Twenty Layers of Phyllo Dough
On Monday, we visited a local “Tea Room and Confectionary,” as the sign on the front windows of the sweet shop indicated. There, we watched a father and son make baklava. Most of my fellow students and friends are aware of my intense love for baklava, and now I plan to share that with you.
I’ve made my own baklava before, and it takes a gentle hand, patience, and an affinity for nuts. I bake a lot, and baklava is by far one of the most difficult desserts I’ve ever made. Watching these two men made me realize how far a lot of practice can go—their movements were quick and efficient.
The baklava I’ve made was not very different than the batch they put together for us: a lot of butter to make the layers of phyllo dough flaky, a lot of sugary syrup, and some handfuls of crushed nuts. But believe me when I say it came out ten times better than anything I could ever construct. And when you make baklava, that’s exactly what you’re doing: building something delicious, layer by layer.
The father and son were kind enough to give all sixteen of us a piece of the finished product. I had two because someone (strangely enough to me) didn’t want their piece. I probably would’ve had three but you’d be amazed how quickly baklava can get very, very rich.
The family’s generosity in sharing not only their craft but also the fruit of their labor is something we’ve seen a lot of here in Cyprus, and it was evident in the type of décor that lined the walls of the confectionary. The shop wasn’t particularly small, but if it had been any smaller it would have seemed cluttered. Pictures lined the walls, and the collection was so seemingly random you knew they were all personal favorites. On one wall was a photograph of a truck overloaded with small children and scrap metal; on another was a lavishly decorated plate from a sweetshop in France.
They had a collection of model cars and a cuckoo clock that didn’t work. Next to the cuckoo clock were photographs of the two men—both from when each was very young, but the pictures hadn’t faded. They also had a few modern school pictures of other children. This was obviously a family establishment held up by the community. We arrived around 8 AM, and by 8:30 the regulars were already stopping by for their coffee and conversation. I hope I continue to be impressed by the generous and close-knit nature of the Cypriot people. For all the hospitality of the southern United States, it’s a different world over here.