Sekanjabin Image Used Under Creative Commons License From saat24.news

Citizens! As noted in my last post, today has been a day of rest and recuperation from a minor concussion your Beloved Leader – the usually hard-headed TFD! – suffered a few days ago. While on the mend, I’ve taken the liberty of catching up on a bunch of recipe posts that have been languishing for many weeks – my pain is your gain!

For this post, I give you an ancient recipe from Iran, dating back to the early days of medieval Persia! It may look like a mojito, and it does incorporate both lime, sugar and mint – but being a Muslim recipe, there is no alcohol in it. In fact, this is related to the 18th century “Shrub”, which colonial Americans enjoyed in the heat of Summer that combined vinegar, sugar and water to make a most refreshing drink!

Where does the seemingly odd name “Shrub” come from? As your polyglot, I will share the etymology and linguistics with my Citizens!

The term comes from the Arabic word “sharbat” meaning a drink of sugar and water. This in turn came from “shariba” to drink. By the late Middle Ages the Arabic word sharāb (شراب) had come to mean “alcoholic beverage” and the alternate form sharbāt (شربات) and its Persian and Turkish variations, sharbat (شربت), and şerbet respectively, took on the meaning of a sweet non-alcoholic beverage.

In the 12th century, the Persian book of Zakhireye Khwarazmshahi, Gorgani describes different types of Sharbats in Iran, including Ghoore, Anar, Sekanjabin, etc. It is in fact Sekanjabin whose recipe I choose to share today!

Several syrups are listed in the 11th-century Canon of Medicine by Persian writer Ibn Sīnā.

Sekanjabin is one of the oldest Iranian drinks, and is made from honey and vinegar. Sekanjabin is usually served in summer. It is sometimes seasoned with mint. Sekanjabin was first mentioned in the Fihrist of al-Nadim, which was written in the 10th century.

Sekanjabin is in fact a compound of سرکه serke “vinegar” and انگبین angabin “honey”, transmitted through Arabic سِكَنْجَبِين .

As eruditely expounded at adamastorshire.co.za:

Sekanjabin is a medieval Arabic version of oxymel, which is a general term for medicinal drinks combining vinegar with sugar syrup or honey.

It is probably first mentioned by the ancient Greek medical writer Hippocrates, who prescribes it extensively and comments that, among other things, “it promotes expectoration and freedom of breathing.” (Hippocrates, On Regimen in Acute Diseases, tr. Francis Adams).

The Anglo-Saxons also knew it: an old Anglo-Saxon leechbook mentions oxymel as “a southern acid drink” (Cockayne vol II p. 153), and suggests betony in oxymel as a relief “if a man is tired by a long journey” (p.152). Later the writer gives the recipe for oxymel, together with the injunction to drink it for “the half dead disease” (p. 285), or for epilepsy.

Platina, a 15th-century Italian writer, mentions honey/vinegar oxymel several times, suggesting it as a remedy for the harmful effects of melons (Milham p. 127). Andalusian Sekanjabin likewise has a medicinal slant, since it is described as being “beneficial for fevers of jaundice, and calms jaundice and cuts the thirst” (see recipe below).

Like most Arabic syrups, it was intended to be drunk with hot water as a medicinal draught, although they were probably also drunk cold for refreshment.

The concept of using a basic oxymel infused with herbal flavour of some sort is fairly universal; the Anglo-Saxon leechbook suggests infusing it with radish as well as betony, and Hippocrates speaks of infusing oxymel with asafoetida and carrot, or opoponax and southernwood (whatever those are). Cariadoc’s mint version doesn’t seem to be much of a leap, particularly given the modern sekanjabins he notes in ethnic restaurants and the parallel Andalusian recipe for mint syrup.

Sekanjabin is an odd duck because the syrup – while designed to be mixed with water and drunk – also makes an excellent salad dressing on its own. In fact, Iranians serve it WITH lettuce on the side to dunk into the drink as a sort of nibble. There is also shredded cucumber in the drink to further help cool the body.

This is both medicine and thirst quencher and I truly hope you enjoy this taste of Summer as much as I do, my Citizens! In my own glorious tradition, I have of course tweaked the recipe to my exacting palatal requirements and added flavor complexity beyond the norm.

First, I choose to use a non-standard vinegar – specifically, peach-flavored white Balsamic vinegar. It works perfectly in this recipe – you can buy my preferred brand here. Orange blossom water may be purchased here.

Battle on – The Generalissimo

Sri Lankan Chai Image Used Under Creative Commons License From Pinterest.com

My Citizens! Few things slake the mighty thirst of your Supreme Generalissimo – the forever elevated TFD! – more than a delicious glass of chai tea! The Sri Lankan recipe is especially to my taste with its frothy goodness, so allow me to share my version of it with you!

Masala chai (literally “mixed-spice tea”) is a flavored tea beverage made by brewing black tea with a mixture of aromatic spices and herbs.

Originating in the Indian subcontinent, the beverage has gained worldwide popularity, becoming a feature in many coffee and tea houses.

It is traditionally prepared as a decoction of green cardamom pods, cinnamon sticks, ground cloves, ground ginger, and black peppercorn together with black tea leaves.

The term “chai” ultimately originated from the Mandarin Chinese word for tea 茶 chá (The English word tea, though, comes from the Hokkien Chinese tê) and the Hindustani word “chai.”

In English, this spiced tea is commonly referred to as masala chai or simply chai, though the term refers to tea in general in the original language.

Numerous coffee houses use the term chai latte or chai tea latte (essentially meaning ‘tea tea latte’) for their version to indicate that the steamed milk, much like a regular caffè latte, is mixed with a spiced tea concentrate instead of espresso. By 1994, the term had gained currency on the U.S. coffeehouse scene.

As noted in this excerpted article from nine.com.au:

Lush, green fields. Ladies in colourful saris picking leaves. Steep hills and red earth. We drink tea with too much sugar and hot, frothy milk – Sri Lankan style.

It’s probably not what the original British owners would have had for their breakfast (colonial food was more of a mash-up of local and British tastes) but we’d rather eat Sri Lankan food in Sri Lanka, no question.

But we’re here for the tea.

Tea came to Sri Lanka from India by way of Scottish-born planter James Taylor in 1867. The tea plantations around Ceylon Tea Trails are still active (where else do you think your Dilmah cuppa comes from?) and we hop in a car to take us through the fields and down to Dunkeld factory, where the greenery that surrounds us became our morning cup.

It is probably the most beautiful factory you will ever see – dating back 150 years, with long, glass-lined facades resonant with age and history.

Inside, we are taught the intricacies of tea making by the manager, Marlon de la Harpe. Did you know that tea is fermented? (That makes it healthy, right?) That’s just one of the many stages of the process that transforms green leaves into dainty cups of liquid gold.

In fact, white, black and green teas all come from the same plant, camellia sinensis – it’s just the processing that dictates the final product. Sri Lanka, though, has built its reputation on black tea.

Using a levelling stick, specific leaves are picked, “We leave the dark green leaves in the field, we call this the ‘mother leaf’,” says de la Harpe. Then the leaves are withered for two to three hours in an aged furnace, before being dried with cool air for up to 11 hours. The building’s expansive windows are thrown open and air circulates the rooms, to help aid the process.

The leaves are then bruised, releasing their juices, and the first process of oxidation takes place (fermentation). Smelling like freshly-mown grass, the green leaves are pressed together and left in the airy rooms to ferment for a few hours. De la Harpe says he knows when the fermentation is complete just by touch and smell, “Nothing is computerised.”

The fermentation process is arrested by heating again, then the tea leaves are cooled, rolled, cut, cleaned and graded by strength – “The smaller the tea particle, the stronger the tea,” says de la Harpe, “It only takes 24 hours from field to cup.”

Tea in Sri Lanka is mostly picked by Tamil women, and the sight of vividly coloured saris – pink, purple, orange – among the bright green leaves of the hillside is one something you never forget; it’s like a painting, moving and swaying in front of your eyes.

Before we leave the beautiful factory building to head back to our bungalow, we ask de la Harpe the ultimate question – how do you make the perfect cup of tea? He looks us right in the eyes, and says, very seriously, “Milk into tea, not tea into milk.” That’s us told.

Citizens, my version of masala chai uses my preferred blend of spices and adheres to tradition. You can buy jaggery powder (Indian brown sugar) here. I have every confidence you will LOVE my recipe – so, prove your loyalty to TFD Nation and go forth henceforth to make this! 🙂

Battle on – The Generalissimo