archestratus

Yes, I think qedid is similar to kadid, the Tunisian dried meat preserve I think dersa is brains or some other kind of innard. ← Qadid and kedid are the same thing--transliteration problems again. This is how Kazmirski defines it: pieces of meat cut into long strips, spiced, and dried in the sun, then salted and conserved (Kaz. II: 683). Dirsa, which I wrote about in "Feast," is chile-based hot sauce.

Adam, here is the recipe, from Scappi. This isn't a direct translation but the gist of it. Per fare una vivanda di semolella con diverse altre materie alla moresha chiamata sucussu How to make a semolina food with diverse things in the style of the Moors called “sucussu” (couscous) [book II, Cap, 153, p. 65] The couscous is made by rubbing together semolina and white flour to form grains moistening with water. It is left to dry for an 1 1/2 hours and one uses almond oil or olive oil for rubbing. It’s made in a pignata di terra (an earthenware stew pot that looks like the bottom portion of a couscoussiere) with fatty beef, wether back meat, salted pork throat, capon, all cut up. It is cooked in water and when the meats are almost cooked one adds Milanese style yellow cervellate (a kind of sausage), and pepper, and cinnamon, and saffron, and finishs the cooking. The semola is placed in another stew pot and it is cook by steaming over the meat broth. This could take two hours. After cooking the couscous it is piled on a plate and it is sprinkled with grated cheese, sugar and cinnamon. The meat is served on top, along with some fresh butter and spoonfuls of broth. It is covered with another large plate and let to rest for 1 hour. Chefzadi might recognize this dish from the sixteenth century Italy as it looks very similar to a contemporary Algerian couscous. ← Thank you very much, I have wanted to know what this recipe looked like for some time. English translations of Scappi seem impossible to come by. Actually, it looks very good and quite contempory to some extant dishes as you mentioned. Does the sausage contain brains? The still use an earthenware pignata for stews around Nice, I think that it is called a poelon in Provence. ← There are no English tranlslations of Scappi, excepting a recipe here and there that appear in some "historical" cookbooks. Cervellata is today a sausage from Milan made or pork sirloin, pork and veal fat, pork brains, Parmesan cheese, saffron, nutmeg and maybe some other spices and I imagine it's pretty much close to how it was made 500 years ago.

Like Russ, I too am an accidental cookbook writer. My advice to anyone wanting to be a cookbook writer is to see a psychiatrist. Seriously, you simply must love writing and cooking, with the emphasis on writing. And you must be passionate about something--not just "food" or "cooking." It must be something very specifiable--and very unique. It would also help to have a mentor or at least someone to encourage you. For me that was two women, Paula Wolfert and Nancy Harmon Jenkins. I contacted Paula back in the 80s, out of the blue, as I didn't know her, but whose books I loved and respected enormously. I told her that I wanted to write a book on "the Arab influence on Sicilian cuisine." A professor friend of mine said "sounds like a dissertation topic." Paula had nothing but encouragement and set me on my way. A few years later Simon and Schuster published Cucina Paradiso: the Heavenly food of Sicily" and the New York Times chose it as one of their 10 best cookbooks for 1992. What else could a cookbook writer ask for? Well plenty. I have written 12 books now, 10 of them cookbooks. The first two books were on history and foreign policy (another life). You absolutely need an agent. Not only can they get you more money, but they do know everyone in the bizz and they can do all the schmoozing that you don't have time for because you are writing your cookbook and holding down that other job where your real money comes from. An agent can also run interference when shit happens. Today, it's different than years ago. You need a "platform" as they say in the bizz. Russ has his as a journalist, others have restaurants, or TV shows. But I don't want a restaurant and I don't want a TV show. A few years ago I did a guest show with Sara Moulton and my mom gave me some advice, indicating what she thought of food network--"don't act like an asshole." Well, if you're doing tv you have to act like an asshole. About print runs: they don't mean anything. The only thing that means anything is the check you get. Of my 12 books only 2 have sold out (earned back their advance), "Real Stew" and "Mediterranean Feast." Mediterranean Feast was published in 1999, won two James Beard awards in 2000 including Cookbook of the Year and was nominated by IACP for Cookbook of the Year. None of this made a blip in sales. "Feast" just earned out a month ago, 6 years after publication. I'm happy. But don't let any one tell you not to do it if you love doing it. Just be realistic--you better have a pretty good portfolio of stocks and mutual funds to provide you income. Ideally, and this is something I did in the 90s that was great, but don't think I can pull it off now, is to be under contract for more than one book at a time. I signed to do Mediterranean Feast in 1993 and got a big advance for it. But in the intervening years I whip out several other non-historical cookbooks that helped pay some of the rent. Keep figuring your angle--and remember the future very well might be found in the Internet. You can't convince me that it's going to be on the Food Network.

Adam, here is the recipe, from Scappi. This isn't a direct translation but the gist of it. Per fare una vivanda di semolella con diverse altre materie alla moresha chiamata sucussu How to make a semolina food with diverse things in the style of the Moors called “sucussu” (couscous) [book II, Cap, 153, p. 65] The couscous is made by rubbing together semolina and white flour to form grains moistening with water. It is left to dry for an 1 1/2 hours and one uses almond oil or olive oil for rubbing. It’s made in a pignata di terra (an earthenware stew pot that looks like the bottom portion of a couscoussiere) with fatty beef, wether back meat, salted pork throat, capon, all cut up. It is cooked in water and when the meats are almost cooked one adds Milanese style yellow cervellate (a kind of sausage), and pepper, and cinnamon, and saffron, and finishs the cooking. The semola is placed in another stew pot and it is cook by steaming over the meat broth. This could take two hours. After cooking the couscous it is piled on a plate and it is sprinkled with grated cheese, sugar and cinnamon. The meat is served on top, along with some fresh butter and spoonfuls of broth. It is covered with another large plate and let to rest for 1 hour. Chefzadi might recognize this dish from the sixteenth century Italy as it looks very similar to a contemporary Algerian couscous.

I noticed above that the anise-based Arab and Turkish liqueur know as arak or raki is said to derive from the Arabic word for "perspiration." Although that is one of the meanings of the Arabic word ('araq) the proper meaning of the word 'araq in this case, actually 'irq, is "root or stem of a plant" ['irq] and in fact and specifically "'irq sus" - licorice root. The earliest use of the word that I am familiar with comes from Ibn al-Baytar (1197-1228) who was the foremost medieval Ismlamic botanist and systematizer of pharmacological knoweldge.

Well, let me chime in as long as we're discussing Cucina Paradiso. The whole notion of "influence" in a cuisine is fraught with difficulty because cuisines do not evolve in isolation. This is a problem I found in researching the book on Sicily. When we speak of "Arab" influence or "Greek" side of the island, these expressions should rightly be in quotes because they almost have no meaning. Remember that Sicilian food is unique and its evolution has occured as a result of all of its invaders so one cannot really untangle the web. But one can make generalized comments and create aritficial markers as I attempted to do in Cucina Paradiso. The criteria I used were 1) folkloric: those dishes considered by Sicilians themselves to be part of what they call "cucina arabo-sicula." 2) linguistic evidence. One needs to be careful with linguistic evidence, but generally when one comes across a dish called sfinci (a kind of fritter) and learns that it is directly derived from the Arabic word, then one can legitimately call the dish "Arab." One silly critic said of my choice of one dish in Cucina Paradiso that contained tomatoes, "well, there were no tomatoes" when the Arabs ruled Sicily. Well, she missed the point entirely. I was talking about "influence" not directly derived dishes--there are none. And even the couscous in Sicily may not derive from tenth century Arabs in Sicily, but may very well be related to a much later time. About mosaics in Tunisia: I have have done some research on this, both when I've been in Tunisia and through archival research. I found no evidence of a couscous pot depicted in mosaics. If someone does have a depiction they should post it.

Chefzadi, your commentary on Algerian food is invaluable. As both Paula and I can attest, there is very little written about Algerian food and even food writers know next to nothing about it. Interspersing your comments with some Algerian history is also excellent. I think there are probably few Americans who could do the same with the history of their region.

Mashraq? Are you referring to the Arab countries East of the Maghreb? ← Maghrib means "West" in Arabic, and Mashraq means "East." The geographical area known as the Maghrib referes to Morocco, Algeria, Tunisia, and sometimes Libya. The Masraq refers to Palestine, Syria, Jordan, Lebanon and the rest of the Arab countries to the East of Egypt.

Sorry I’ve come late to this fascinating discussion, but I visit infrequently. I noticed somewhere a comment by chefzadi about my book A Mediterranean Feast (William Morrow, 1999) and some posting on my web site www.cliffordawright.com. Unfortunately, I can’t find it again so I don’t know if I’m responding to the right thing. But concerning the mixing of butter and cinnamon in couscous in Algeria: so much of my sources on modern Algeria comes from Algerian friends, and especially the ones who cook. The friend who told me that about couscous was interestingly from Setif. It was confirmed by another friend from Tlemcen. But their generalized comments may very well have been misplaced especially if they were talking about how their families did it rather than a larger population. Anyway, below are some commments I’df like to make based on the entire history of the thread. “The provinces of Algeria are called Wilaya.” This word wilaya derives from the Turkish vilayet which, although it is originally an Arabic word, is what the Ottoman provinces were called, adminstered by a vali. This is menitoned to confirm the Turkish influence more so than the Arab as mentioned elsewhere. “Berbers developed the art of couscous.” I would like to refer readers to http://www.cliffordawright.com/history/couscous_history.html on the history of couscous where I delved into this question in some depth. (This is from my A Mediterranean Feast). Note that the fact that the name (couscous) is given with the Arabic article al- is a flag to the linguist that the original couscous preparation probably was not an Arab dish, but a Berber dish, because the Arabic words siksu, kuskus, and kusksi, which all mean “couscous,” do not take the article. There is little in the way of archeological evidence of early use of couscous, mainly because the kiskis was probably a basket made from organic material set over a marmite-like terracotta bottom vessel and never survived. Some shards of a marmite-like vessel have been found in the medieval Muslim stratum at Chellala in Algeria, but the dating is difficult. On Red Beard: Better known as Barbarossa, the infamous pirate, I refer readers to the section “Pirates” beginning on page 455 of my A Mediterranean Feast. He wasn’t Turkish, but Greek, who took the name Khayr al-Din, and who became known as Barbarossa by Western Europeans. On seviche: In the entry “ceviche” (or seviche) Alan Davidson in his Oxford Companion to Food claims that the word derives from the Latin. This is incorrect. Ceviche or seviche is nothing but a Mediterranean method of preserving raw fish. The Latin American Spanish word seviche or ceviche comes from the Iberian Spanish escabeche, also called schebbeci in Sicily, a word that means “marinated fish.” The Arabs ruled both Spain and Sicily for centuries, and as a result the word escabeche can be traced to the dialectal Arabic word iskibaj, which the great lexicographer Joan Corominas of the University of Chicago describes as deriving from the older sikbâj, meaning “a kind of meat with vinegar and other ingredients.” For a long critical review of Oxford Companion I refer readers to my forthcoming critique in the next issue of the scholarly journal Food and Foodways. “The Italian immigrants were mostly Sicilian and we know how much the Arabs influenced the cooking there. You see in this part of the world, what goes around comes around.” This is an excellent point and is, in a way, the central theme of A Mediterranean Feast, in other words “what goes around comes around.” On the French influence on Algerian cooking: I would like to add, salads, especially salads with lettuce. The following is from A Mediterranean Feast. I would be pleased to hear any criticisms or corrections offered by readers. [i have removed all diacriticals from Arabic words. This piece has endnotes which I have not included; to see the end notes please see the book] The Intricacies of Algerian Cuisine Algerian food is characterized by the interplay of European and Arab influences. The shakhshukha, barraniyya, couscous, and skewered foods are inherited from the Arabs, Berbers, and Turks, whereas the soups, mixed salads, and some desserts are European influenced. The group of dishes known as shakhshukha are vegetables cooked with lots of eggs stirred into them. They derive from a Turkish dish made with bell peppers, onions, and eggs called saksuka. The category of dishes known as barraniyya are breaded or floured vegetables or meat that are fried with oil and cooked in a sauce. The word barraniyya comes from the Arabic root word meaning “to surround.” Another group of dishes are cooked a la “shatitha,” a word that means “that which dances,” implying that the sauce is so piquant it makes the food jump in your mouth or that it jumps in the skillet, since it is cooked like a fricassee. The two main cooking methods in Algerian cuisine are simmering and braising, although the others, such as boiling and grilling are, of course, used also. Two kinds of sauces are used, maraqat hamra, red sauce, and maraqat bayda’, white sauce. Sauces are not usually made separate from the meal, as they are in French cuisine. Some sauces use aghda, an emulsifier or binding agent made from finely chopped egg whites and other ingredients. The Algerian white sauces are not the same as classic French sauces for they do not contain milk. They can be differentiated into three kinds. First, the white sauce that is called “white sauce”, maraqat bayda’, that is made with a base of butter or oil and seasoned with onion, black pepper, cinnamon, ginger, saffron, or turmeric, is used with couscous or meat cooked with vegetables. The maraqat hilwa, or sweet sauce, is also made from butter and seasoned with cinnamon, saffron, and honey or sugar and is used for sweet dishes. The third white sauce, muhammar, or roasting sauce (although it’s derived from the Arabic word for red), is a butter- or samna-based sauce seasoned with onion, cinnamon sticks, and saffron and is used for roasting or spit-roasting meats. Among the red sauces is maraqat hamra, red sauce, with a base of red bell peppers seasoned with black pepper, salt, and cinnamon, which is used for meat, offal, couscous, and vegetables. Maraqa bi’l-tumatish is Algerian-style tomato sauce with a base of tomatoes, onions, and garlic seasoned with black pepper and cumin. It is typically used with fish, meat, and on pasta, rice, fried fish, and French fried potatoes. Shatitha (that which dances), is also a word that means red pepper; it is a hot chili sauce seasoned with garlic, caraway, and cumin, and is used for fish and meat. The fourth of the red sauces is the musharmala, which is also a highly seasoned sauce for fish or meat, but more so, and contains vinegar or lemon juice. In each of these sauces the cook seasons in accordance with his or her own taste using a variety of other herbs or spices. In eastern Algeria, one finds hot red pepper sauces and sweets made with honey or dates. In the central part of Algeria, white sauces and breaded or floured fried meats are found along with desserts made with almonds, such as maqrud, lozenge-shaped pieces of semolina and almonds. In the west, veloute sauces that are slightly sweet predominate. The two great culinary centers of Algeria are Constantine and Tlemcen, which was influenced by Muslim-Andalusi. Other major culinary centers are Algiers, Bejaia, Sétif, and Oran. A favorite Algerian spice is cayenne pepper, a New World spice, while other common spices in Algerian cuisine are black pepper, cumin, ginger, fennel, caraway, aniseed, wild parsley, mint, cinnamon, and cloves. Many dishes involve long simmering. The culinary complexity of Algeria is like that of Italy, but because of its remoteness for many Westerners, not to mention the terroristic civil war that erupted in the early 1990s and targeted foreigners, very little is known about Algerian cuisine. There are fascinating preparations that I have only heard about--for example, the Algerian dish of cumin- and saffron-rubbed whole lamb shoulder wrapped in cheesecloth and placed in the upper portion of a couscousiere where it is steamed for a day. My friend Nacim Zeghlache described a dish from Sétif of semolina balls stuffed with minced onions and cooked in a sauce of onions and tomatoes, but a man who lived in a village thirteen miles away had never seen or heard of it and asked if the semolina balls grew on trees. Also near Sétif, in the high plains where wheat is grown, farmers store their hard wheat in silos. After a while the wheat adhering to the walls begins to ferment and the farmers’ wives scrape it off and cook it. They call this silo-scraped fermented wheat mashruwwbat, the plural of the word for alcoholic refreshment, and its odor is curiously similar to that of Gruyere cheese, which may be not too far-fetched an explanation for the popularity of that Swiss cheese in Algiers. As far as cheese goes, the people of the Maghrib do not have a large repertoire of cheeses, although they do have high-quality white cheeses such as a soft Algerian cheese with an artichoke heart in the middle. Couscous is a staple food. Masfuf is an Algerian-style couscous that is steamed over broth. Little bits of carrots and peas are sauteed separately in butter and turn into the steamed couscous. Algerians are also fond of couscous with curdled milk. A larger couscous grain is known as burkukis, what the Tunisians call muhammas, basically a pasta ball. Algerian seafood cookery is found along the coast. The catch is small, but the little that is caught is excellently prepared, the most common fish being the gilt-head bream. Sardines and grouper are also popular. On mazza, mezze, and kemia (kimia or kimiya): all the same thing. Mazza and mezze are simply two different transliterations of the same word. Kemia is what some Algerians have told me is the Algerian version of mazza: it’s curious that chefzadi hasn’t heard the word. One reason might be that those Algerians I spoke with were using a dialect word or it comes from a particular community, such as the Jews. On the other hand, he’s right in saying that Algerians know it as meze. Even in America many cosmopolitans are familiar with meze. On falafel: the Copts of Egypt claim falafel as their own, but no one knows the true origins. I’ve never seen falafel west of Egypt. On the Blue men of the desert, the Touaregs. By all means visit the web site link for photos that chefzadi provided, http://images.search.yahoo.com/search/imag...fr=FP-tab-web-t because the photos there are excellent. I was going to post my photos of my time with the Touaregs in Timbuktu (and I will one of these days) but these are really quite good. A famous Touareg preparation is alabadja, a shredded lamb stewed in butter and served with rice. On mansaf: Mansaf. It's a Bedouin specialty. Okay, I'll take back what I said earlier about Algerians not cooking with yoghurt. This is the only dish that I can think of and I've thought about it a lot. It is indeed a Bedouin speciality, but of the Bedouins of Palestine and Jordan, not Algeria, who probably imported in from the Mashraq. “They are also famous for there fiery hot lasagnas dishes called Tchakhtchoukha, including one made from lamb’s brains. “ See my recipe at http://www.cliffordawright.com/recipes/shak_al_bis.html The question by Foodman concerning mansaf: “Chef, what's that? Is it the lamb/rice dish? I know this sounds simplistic but it is really a big deal. I think the whole lamb is cooked along with rice, spices, nuts,....and eaten family-style from a huge platter. I was wondering if that is what you are talking about. If so, where does yogurt come in?” See my recipe on p. 244 A Mediterranean Feast Paula Wolfert: “YOu know these transliterated words can drive one crazy!” Here is excerpted what I had to say in an appendix in A Mediterranean Feast: The transliteration of Arabic words and names is frought with difficulty. There is no standardized system outside the world of professional linguists and historians, so spellings can become quite inventive. I have followed the system used by Middle East historians as codified in the International Journal of Middle East Studies system, which has supplanted the Encyclopaedia of Islam system-- namely, qaf = “q” not “k” nor “k[subdot]”; ji[macron]m = “j” not “dj”; the “l” of al- is not assimilated to the following consonant; ta marbuta = “a” not “ah.” Well-known names, though, are left in their familiar English transliterations, for example, “tabbouleh” rather than “tabbu[macron]la,” except for egregious transliterations (for example, mulu[macron]khiyya, not “meloukia”). Another problem faced by the food writer is that native Arabic speakers who have written cookbooks have often mistransliterated words, sometimes inventing their own spellings to be picked up by Western writers, therefore all spellings were counterchecked against Wehr and Dozy (see Bibliography of “Mediterranean Feast”). When a word does not appear in standard dictionaries, I have tried to consult a native of that country. Words or names that are not fusha (from the written language) I have tried to spell the way they are pronounced. The transliterations of all Arabic words in A Mediterranean Feast follow this system and can be considered authoritative in the sense of IJMES system.

Does anyone know what "askara wa harramiyya" is and how it is made. Askara wa harramiyya literally means "cops and robbers" so there's not much to go on, but I do know it is made in Lebanon, Syria, and Palestine and that it is a vegetable dish

Remember that Inner Harbor is totally tourist and there is nothing to eat within a 10 minute walk. But I wholeheartedly second DLang's suggestion of LP Steamers. Also remember that most of the crabs served in Baltimore are coming from Louisiana anyway, so in or out of season doesn't matter too much.

There are literally hundreds of great places to eat in Sardinia. What is yourt itinerary?

This is a strange conversation! I agree with Russ' comment that tasting pasta alone in a taste test is particularly American, and particularly strange. Who eats pasta alone? And this business of industrial and artisanal and which is better is also strange. Don't we all eat both depending on the occasion. When I'm making a quick dinner for my family I'll use either Barilla, DeCecco, Delverde, or some brand I never heard of that I got cheap. All you New Yorkers also must remember that we all ate Ronzoni (Remember: Ronzoni sono buoni?) which is a pretty good pasta. Then there is a third category which I haven't seen mentioned and that is homemade pastasciutta. So I might use artisanal pastas for a dinner parta, brands such as Latini or Rustichella. But for really special occasions I make my own. I use semolina, water, a little salt, and a little olive oil. I knead it by hand and then use a electric roller to roll. Then I almost always cut it into what the Italians would call malfadini or pappardelle. I let it dry for a week before using. One more thing about artisanal pastas. They have to be cooked a little different than industrial pastas. You have to use LOTS of water and it must be rapidly boiling. This should take care of the chalky or gummy taste people complain about.

Jew's mallow (Corchorus olitorius L.) is not technically a malllow because it does not belong to the Malvaceae as do mallow and okra but rather the Tiliaceae. But since it is mucilaginous just as mallow and okra there is no problem throwing it into the same culinary category. In Arabic, Jew's mallow is called mulukhiyya, but you will see many transliterations such as melokhia. It is known as Jew's mallow because in ancient and medieval times there was a great affinity for green vegetables on the part of the Jewsih population which derived in part from a Talmudic tradition and this was recognized by the greater population which often characterized mallow and Jew's mallow as Jewish vegetables.

The Sardinian peretta cheese is simply the Sardinian name for the cow's milk cheese known as caciocavallo on the mainland. It is shaped like a large pear. You can get it by asking for caciocavallo at Italian delis. There are now some very good domestically produced caciocavallo in the US, for instance, produced by some firms in California.

There are recipes for souvlaki (basically, bread wrapped Greek shish kebab), tzatziki, gyro, doner kebab, and shwarma in Clifford A. Wright's "A Mediterranean Feast." Labny (also transliterated lubna, llubny, labneh, and lunbany) is not a cheese, it is strained yogurt and the word comes from the Arabic word for milk in Lebanon, Syria, and Palestine, laban.

Le Santuaire seems to be a sanctuary from the real world. I am very unimpressed with a kitchen store where no one seems to know anything about cooking. Their cookbook selection is effete, their equipment is for the very same people who own $100,000 kitchens and never cook. the place is phony for phonies.

Besides the Algar ones already mentioned, and Turkish recipes that appear in books that deal with a wider range of cuisines, such as Wolfert's or Wright's A Mediterranean Feast, the ones below I find pretty good. There are many cookbooks written in Turkish, a language I don't read, but given the size of these Turkish cookbooks, I venture that we are not being introduced to the full range of Turkish cooking by those writing in English. Arsel, Semahat, dir. Timeless Tastes: Turkish Culinary Culture. Istanbul: Divan, 1996. Bashan Ghillie. Classic Turkish Cooking. New York: St. Martin’s, 1997. Halici, Nevin. Nevin Halici’s Turkish Cookbook. E. M. Samy, trans. London: Dorling Kindersley, 1989 Ramazanoglu, Gulseren. Turkish Cookery. 4th ed. Istanbul: Ramazanoglu, 1993. Turkish Cookery. Istanbul: Net Turistik Yayinlar, 1990. Yazgan, Mehmet, ed. Turkish Cuisine. Anita Gillet, trans. Istanbul: Yazgan Turizm, 1992.

There is indeed a whole category of fatta dishes. in fact, you could make them up at will. I'm not sure what problems you're having, but given how easy this dish is you shouldn't. Try my recipe and see if you have better luck. Fattat Hummus This is known as the poor man’s fatta, while those made with eggplant are the rich man’s. Eggplant was not as plentiful as chickpeas and was, after its acceptance as a new vegetable, considered noble because of its taste, shape, and skin color. The fatta are the pieces of Arabic flatbread that are ripped up to form the bottom layer, the foundation for the other food. In Syria and Lebanon Arabic flatbread is usually used, although some cooks use the local version of French bread. The Homsi (people from Homs, Syria) love to put mint into everything, as in this preparation, while Lebanese and Palestinian cooks prefer frying the bread in oil rather than toasting it. 1 1/2 cups hummus 2 cups dried chickpeas (about 1 pound), picked over, soaked in cold water to cover overnight, and drained 4 to 6 garlic cloves, to your taste, peeled 1 teaspoon salt 2 cups whole plain yogurt 1 to 2 teaspoons dried mint, to your taste 1 large khubz ‘arabi (Arabic flatbread or pita bread) 1. Prepare the hummus according to your favorite recipe. 2. Place the drained chickpeas in a pot of lightly salted water to cover by several inches. Bring the water to a boil over high heat until it foams, 5 to 10 minutes. Remove the foam with a ladle and continue boiling until tender, about 3 hours; keep checking. Add hot water to the pot to keep the chickpeas continually covered. Drain, place the chickpeas in a pot of cold water, and rub off the thin white skins. Drain again and set aside. 3. In a mortar, pound the garlic and salt together until a creamy mush. Stir the garlic into the yogurt with the mint and beat with a fork until smooth. 4. Split open the flatbread and toast until hard and golden brown. Lay the bread on the bottom of a baking pan or deep platter. Spread the whole cooked chickpeas over the toasted bread. Cover with 1 to 1 1/2 cups hummus. Pour the yogurt on top of the hummus and serve. Makes 4 servings

tajin (tagine) does indeed derive from the Greek teganon, the word for pan, as does the Italian tegame. Probably, tanjara and tanjiyya do too, ultimately.

both tangia (tanjiyya, properly)and tanjara derive from the same Mauro-Arabic root T-N-J, which simply means "pot."

Tangia sounds like its a particular transliteration of a kind of cooking vessel used in the Maghrib, a cylindrical tin-lined stew pot called a tanjara.