An utterly delicious cookie from Scandinavia suitable for bakers of all skill levels.
There’s a cookie-baker archetype that goes like this: People are always popping in and out, and every time they do s/he whips up a quick batch of cookies and… And a secondary archetype for the young baker: S/he will get an urge, and vanish into the kitchen on his/her own to whip of a quick batch of…
In America those are almost always Chocolate Chip Cookies. In Australia and New Zealand it’s Anzac Cookies. In Scandinavia it’s these utterly addictive, 30 minute start-to-snarf treats that vary in infinite ways according to the jam in your fridge. I defy any human to see a plate and fail to take one on the way past.
Scandinavian bakers have a trick they use for a whole series of homey cookies: form the dough into long logs, bake until done, and then snip the slump logs into elegant strips. The word “snittar” means pieces that have been snipped, cut, or sliced out. The cookie names vary according to the flavor. Kolasnittar for caramel snips; Chokladsnittar for cocoa snips; Jordgubbsnittar for strawberry snips; Kardemummasnittar for cardamom snips; etc. Marmeladsnittar would mean any cookie of this type made with jam. The online translations almost always use “cuts” or “slices,” but we thought “snips” captured the image best in colloquial English.
Strawberry is the most traditional jam in Scandinavia. Americans tend toward raspberry. We loved apricot. Anything will do. And best of all? Every variation earns its own name! So you can fill a book with “different” recipes simply by changing from one jam to another, or by adding an ingredient to the dough. Or you could in Sweden. We’re stuck with English. Drat.
This is the most basic recipe for all the “snittar” group; a light, vaguely crispy, addictively perfect butter cookie from which you can create all those thousands of variations.
Tricks Of The Trade
There really aren’t any, more’s the shame. I would feel much safer if there were. But here are a few observations to help explain the big picture.
Speaking Bakerese, this is a simple creaming method cookie. Cream the butter and sugar, beat in the egg, flavor, and then work in the flour and baking powder.
The recipe calls for slightly less flour than roll-and-cut cookies because it’s designed to slump and spread a bit in the oven. Which, of course, makes them taste extra light and buttery.
One recipe makes four logs the length of a standard baking tray. It’s hard to divide because of the single egg, but the dough can be wrapped and frozen for another day.
Do not press in a deep channel, or your cookies will be so thin in the middle that they’ll break in that spot. You want a nice, lengthwise dent to keep the jam oriented. No more.
Don’t use too much jam. Scott usually argues that more jam in cookie is that much more delicious. Kate prefers scarcity. In this case she’s right. The butter cookie is the star, and the jam is an accent.
Let the cookies set on the baking tray for a few minutes in order to set up, and then slice while warm. A bench scraper works every bit as well as a knife for this, and maybe better.
Diagonal slices look a little more elegant.
NOTE FROM KATE: regarding the jam amount, I applied the apricot jam using a piping bag, whilst Scott used a spoonfor the strawberry jam. [FROM SCOTT: My apologies. We’ve been watching too many British mysteries] You can see them both in the photo above. Honestly? I like his better. That thin line doesn’t spread as wildly, and makes it look like I tried too hard. Which I did. Go wild!
(The bowl below isn’t precision pottery, either. I made it, a beginner’s effort, and I allowed it to slump on the wheel to see what happens. If I can get away with making pottery that has “character,” the same goes for these cookies! ) And now I want to try them with a poppyseed filling. Poor Scott, that’s so not his thing.
Enjoy!
ONE FINAL NOTE: Please don’t blame us for what happens as these cookies migrate from house to hips, and platter to paunch. These are a Class One Addictive Substance! You have been warned!
Confession: I love crossword puzzles, and I’ve done enough to learn certain words that writers can’t seem to do without. Here are some examples of recent clues I’ve seen:
Clue: “Treat that is often twisted”
Clue: “Crispy, pull apart snack”
Clue: “Cookie eaten from the inside out”
Oreos! Duh. Everyone knows that, right? Yes… if you’re from the U.S.A. People who grew up in Ukraine, Russia, Poland, or other countries of central and eastern Europe might well stare at a clue like that with nothing but bewilderment that “Oreshki” doesn’t fit in the grid. What else could the writer possibly be thinking about?
Oreshki are a classic treat that are known and loved from Russia to the east, through Poland and the Czech Republic to the west, all the way down to the Crimean Sea. The formula is easy to describe: start with a very basic cookie dough, shape it into hollow nuts, and then fill the nuts with something gooey that children will love. Subtle? Bah. Sophisticated? Hah! Adult with a capital “A” like spice cookies or ginger snaps? Not in the slightest.
Nice, sweet, and simple. That’s your ticket. This is the cookie of childhood.
Working On The Cookie
If you’re here doing research, let me give you a tip as someone who’s actually read through and pondered several dozen online recipes. Don’t overthink it!
Your problem is easy to state: natives adore their Oreshki to the point that innumerable Eastern European families have now shared their “secret” methods to get them just, exactly right. There’s a lot to go through. The wonders of online translators, combined with a wife who can translate what those will not, allowed me to put together a humongous file of different trips, tips, options, and formulae. It was a true brain buster! But do you know what I found when I averaged things out, and then compared the results to other cookies?
Your target crust is a plain, light, crispy wafer that won’t fight with the filling. Period. Keep that in sight and you won’t have any problems.
Yes, you will be a little confused by how some of the common ingredients get used. I certainly was. But there is a pattern to the strangeness: those “touches” all add up to (i) a hint of acid, and (ii) a bit of “other” fat to supplement the butter. I don’t know why they do it. The amounts are so small that it’s hard to see how these additions could change the result. Nevertheless, it is a clear pattern, our work is about “heritage” just as much as “right,” and so I made a point of testing the variations.
The most common version marries a touch (½-1 tsp.) of vinegar with a tablespoon of mayonnaise, and then uses baking soda instead of powder. I ended up going with 1 tbsp. of sour cream paired with baking powder. Feel free to pursue either route as you wish. The differences will be subtle at best because you aren’t really supposed to notice the crust in the first place. It’s the filling that make Oreshki special.
These crusts get cooked in a special stovetop mold (electric versions being available in some countries). Here is ours, which is made from aluminum and available for a very low price from various sources:
You’ll need to fidget a bit to get the timing right. We ended up at 65-70 seconds per side on our average-sized burner with the gas set to a “2” out of “9.” Don’t expect that to match up with your burner! We also noted that molds filled with fewer cookies toasted faster than ones which were completely full.
Make an effort to keep the inside cookie-tan, like a shortbread, rather than nut brown. That was the one critique we got from our taste testers, and when I went back to do the final batch with that correction all of us noted that the new and lighter-colored cookies were also a bit airier and crisper when eaten.
Finally, you’ll need to trim the shells when they come out of the mold. It’s impossible to get the sizes right every time! A sharp paring knife is the perfect tool. Just don’t throw those trimmings in the trash! Most people simply add them into the filling for a bit of texture. We prefer to recycle them into crumbs for a leftovers-cookie or pie crust (think of how many recipes you know that begin with the instruction, “Grind up some vanilla wafers and then use the crumbs for…”). Do as you will, but please don’t waste what ought to be used.
These shells are too dark. Don’t throw them out, of course. They’ll work well enough. It’s just that lighter colored shells will be crisper, airier, and that much better.
These are what you want. The outsides are darker, the insides are “light tan shortbread”. BTW, do you see that one untrimmed shell on the top right? That’s the norm, and where your extra crumbs come from.
Nailing Down The Filling
The all time classic Oreshki filing is a peculiarly addictive caramel made from dulce de leche. More on that below. But honestly, anything that’s sweet, sticky, and a little bit runny will do. Nutella® works like a charm. So does lemon curd. It’s hard to go wrong, and none of my native taste testers had anything bad to say about those variations. Playing with your filling is fair game. But there’s that ‘heritage’ thing again, so we really ought to discuss the original version that left so many millions of 8 year old addicts in its wake.
Let’s start with an overview. You’ve seen this flavor profile before! When push comes to shove, this is just another plain shortbread being paired with rich, gooey caramel. In South America that takes the form of Alfajores. In the U.S. it’s a Twix® bar. In the U.K. it’s Millionaire’s Shortbread. Western Europe has it’s Stroopwafel. Got it? There’s nothing complicated about it. We’re only going to tweak things a little to match the Eastern European palate.
You can start from a true caramel if you wish, but native recipes follow the South American approach by starting with tins of sweetened condensed milk, and then boiling them for a few hours.
After that it’s easy. Soften this up with a bit of butter, add some cream cheese for a mild sour tang, and you’re done. Most recipes suggest the addition of crumbs from the crust-trimmings, and some will also add ground nuts, but those are both optional steps. It really comes down to whether you’re after pure, luscious smoothness on the inside, or luscious smoothness offset by a little bit of crunch.
How To Fill Your Oreshki
It took a few tries, but I’ve now got the system down pat.
Take one shell. Top it off completely with your filling. Use a second shell to scrape that level. Set aside for the moment.
Add filling to the second shell, and scrape that level with a third shell.
Put shell half #1 on top of shell half #2, and then repeat the process until all your shells are done.
NOTE 1: It’s not a bad idea to overfill a bit, and then squeeze the halves together so the excess filling will squish out the sides. Wipe it off with a finger, and then set aside your perfectly filled nuts for further decoration as desired. [What do you do with your filling-dirtied finger? Come on. Really? Being the baker has its upside!]
NOTE 2: Oreshki with a runnier filling may want to go in the fridge to set up.
The only question left is, “to seal or not to seal.” These shortbread-and-caramel treats often come with a chocolate coating. Think of the aforementioned Twix® bars and Millionaire’s Shortbread. Heck, it’s common to coat Alfajores too in recipes that don’t add coconut. So it makes perfect sense to seal those two halves together with a bit of chocolate, right?
The answer is both yes and no. We liked the caramel ones better with a chocolate seal. No doubt about it. And every one of our native tasters expressed the same preference. “That’s a great touch!”
But then they’d add something like this: “My grandmother never did that. Of course, she didn’t have much access to chocolate back when I was a little girl.”
Again, it’s entirely up to you. A simple dusting with powdered sugar works just as well for chocolate-free versions, and better for those with an alternative filling.
With the ends sealed in chocolate. Very tasty, but not entirely traditional because chocolate was hard to obtain back in the day.
Conclusion
This is a really fun cookie so long as you don’t try to fight its basic core. Oreshki are designed for children, and adults who loved them as children. Sharing them with those children, old and young, is why American bakers will want to make them.
That said, you really, really do want to make them. I can pretty much guarantee a downright special reaction from the actual children in your life, and an even stronger one from adults who grew up in the Oreshki Zone. It’s like dropping a puppy in the lap of their inner child.
First comes the delighted grin. Then the delighted cry, “Oreshki!” Then some insight into a delighted childhood soul. Everyone who eats Oreshki has his/her own special technique. Some pop them in whole and crunch. Others twist them in half, and then crunch. There’s a twist-and-stretch school too; twist, scrape, and crunch; twist, stretch, and lick in midair… You get the idea. Pure, childish glee.
Think that’s going too far? Head on back to the beginning of this article, and the analogy to Oreos®. Imagine your typical American expat who has moved overseas and built a life somewhere that knows nothing about their childhood treats. Get him or her in a friendly environment, like visiting your home or receiving a tin as a gift. Now open it up and reveal a crispy, black-and-white, twist-apart cookie. What will happen? The exact same thing.
That memory is what Oreshki are really about. That, and creating a similar memory for future generations. It will work, I promise. There’s nothing that Littles enjoy more than something gooey, sweet, and crunchy that looks like something it isn’t. Oreshki are flat out fun at every level.
Ma’amoul is the cookie of the Middle East; the one that crosses every cultural division. Muslim, Christian, or Jew, it doesn’t matter. One cannot celebrate Eid, Easter, Purim, or any other big ceremony without this treat any more than you could stage a U.S. wedding without a cake.
What you have here is a very good Ma’amoul that replaces some Mediterranean baking staples (mastic, mahlab, and sandalwood powder) with readily available American substitutes (vanilla, almond, anise, and ginger). The result is an amazing cookie that everyone adores – at least if you’ll accept the testimony of close to 100 taste testers, including several dozen from the local mosque who grew up with the genuine article. The recipe below is one of our proudest successes.
How good is it? Let’s put it this way. Every person in the family – on their own – fell back on poetry when asked for a description. Scott offered antique Arabian Nights phrases like, “the fragrant breeze that wafts from the garden of the Sultan.” Kate produced, “elegant, perfumed Fig Newtons dressed up in flowered bonnets.” Our daughters insisted on “parasols, sun dresses, and corsets bound by ribbons of scented silk.” No one reacted with anything less.
This has to be the most evocative set of flavors we’ve ever come up with. They are fantastic. Awesome. Amazing. Magnificent. I cannot urge them on you any more. Not for Christmas. This is a spring and summer treat, not a winter one. But it’s definitely a cookie you need to experience at least once in your life.
At the same time, do not be tempted to “test” the product by picking up one of those dreadful commercial versions from your local Middle Eastern market. We did, and our sheer dismay almost killed the project before it got started. Calling them “awful” would be too kind. Our daughter, a camp counselor, refused to inflict them on her kids! No, you need to do this one right if you want to see what all the fuss is about. I promise: they’re worth the effort.
As always, skip to the bottom if you want the recipe without the discussion
First Step: What Is The Target?
Do some research and you’ll see that every region, country, city, town, and home claims its own unique twist on Ma’amoul. The sheer number of variations makes it hard to pin down a central theme. I had to read through almost 30 recipes (!) before I could nail things down clearly enough to even work on a recipe. Even then I ended up with a pretty vague description. The target was:
A filled, molded cookie;
A buttery, slightly crunchy crust with some elusive, sweet-spice accents;
A filling made from nuts and dried fruits; and
A healthy dose of rose water to import the Mystery Of The East.
None of those targets was particularly hard to achieve once we figured out what all the exotic ingredients were for, but it took some research to get there.
Bringing The Ingredient List Under Control
The recipes I’d been reviewing called for a number of ingredients that many American bakers could view as exotic. The bulk of the crust is made from:
Semolina flour;
Clarified butter;
Rose water (mandatory);
Orange blossom water (less so); and
In some cases yeast instead of baking powder.
None of those ingredients posed any special challenge. The yeast could simply be ignored as an option for ultra-purists, since modern Middle Eastern recipes tend to use baking powder anyway. The two flower waters are readily available in modern supermarkets, and certainly in ethnic markets or baking specialty stores. As for semolina and clarified butter, they are even more available than rose- or orange blossom water, and we’d developed some experience on how to use them during our work on the recipe for Ghraybee (the great Middle Eastern shortbread). But then came the little touches to enhance the crust. These were:
A spice called mastic a/k/a mistika (whosis?);
A spice called mahlab (whatsis?); and
Sandalwood powder (in a baked good?!).
None of the recipes used those spices in any significant amount. They were clearly accent flavors, not core ones. But that kind of thing can matter when you want to get the flavor “right” in addition to “good.” That sent me to Internet library… which greatly eased my mind. It turns out that all three are used in ways that American bakers will find both comforting and familiar, and can be replaced by substitutes you already own.
Mastic is a quintessentially Greek spice made from the dried sap of a local tree, commonly used in baking in the same way that Americans use vanilla… Whoa! Hold it right there. Stripped to its core, Ma’amoul is simply a flavored crust wrapped around a fruit-and-nut filling. What could fit a cookie like that better than a touch of vanilla? And vanilla is missing from the ingredient list! Duh. Substitution #1: check. [For what it’s worth, the exchange rate is two parts of vanilla extract for every one part of ground mastic. Reverse engineer as you desire if you keep ground mastic on hand.]
That was easy. What about Mahlab? This, it turns out, is a spice made from the seeds of a shrub related to cherries. It’s typically used as an accent for fruits, and has a flavor that people compare to almond extract mashed up with sweet-spice notes such as cinnamon, anise, and/or cardamom. This makes just as much sense as the first one! You’d have to search long and hard to find a fruit-and-nut filling that doesn’t have some almond extract with a sweet-spice accent. [We ended up at ¼ tsp. of almond extract plus a healthy pinch of star anise to replace ¼ tsp. of mahlab. Reverse engineer as your pantry allows].
On to the… Sandalwood Powder?! Okay, let’s put this on the table. I have a horrible reaction to the smell of sandalwood. One whiff of incense or scented candles can give me a migraine, and one woman in sandalwood perfume is enough to make me flee the elevator in panic. I’m getting a headache now at the mere thought of this noxious toxin showing up in my food.
At the same time, I can see what it’s supposed to do. The same thing that powdered ginger does in other dried fruit recipes. Substitution #3: check that one off as well. [That said, we tried some ginger and ended up leaving it out. You’ll see it in in the recipe as an option for those who like to gild their lilies.]
Getting The Filling Right
All that research proved that the flavor profile in the crust is a lot more standard than you’d think from reading the list of ingredients. The same is even more true of the filling. It’s basically the standard fruit-and-nut filling from Heritage Cookies of the Old and New World, plus a healthy amount of flower water. The only challenge would lie in perfecting the exact proportions for this particular case.
First the nuts. What could be more Middle Eastern than pistachios? The answer is… walnuts, at least in this case. The bulk of this filling requires a softer nut, and the slight bitterness of walnuts fit in perfectly. Pistachios did taste better, but the texture didn’t work. Maybe a mix of the two…? Oh yeah. That’s the way to go. Better than either one standing on its own.
Next, I have to admit that dates aren’t exactly my favorite fruit. They’re just so… meh. But that was not to be. Dates are 100% required if you want to make a proper Ma’amoul. They are the blank canvas for everything else, and no amount of fidgeting can change that basic fact. That said, we once again preferred the multidimensional, sophisticated effect of a mixed fruit filling over something made with dates alone. Figs turned out to be our favorite addition; apricots and raisins our least favorites; and cherries acceptable, but only when used with so much restraint that I left finally left them off the recipe completely. Consider that a secret tip for online readers only!
That left only the elephant in the room: rose water. This is, to put it mildly, a controversial ingredient. Those who like it tend to use it with abandon. Those who are not fans (like me) tend to respond with phrases like “Grandma’s eau de toilette.” If you’re in the first category, please note that many of the recipes I researched use up to three times what you see in ours. Have at it if you will. We, emphatically, will not.
Indeed, my aversion to rose water is strong enough that I tried a version using only orange blossom water, which is much less pushy, and even penciled in a plan to work on a custom version with “more acceptable” aromatics. The test results scotched both of those ideas, but also reassured this rose-water critic that it wasn’t going to be as rough as I feared.
Yes, this is a recipe that requires a certain amount of rose water to do the heavy lifting. You can’t do without it. And yes, up to 50% of that can be replaced with orange blossom water, with fantastic results that all of us preferred. But we also found that these ingredients, and the baking process, tamed the perfume overflow that Kate and I had feared so much. Indeed, consider that as Free Tip #2: You will be surprised how many of the aromatic compounds cook out during the baking, even though the filling is wrapped in a crust.
A version made with 50/50 blends on both the nuts and fruits, plus 2 tbsp. each of rose- and orange blossom water turned out great. More than enough to trigger requests for the next batch. But there was some room for refining.
First I replaced the bulk of the sugar with honey. A fantastic idea you should embrace. Then I adjusted the salt level, and… O.M.G. Words cannot express the magic embodied by how these ingredients come together, marry, and create a whole that is vastly more than the sum of its parts. Ma’amoul really are an experience straight out of the Arabian Nights.
Forgetting A Part, Aren’t We Scott? What About Putting The Cookie Together?
Oh. Yeah.
I’m not going to kid you: forming the Ma’amoul is the most time consuming part of the recipe. In fact, it’s by far the most time consuming part of the recipe, because the dough and the filling are as simple as a cookie gets once you have the ingredients ironed out.
For The Dough: Whirl the dry dough ingredients in your food processor to distribute, and then process in the wet. Remove, wrap, and refrigerate until you’re ready to form.
For The Filling: Put everything but the nuts into your food processor, whirl until smooth, and then process in the nuts until they are ground to your satisfaction. Remove, wrap, and refrigerate until you’re ready to form.
It honestly couldn’t be any quicker or easier.
Forming the cookies isn’t all that hard either, but it does take some fidgety technique you can only develop with practice. The recipe contains good, step-by-step instructions. Both Kate and I took careful notes. But nothing is going to replace a bit of practice. Grow up in the Ma’amoul Zone and you’d probably master the process after 500 cookies under the careful eyes of your mother. We’re aiming to get that number down to 200. But that’s still a solid couple of batches. Just enjoy the fact that making your Ma’amoul definitely gets easier and faster as you go along, and is a fine thing to do with company.
I also want to emphasize that Ma’amoul are easier to form than other filled products such as Trogirski Rafioli, filled Gingerbread, and savory foods like tortellini, pierogies, etc. That’s because those have actual doughs that you need to roll out. The Ma’amoul “dough” is more like a very thick paste once it warms up from a stay in the fridge. You can wrap it around a ball of filling with nothing more than a bit of dedicated work to pinch the thick areas over to where the crust is thin.
Next, you can leave them plain, and they will taste just as good but why shy away from that final touch which makes them extra, extra special? Home bakers typically shape their Ma’amoul with a neat little mold that comes with a handle. This is a much easier tool to master than Europe’s elaborate Gingerbread, Speculaa, and Springerle molds. The cookies come free with nothing more than a few whacks on the counter if you’ve got it properly floured. Kate bought me the inexpensive plastic mold below just for our Ma’amoul testing, but I promise that we will both be using it for a great many European cookies in the years to come.
Note To Friends And Family: Don’t be surprised if your next set of filled gingerbreads comes with a geometric pattern instead of a figurine. This mold is especially easy to use.
Final Observations, Wisdom, and Lessons Learned
Anyone who loves the idea of Heritage Cookies should make this cookie. How many recipes are there that trace their roots back to the time of the pharaohs? How many can claim to be as central in their culture as wedding cake to a U.S. ceremony? How many will inspire an ode, or transport your imagination to a fantasy world you haven’t summoned up since childhood? I can only think of one, and this is it.
Ma’amoul are a fabulous treat that I guarantee you’re going to enjoy. G.U.A.R.A.N.T.E.E. But they are ever so much more than that, too. This cookie is a cultural ambassador. No matter your point of view – taste, texture, romance, culture, or history – it is a recipe that has it all. “Special” barely scratches the surface.
A NOTE FROM KATE: My grandmother used the word “maamul” in Czech to denote a person who begs shamelessly, and the verb “maamulit” to describe the act of begging until I got my way. It is a colloquial slang. I have heard others use it too. But there is no Czech etymology that would tie the word to begging as such. My best guess is that the frequent trade between Czechoslovakia and the countries of the Middle East introduced a new cookie that people loved to eat, but didn’t know how to make. Translation? If you want a cookie that will reduce your family to begging for more, you have found it!
POSTSCRIPT
Many thanks go out to the kind folk at the Islamic Center of Pittsburgh, who put up with a long pair of visits, including one on their sabbath, and provided invaluable feedback on what a good Ma’amoul is supposed to be.
Speaking of which… This may be the best takeaway I can provide about what we mean by a “proper heritage cookie.” The Islamic Center of Pittsburgh has an intriguing mix of parishioners from many different backgrounds. There’s the Middle Eastern contingent, the Indian Subcontinent group, the African group, and various homegrown American Muslims, all wedded into a unique and welcoming mélange. I, of course, was looking for the Middle Eastern natives. I knew the cookies were good – any moron could tell they were good! – but I needed feedback on whether they were capital-R “Right.” That had to come from people who grew up eating them.
I got my help, sure enough. But there’s a story that goes along with that help.
If I watched it once, I watched it twenty times. A gentleman from Lebanon, Syria, Palestine, Morocc0, Libya, etc. agrees to lend me a hand. He tastes a sample, nods sagely, and says something along these lines: “These are good. Very good! Not as good as my mother’s, of course, but they aren’t too sweet, and yes: they are definitely a true Ma’amoul. Nice job.”
Then someone he knows from one of the other groups looks over his shoulder and innocently says, “What are those?”
“You don’t know Ma’moul? How is that possible? You have to try one!”
Three more samples disappear from the tin. There follows the sound of munching, an ecstatic exclamation, and then a buzz of excited conversation and delighted laughter as the group passes out of range.
