a living link

musakhan is unassuming, doesn't present fancy, and isn't performative the way other national dishes can be. it doesn’t bubble in a pot, or arrive at the table sizzling, and there’s no golden dome of pastry to crack open, or even a rich stew that stains the rice under it. like the people of palestine, musakhan is humble and simple, and what you see is what you get. it's just onions, sumac, oil, chicken, and bread. that’s basically it. but what happens to those onions is the real story.

they’re cooked low and slow in a healthy amount of quality olive oil (preferably palestinian olive oil), and we like to measure with our hearts. the onions collapse, start to sweeten, and then they’re hit with something sharp, bright, and glowingly fuchsia. and not just a little either. like the oil, this part requires a generous amount, because the goal is to saturate. enough to tint the oil, later stain the bread, and perfume the whole kitchen with that wild, citrusy tang.

and sprinkling really isn't going to work here. you make musakhan around the sumac. so, unlike other dishes, the secret isn’t in the quality of the meat or even the order of events it's made in (even though necessary); the secret is getting the onions right, and the way to achieve that is with really good sumac (and remember, no skimping). it dyes the onions a beautifully unique color that isn't commonly seen in other foods, and offsets the richness of the oil. it soaks into the bread and gives the whole thing a fusion base of savory and sour. there's really nothing like it.

so, musakhan has a special status in my family; the moment it was announced that teta planned on making it, everything else in that house shifted to make room for it. we all knew that it was going to be an occasion.

sumac is typically harvested in late summer to early fall before any heavy rain, because it can wash away some of the flavor. so musakhan is traditionally made after that, and it's also aligned with the olive oil pressing season in palestine, which usually happens in october and november. the emphasis on fresh, high-quality olive oil ties it directly to the olive harvest, which is a significant event in palestinian culture. making musakhan is a way to celebrate the harvest and taste the freshly pressed oil. 

teta would start after dawn, slice through mountains of onions, and let them slowly soften in the oil until the whole house was coated in their sweetness. it would fill the kitchen with a smell that clung to your clothes and your hair, and everything. i know quite a few people who don't like the aftersmell on their clothes, but i don't hear any complaints when it's actually happening, because it's hard to deny how amazingly appetizing it is. sweet at first, then sharper as the sumac goes in; its reddish-pink staining the oil and its brightness cutting through the heaviness of the onions. i’d walk into the kitchen and see the stacks of taboon bread ready, slightly charred from the oven, and soft but strong enough to hold the gold. musakhan is made to be eaten communally, so the onions are spread out across wide bread-lined trays, golden roasted chicken on top, and pine nuts toasted until the right amount of crispy to garnish. in traditional settings, you don't even have a plate. all hands are in the tray at the same time. 

i remember one cold winter night in amman, the windows fogged from the heat of the kitchen. my sisters, cousins, and i circled the table, impatient as teta brought out the musakhan. rounds of bread layered with onions and crispy chicken, each one glistening with olive oil. we all huddled and gathered around this giant platter and tore through the bread with our bare hands which was warm and soft, but thick and sturdy enough to hold the weight of everything. what's most memorable is the warmth of the sumac that lingered on our fingers. it was cold and dark outside, but that table in that house felt like a sun.

the older i get, the more i realize it was never really about the food. i take that back; it was definitely partly about the food because it's delicious, but musakhan had a way of making us proud. teta made it when we had guests sometimes, but also when she wanted to remind us where we came from. she was from yaffa, the land of oranges in palestine. she had been displaced twice, and musakhan said "this is who we are". the sumac, the olive oil, the bread baked on hot stones; all of it rooted in the land itself. even as a kid, i kind of understood the weight of that and what it meant because of closeness to her and my dad. 

when i left home, and now of course, my appreciation and understanding has grown. more so in some ways, even though she's no longer with us, because of the distant and worsening conditions for palestinians. cooking musakhan is one of the many ways i keep a piece of my family with me. the smell of the onions and sumac fusing together would take me back instantly to that crowded kitchen in amman, my dad laughing, my mom arranging the bread, and the table too small for all of us but also somehow big enough. 

here in california, it still does the same thing to me. every time i make it, i’m reminded that musakhan is belonging. it’s palestine on a table.

i'm sharing my musakhan recipe below for you all. and my hope, if you decide to make it, is that it gives you that same sense of closeness to palestine, even if you've had no prior connection. i want all tables to feel like ours did as a family, and mine does now with my own family; full of people, full of noise, full of something bigger than the meal itself. it's so important, especially for children to develop a sense of identity. i really believe that a part of developing a strong identity, which we all want, is learning about others' identities and appreciating what they have to offer.

 

recipe: chicken musakhan

ingredients (serves 4-6)

part 1: the chicken

3-4 lb whole chicken, cut into quarters or eighths

1 tsp shawarmaji ground allspice

1 tsp cinnamon (optional, traditional in some areas)

2-3 tbsp high-quality palestinian olive oil salt and black pepper to taste

 

part 2: the onions

5-6 large red onions, thinly sliced

½-¾ cup high-quality palestinian olive oil (don’t skimp)

3-4 tbsp ajlouni sumac (adjust to taste)

salt to taste

  

part 3: the bread assembly

2-4 large taboon breads (or thick saj bread or naan as a substitute)

a few handfuls of pine nuts or slivered almonds, toasted (optional, but traditional for garnishing)

a healthy pour of more high-quality palestinian olive oil. measure with your heart :)

 

preparation:

step 1. preheat oven to 400°F (200°C).

step 2. rub chicken with olive oil, salt, pepper, allspice, and roast in a tray, uncovered, until golden and cooked through — about 45–60 minutes. save the drippings/juices (they’re important).

step 3. in a wide pan, heat the olive oil for the onions over medium heat. add the sliced onions and cook slowly until softened — about 30–40 minutes. stir often so that they don’t caramelize; the goal is meltingly soft, not browned.

step 4. add sumac and salt toward the end of cooking. stir well and taste. it should be tangy and rich. add a spoonful of the chicken drippings for salty, savory, umami depth.

step 5. now preheat your oven to 375°F (190°C), brush or drench (depending on your preference) each piece of taboon bread lightly with your high quality olive oil.

step 6. spoon a generous layer of the onion-sumac mixture onto each piece of bread and arrange the roasted chicken on top.

step 7. place the assembled musakhan in the oven for 10–15 minutes to warm the bread and marry the flavors. toast the pine nuts/almonds separately and sprinkle on top before serving.

tear the bread and scoop up some onions, and a bit of chicken with each bite. serve with a side of plain yogurt, olives, or a simple cucumber-tomato salad. let me know how this comes out for you, especially if it's your first time making it. enjoy!

 

before we get into the new or the surprising possibilities with sumac, like the salads, the grilled meats, and the ways it and shami spice show up together in unexpected things, we begin with a deserved homage to one of the palestinian people's pride and joy.