on the chilli variety and its liquid content. It should have the consistency of runny jam or thick tomato sauce when warm, and it will thicken more when cooled. Cool completely before storing in a sterilised jar.

Ouzi rice with lamb, peas and carrots

Ouzi or quzi, an Arabic derivative of the Turkish word for lamb, can mean different things to different cultures across the Middle East. Historically, it referred to a baby lamb stuffed with rice, ground meat and nuts. Nowadays, the word is often used to refer to the rice stuffing itself, which has been adapted to include vegetables and nuts. Surar ouzi is this rice stuffing wrapped in filo or puff pastry and baked. The presentation and ingredients vary from country to country and family to family, but when served with a leg of lamb or roast chicken on top, it is undoubtedly a dish for special occasions that manifests the generosity and hospitality of Arab culture. The recipe here is a much quicker and easier pilaf-style version that can be prepared during the week. We often serve it with yoghurt on the side.

Serves 6-8
For the meat
olive oil 2 tbsp
ghee or unsalted butter 2 tbsp (30g)
onion 1, finely diced
minced lamb or beef, or a combination 500g
nine-spice mix (see below), baharat or Lebanese seven-spice blend 1 tsp
salt 1 tsp
frozen peas and carrots 300g

For the rice
basmati rice 500g, washed until the water runs clear, soaked for 15 minutes, and drained
unsalted chicken stock 1 litre (see note)
salt 1 tbsp
ground turmeric ½ tsp
nine-spice mix (see below), baharat or Lebanese seven-spice blend ½ tsp
slivered almonds and/or pine nuts 110g, toasted or fried
yoghurt for serving

For the nine-spice mix (makes about 125g)
allspice berries 6 tbsp
cassia bark or cinnamon 6 small sticks
coriander seeds 3 tbsp
black peppercorns 1 tbsp
cardamom seeds 1 tsp or 10 whole cardamom pods
cumin seeds ½ tsp
cloves 10 whole
mace 2 blades
nutmeg 1

To make the nine-spice mix, in a large dry frying pan, toast all the spices over medium-low heat until you begin to smell the aroma of the spices, about 10 minutes. Stir with a wooden spoon periodically to ensure the spices do not burn.

Remove the pan from the heat and set aside to cool completely, about 1 hour. This step is crucial because if the spices are not cooled properly, they will form a paste when ground rather than a powder.

Transfer all the roasted spices to a heavy-duty spice grinder and grind until you achieve a fine powder. Store the spice mix in an airtight container. It will keep for several months, although the aroma will fade with time.

In most recipes that call for separate spices, such as allspice, cinnamon, nutmeg and black pepper, you can always add up the total number of teaspoons and substitute with an equal amount of this nine-spice mixture. It will give you a slightly different flavour profile, but will still be quite delicious.

To prepare the meat, in a large frying pan heat the olive oil and ghee over medium heat. Add the onion and cook, stirring occasionally, until translucent and starting to brown, 5-7 minutes. Add the meat, spice blend and salt, and cook, breaking up any lumps with a wooden spoon, until the water has evaporated and the meat is nicely browned, 10-12 minutes. Remove from the heat, add the peas and carrots, and set aside.

To make the rice, in a large pot combine the drained rice, stock, salt (see note), turmeric and spice blend, and bring to a boil. Reduce to a lively simmer, cover, and cook for 5 minutes.

Add the meat and vegetable mixture to the rice, give it a good mix, and taste for seasoning. Cook until the rice is soft but firm to the bite and not so overcooked that it all sticks together, another 10-12 minutes. Check on it once or twice, and if the liquid evaporates entirely before the rice is cooked, add a few tablespoons of water. As a test, when you remove it from the heat, you should still be able to easily stir the rice with a spoon.

Remove from the heat, uncover, and place a thin tea towel over the pot, then securely close the lid again and allow to sit for 15 minutes.

To serve, uncover the pot and fluff the rice up with a large fork, then transfer to a serving platter and top with the toasted almonds. Serve with yoghurt on the side.

Note If your stock already has salt, start with 1 teaspoon of salt on the rice, then taste as it cooks and add more to your liking.

Pistachio cake with orange-blossom ganache

In Arabic, the term for pistachio is fistuk halabi or literally “nut of Aleppo”. Indeed, the pistachio is believed to have originated in Syria and from there made its way across the region and the world. In the Arab world, it is largely consumed roasted and salted as a snack, or used as a filling for sweets like baklava. Here I let the nut shine in a simple cake where the flavour is pronounced because of the amount of pistachios used. Pistachios are often combined with orange blossom water in Arab desserts. I soften the contrast by flavouring a chocolate ganache glaze with orange blossom instead of the cake. It’s a winning combination that’s moist and tender with ample flavour. You can serve it with yoghurt, creme fraiche or ice-cream to cut through the rich, deep flavours.

Makes 1 x 23cm round cake
For the cake
butter to grease the pan
pistachios 200g
plain flour 110g
salt ½ tsp
baking powder 1 tsp
bicarbonate of soda ¼ tsp
eggs 3
sugar 250g
yoghurt 60g
vanilla extract 1 tsp
vegetable oil 120ml (or substitute up to half with good-quality roasted pistachio oil)

For the ganache
double cream 100ml
dark chocolate (at least 55% cacao) 100g, broken into small pieces
orange blossom water 2 tbsp
pistachios 2 tbsp, finely ground

Preheat the oven to 140C fan/gas mark 3. Grease a 23cm round cake pan and line with a round of parchment paper.

In a food processor, combine the pistachios, flour, salt, baking powder and bicarbonate of soda, and pulse until the pistachios are finely ground. Transfer to a bowl.

In the same food processor bowl, combine the eggs, sugar, yoghurt and vanilla and process until combined and pale yellow in colour. Add the oil and continue to process until incorporated. Add the pistachio flour mixture and pulse a few times to combine. Scrape the batter into the prepared pan.

Bake until the top is an even, light golden colour and a skewer inserted in the centre comes out with moist crumbs or clean, 45-60 minutes. The time will vary based on the oven, climate and variety of pistachio, so start checking at 45 minutes.

Cool the cake completely in the pan, then transfer to a wire rack.

To make the ganache, in a small saucepan, heat the cream until it’s about to boil. Remove from the heat, add the chocolate pieces, and let stand for a couple of minutes. Add the orange blossom water and, with a spatula, stir the cream until all the chocolate has melted and the mixture is smooth and shiny. Cover the ganache with clingfilm touching the surface and allow to cool until it is of a spreading consistency, about 2 hours at room temperature.

Using a spatula, spread the ganache on top of the cake. Sprinkle the pistachios in a pattern over the ganache and set aside to cool completely. The cake will keep at room temperature, tightly covered, for a couple of days.

Variation Another winning combination is topping the cake with tahini-flavoured icing instead of ganache. It becomes reminiscent of really good-quality pistachio halva. If you go down that route, simply beat 4 tablespoons (60g) of room-temperature butter in a hand mixer until smooth. Add 80g of tahini and continue to beat until incorporated, then add 30g of icing sugar and a pinch of salt, and continue to beat until light and fluffy. Ice the cake as above.

From The Arabesque Table by Reem Kassis (Phaidon Press Ltd, £24.95). To order a copy for £21.71 go to guardianbookshop.com