(bright, cheerful music)
(gentle music)
- [Host] All right, so one of the essential parts
of any baklava is a whole lot of syrup.
But wait, it's not that simple.
(stutters)
Simple syrup joke.
In a medium saucepan we are combining
one cup each sugar, water, and honey,
placing it over medium heat and bringing to a steady simmer
for maybe five to 10 minutes,
basically we just wanna make sure all the sugar is dissolved
and the mixture has the consistency
of something like maple syrup.
Once we get there, it's time to kill the heat
and add some flavoring agents.
Favorites include, but are not limited to,
slices of lemon and a pair of cinnamon sticks
covered and steeped until the mixture is cool,
about one hour, during which time
we're gonna get started on our filling.
One of the principal players in baklava is nuts.
Walnuts, pistachios, and hazelnuts are the big three.
I personally like pistachios,
both for their color and their flavor,
but they have the unfortunate side effect
of having to be shelled one at a time by hand by you,
a process that can take 45 minutes
for the cup and a half of eventual nuts that we're after.
But I think you'll find that this is a process
that is equal parts painful and rewarding.
Oh, okay, or you could use pre-shelled pistachios
like a poser.
Anyway, once we've got about two cups,
or maybe 250 grams of pistachios,
we're giving them a ride in Mr. Mixy Choppy,
10 to 15 long pulses in a food processor,
towards the end of which we're gonna add
three tablespoons of white sugar
and a half teaspoon of cinnamon,
freshly grated if you can't find your pre-ground stuff.
I moved here about four months ago,
so naturally everything is still in boxes.
Pulse a few times to combine, what you wanna end up with
is a mixture of relatively finely processed nuts.
The texture is really up to you.
I personally like a somewhat fine powder
with some visible chunks o' nut.
Next up, we gotta talk filo dough,
and if you were expecting me to make my own,
you must be thinking that this is binging and not basics.
We'll save that arduous, hellish process
for when it's mentioned in a movie or TV show.
For now, we're using frozen filo dough,
thawed according to the package directions.
Then to assemble,
we have a whole cup of melted unsalted butter,
which we're gonna start by using to generously brush down
the sides and bottom of our intended casserole.
Turns out when you bake together nuts and honey and dough,
it can get a little sticky.
We're also gonna keep our filo covered with a moist towel
to prevent it from drying out, which it does very quickly.
Then we begin the delicate
and repetitive process of layering.
We're gonna start by laying down a single sheet of filo
into our casserole, tucking it in tight,
and then generously drizzling and brushing it with butter,
maybe two to three tablespoons' worth per layer.
Then we are rinsing and repeating
five more times for a total of six layers
before we even think about adding any nuts.
You'll notice that my filo
is a little bit bigger than my casserole.
That's okay, just tuck the edges down
as you brush each layer.
Now it's time to add the nuts.
We're doing three layers of nuts,
so we're gonna add about a third of our nut mixture,
making sure to apply it as evenly as possible
and getting it all the way up into the corners.
Give it a little pat down
to make sure that everybody's nice and even,
and then we're topping this
with three more layers of filo and butter.
The idea here is six layers of filo on the bottom,
then three layers of nuts
with three sheets of filo between each layer of nuts,
then six more layers on top.
So six filo, layer of nuts, three filo,
layer of nuts, three filo, layer of nuts, six filo.
Does that make sense? All perfectly clear?
Cool, we're brushing down the final layer of filo
with a little bit of extra butter,
and then plopping this guy in the fridge for about an hour,
that's gonna help the butter resolidify
and not melt too quickly in the oven,
which should help give us
more distinct, flaky layers of filo.
Then, before it's headed into said oven,
we must first slice it into the shapes of your choice.
Popular shapes include diamonds, triangles, and squares.
If we were watching "You Suck at Cooking,"
I'm sure he would cut you
all different kinds of baklava rhombuses
and Penrose triangles and M.C. Escher paintings,
but this is basics, so some poorly-cut oblong diamonds
are all you're gonna get.
Once our shapes are cut out,
this guy is headed into a 350-degree Fahrenheit oven
for what feels like an astonishingly long 45 minutes.
But you will be met with lightly browned, flaky pastry
and a piping hot filling ready to receive our syrup,
which we're first gonna strain the solids out of
and then ladle over our awaiting pastry,
doing our best to pour it
directly down the cracks between each piece.
You might not use all the syrup,
but you're probably gonna use most of it.
The goal here is to saturate
as much of the pastry as possible,
and for the syrup to rise almost all the way
up the sides of the baklava.
Which at first you're gonna be like,
"Oh, yay, baklava soup,"
but it's gonna suck up all that syrup
as it cools completely,
which we're now gonna let it do at least four hours.
Then we're going to carefully extract
a messy, sticky, flaky slice.
And that's it.
Other than maybe a garnish of chopped pistachios,
baklava needs no accompaniment.
Just dig in and enjoy.
With that being said, there are lots and lots
of variations you can put on baklava,
and baklava purists might want to leave the room,
because next up is a chocolate and hazelnut baklava,
something decidedly non-traditional
but undeniably delicious.
First up, if your hazelnuts
have not yet been blanched or roasted,
we have to roast them at 350 degrees Fahrenheit
for about 15 minutes,
or until the skins start to peel off easily
and they smell roasty and hazelnutty.
Then, to get the skins off,
we're wrapping them up in a clean kitchen towel
and massaging them gently for about a minute,
until most of the skins have come off.
You don't have to get them all, but the more the merrier.
Then these guys are getting
the same treatment as the pistachios.
They're headed into the food processor,
where they shall be processed,
but this time with the addition
of about 350 grams of dark chocolate
which we're gonna break into more manageably-sized pieces
for easier processing,
and then processing, trying to get to
about the same consistency as last time.
But this time we're adding a full cup of sugar.
I should mention that we're dealing
with about 450 grams of hazelnuts.
For a slightly bigger batch,
I'm using both a bigger casserole
and I want them to come out nice and thick.
Add some cinnamon, continue to process
until we get to that fabled
grainy, kinda nutty, coarse sand sort of vibe.
And then from here, it's the same exact procedure as before,
six layers of filo, lots of butter,
three layers of filo between each three layers of nuts,
and then six layers of filo atop at all.
I'm sorry if that's still confusing,
math was never my strong suit either,
and frankly, neither was geometry,
so after I let this guy chill out in the fridge for an hour,
we're cutting it into some more simple triangle shapes.
It's easier for you, and it's more sensibly-sized portions.
Now this guy we're starting at 350 degrees Fahrenheit,
then dropping the temperature after 25 minutes,
and then baking at 300 for an additional 45 minutes,
ladling in our syrup
while everybody's still nice and piping hot.
Ideally you wanna see little bubbles
sputtering around the edges of the pastry
as it is imbued with our flavorful syrup.
Let it cool completely,
again, about four hours, before serving.
And I know that this version
is likely to offend some baklava enthusiasts out there,
but you cannot argue with the flavor.
It's like a Nutella candy bar
that you roasted over an open fire.
And I put a lot of time and love into it,
so I'm gonna use that as an excuse
to eat it for breakfast every day this week.
(gentle music)