A Petra Kitchen

I’m late. The middle east banking sector has let me down again, and the ATM has both refused to give me money and spat my card back out with the unwelcome message “Your pin number has now been changed”, despite no request for it to do so. It now sits with it’s time-out message on its screen. I grimace at it, and it simply flashes back at me insolently. Let’s hope the Petra Kitchen take credit card.



Everyone is at attention when I arrive – neatly arrayed like an army of apron-clad cadets. “So wonderful you can join us, Sarah!” the colonel decrees. I feel like I’m in school, and have only narrowly missed a detention, even though the comment is delivered with a welcoming smile. There are more people than I expected – about thirty have attended tonight’s cookery mission, young and old. There is a man with a Nikon D7000, amiably sticking his lens into spice racks and up the chefs’ noses. Another travel blogger, I guess. I’m assigned to his group with another three eager cooks and a cheeky looking chef.

Our job is first the soup. Shourbat Adas – a simple lentil brew, with mild spices and chicken stock. It is not unique to Petra or even Jordan. As with most of the dishes on the menu tonight, it is a regional staple with its local stamp coming in the ratio of ingredients and method tweaks (with or without bulghar, rice or chickpeas to thicken, and the additions of mutton or chilli for flavour). Travel blogger washes lentils, and I try and find out why some people have wine while I don’t. Chef twists open a steel canister and thrusts one under my nose. I sneeze. Duh – “Pepper.” I respond to his raised eyebrows. Followed by cumin, tumeric and copious amounts of salt. Each is thrown in the pot, and followed by an extra pinch for luck.

Next we are given knives, and presented with several kilos of tomatoes. “Is the knife dangerous?” someone asks. “No,” says chef, and proceeds to wave it over the ripe tomato and come away with a hundred pieces. “A sharp knife is not dangerous. Just don’t cut your finger off.” He smiles, winks at me and steals my own camera to take photos of me while setting me to work. Travel blogger and I compete amiably but with vigour. I’m faster, but he has more flair, and every time I try and throw the cap in the central bin-bowl, I miss. I decide to cover my inaptitude with comedy, and start flirting with Chef. Due to its lack of believability, it gets very silly, very fast. He catches me trying to show another player how to peel and chop garlic the Jamie Oliver way, and he scolds me for teaching someone to release the pungent oil into the chopping board.

The tomatoes are soon fried off with the garlic and swathes of chilli -  “To make…?” he looks at me expectantly. It’s the only dish on tonight's menu that I haven’t previously tasted many times, and I keep forgetting the name. “Jambalaya Bastardo?” I offer, to a round of giggles. He asks garlic man “Gambler in a bandana?” Chef dies mockingly of a broken heart. “Galaya Bandura” says Travel Blogger, correctly. No problem – he can be the smart one. It’s a tomato salsa with a kick and a crunch (pine nuts), and I tried some elsewhere over lunch. It’s not so terribly revolutionary, but is a welcome companion to the usual array of Arabic mezze for a heat-lover as myself. Chef gave me the opportunity to salt the dish. My companions gasp as I ladle spoonful after spoonful. I'm playing chicken, waiting for Chef to stop me. Eventually the class tell me to stop. While our backs are turned, I spy chef adding a little more.

Lastly, we are given the eggplants. They’ve been baked whole in a slow oven, and smell like a Lebanese restaurant – deliciously herbaceous and smokey. They’re soft on the inside, and the skin has retained its firmness. Chef takes the cap off one and squeezes the innards out like a tube of toothpaste. “There –“ he hands me one, and grins naughtily. “I think even you should be able to handle that…” And I can. I squish it out, mince it up and chuck it in the pot. It's one of the simplest dishes of the night, only combined with tomatoes, leafy coriander, (the omnipresent salt) lemon and a flourish, a very large flourish of olive oil. Chef stresses the difference between babaganush and moutabel - the former (translating loosely as "sugar-daddy") is a salad, whereas the latter is a dip.

The entire group is pulled over to one of the stoves and its Arabic-family-sized aluminium pot for the making of the maglouba (which I found remarkably similar to the Emirai Fogat Diyay), which translates as 'upside-down' (Fogat Diyay means chicken on top). I'm Chef's best mate now, and he passes the spices past me first. "Pepper.", I say, "cumin", "tumeric", "cinnamon", "cardamom". Chef nods appreciatively, and with just a smidgen of surprise on his face. After playing the fool all night, he's convinced my brain is empty I fear.

Before long, we are ushered away from the cookstove, and find our seats at tables cleared of chopping boards and set for a meal. Young men usher our mezze in - fattoush, tabouleh, babaganush, za'atar bread, which we smear with the wonderful galaya bandura. We pour soup for each other, praise our own dishes, test the ones we were not involved in. We talk about travel blogging, food, travel and food blogging. We discover our alternative itineraries - we are all travellers here. Some I envy, others I pity, especially those that omit Amman. Conversation flows, and so does the wine. In no time, we are all drinking an Organic Jordanian Pinot Noir Cabernet blend, that is either much better than it sounds, or well masked by the flavours of the food. Our Maglouba is delivered upside-down as promised. I take a photo of the travel blogger missing a photo opportunity and smile inwardly. He comes over later to show me what a lovely job his camera has done with the food, and I smile outwardly and seethe inwardly. Luckily, he and his wife are lovely people, otherwise I might be forced to behave bitterly.
We finish with flakey baclava and a sweet taste on our palates and in our hearts. A night at the Petra Kitchen has been enjoyed.

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The Petra Kitchen is on the main street of town, about 300m from the gate to ancient Petra - well signed and easy walking distance from all the gate hotels (map).

The experience is very well priced at 35JD including your meal and soft drinks (about $45US). Wine is also available (about 5JD per glass). Our menu included:
Shorbat Adas (lentil soup)
tabbouleh
fattoush
babaganuj
tahina salad
cucumber with yoghurt and mint
zatar bread
galaya bandura
maglouba
baklava

I had hoped they would cook the famous Jordanian Mansaf, which unfortunately they did not on this night, which is understandable considering the cooking time involved. They do teach this during their 5-day workshops, which of course are more intensive. Other dishes you might cook include:

Saniyat Dajaj: Chicken baked with potatoes, tomatoes,    and onions with an aromatic blend of spices like cinnamon,    nutmeg, pepper, allspice and cardamom.
Kofta b'tahini: Spiced, ground meat baked in tahini, topped with thinly sliced potatoes and pine nuts and served with rice.
Stuffed Baby Lamb: A celebratory meal - stuffed with rice, chopped onions, nuts and raisins.
Athan Al-Shayeb: Meaning 'the ears of the old gray-haired man'. Is a pasta or jiaozi dish that has been described as a kind of local variation on ravioli. After being stuffed with ground beef and spices, thin wheat dough parcels are cooked in Jameed and served hot in this sauce. (also called Shishbarak)
Zarb: Bedouin barbecue. Meat and vegetables cooked in a large underground pit. 
Dawali: Grape leaves filled with herbed, minced olive oil and served with rice.
Maftul: Large couscous like balls, garbanzo beans and chicken pieces cooked in chicken broth.   Fatteh: Stack of khubz bread, topped by strained yogurt, steamed and crushed chickpeas and olive oil.

Bookings should be made in advance (as soon as you know your dates in Petra) -
visit their website here: www.petrakitchen.com

email them at: info@petrakitchen.com

or phone: +962 3 215 590

Chicken and camel milk tagine

 I have a new tagine. It's a fancy one - Staub. It cost way too much, but it's the first tagine I've had that does the full job - it works on the stovetop, and in the oven. Until now, I've used a 45 year old enamel pot that came to me through my mother in law, and I will still use that lovely pot, but the added bonus with a tagine like this is that it looks damn good on a table.

I'm still inspired by my trip to Jordan, and after cooking mansaf the other day, I thought of my tagine, and chicken. Chicken is so tender and juicy when poached in milk. Jamie Oliver has a great recipe that I had made when my family still included regular dairy in the diet. But now I use camel milk due to its better casein profile. It also has a richer flavour, a light tang and an incredible creaminess despite its low fat content. Camel milk is readily available here in Dubai - for those who can't find it, substitute with buttermilk rather than regular milk, otherwise it will be a little bland, as I use fillets in this recipe rather than a whole chicken.

Ingredients:

• 4 chicken breast fillets, sliced into large chunks (3-4 per fillet depending on size)
• 2 cloves garlic, sliced
• a good slug of nice olive oil for browning
• chicken stock cube (crumbled)
• rind of one lemon (large pieced peeled rather than shredded or grated)
• a few sprigs of fresh thyme
• a cinnamon quill
• 350ml camel milk (or buttermilk - tips for turning regular milk into buttermilk here and  here)
• salt and black pepper to taste

Instructions:

1. Preheat oven to 160°C (320°F), then set your pot or tagine on the stovetop at a high heat.
2. Brown chicken with olive oil and garlic, then add the rest of the ingredients to the pot, bring to a gentle boil, then pop in the oven for one hour (covered)

Serve with short-grained rice, maybe with a saffron flavour, and buttered baby peas, or with big chunks of crusty bread and a green salad with herbs. 

This is a seriously easy dish, and the kids adored it (with rice and peas).

Garam Masala Muffins

I was invited to go and have a chat with some lovely people on Dubai Eye Radio today (about food blogs), and realised with an hour before leaving time that I probably shouldn't turn up empty handed. So, I grabbed a ramshackle bunch of ingredients out of the cupboard and threw them together.

The recipe is quite formulaic - I make this kind of thing for the kids all the time now. You will find it is quite similar to many of my cupcake or muffin recipes already on here. But, the garam masala adds a nice little kick. If I hadn't been making enough for the kids too, then I probably would have used a dash more black pepper to spice them up a bit.

As usual, it's gluten free, casein free and even sugar free (except if you frost it).

Ingredients:

• 2 cups self raising flour (Doves Gluten Free blend)
• 1/2 cup vegetarian ghee or margarine
• 2 eggs
• 1/4 cup soy milk
• 1/2 cup date paste
• 1 tsp garam masala*
• pinch salt
• 1/2 tsp cinnamon
• squeeze lemon juice

Instructions

1. Preheat oven to 180°C (375°F), then in a large bowl, beat the eggs and ghee until smooth, then add the date paste and lemon juice, continuing to beat well until nicely combined.
2. Sift dry ingredients, and add alternating with soy milk until all nicely integrated, then spoon into cupcake pans in an ovenproof muffin pan.
3. Cook for 15-20 minutes, or until golden brown and springy but firm.

I frosted a few with a mix made of a couple of teaspoons of soy yoghurt, a squeeze of lemon juice, a pinch of cardamom and icing sugar.

Regarding flour - I'm not sponsored by doves or anything - it is just by far the closest to normal wheat flour that I have found. You can mix your own flour from other flours - I find that teff and brown rice flour (and if you like a denser flavour, then buckwheat) are probably the best for cakes and biscuits. Remember you will probably need to add a gluten replacement like xantham gum, and some baking power if you are mixing your own.

*Garam Masala is a mixed spice, and varies from country to country, and even region to region. I use a mix that contains coriander, cumin, cinnamon, star anise, cloves, nutmeg, black pepper and cardamom. I added a little extra cinnamon for benefit of the kids - it probably didn't need it.

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Lamb Mansaf

I've just returned from Jordan, inspired. Some people think all arabic food is the same, and living in Dubai, I can tell you I've had tabouleh and humous up to here (imagine me gesturing at my larynx).

However, I've recently been delving into the different cuisines of the area, and have also been treated to an Arabic food crawl by Arva Ahmed in Deira, and I'm finally starting to find some real gems. One of them is Mansaf, the traditional lamb and yoghurt dish of Jordan.

Ingredients (notes on ratios below)

• Lamb with bone in (I used a 1.8kg leg. Shanks would also work very well)
• Laban or yoghurt
• chicken or vegetable stock
• shawarma spice (my recipe at end if you want to mix your own)
• olive oil or ghee for browning meat
• lemon juice
• salt and pepper
• rice cooked with a pinch of saffron threads (in the rice-cooker)
• coriander (cilantro) leaves and toasted nuts (pine nuts and slithered almonds work well) to garnish

Instructions:

1. Preheat oven to 140°C, then brown lamb over a high heat on the stove. When cool enough rub with shawarma spice and salt, then place in an oven pan large enough to enclose meat.
2. Mix enough yoghurt (laban) and stock to surround meat at least to halfway, then cover and put in the oven. Leave it for 2 1/2 hours, then turn it, then leave for another 2 1/2 hours.
3. Take cooked rice and arrange on a large dish, then place meat pieces over it and scatter with coriander and toasted nuts.
4. Blend yoghurt sauce if necessary (tends to congeal a little), adding lemon juice, salt and pepper for flavour), then pour half over the dish, and reserve half in a bowl or jug for individual portions.

Not my picture - from hummus-recipes.blogspot.com

It's not a pretty dish (hence my picture concentrating on the yoghurt sauce) - the nicest one I found on the web was this one to the right from hummus-recipes.blogspot.com, which also includes the traditional preparation, unlike my slapdash version above.

Notes:

Ratios
If using yoghurt, 1 part yoghurt to two parts stock, but laban is thinner - one-to-one works better. I needed 500ml of laban and 500 of stock to surround my lamb leg, which I placed in a regular roasting pan, then covered with 4 well-sealed layers of foil.

Substitution
If you've read previous postings, you will know that my household is now casein (milk protein) free, so that makes yoghurt a little difficult to include. Traditionally, it is made with jameed, a dried yoghurt, which is then re-hydrated to provide the sauce and trap the natural liquids of the meat. For our family, it's not only a banned item, but almost impossible to find anyway. You can make it yourself, but that's a journey for another time for me. I used camel laban (no bad casein), but this could be easily changed for regular natural yoghurt or laban (soured milk like drinking yoghurt).
I used Egyptian rice, a fat, absorbent rice like calrose. It is much more suitable than a long grain rice like basmati, as it softens up beautifully.

Blasphemy
This is not a Jordanian Mansaf recipe, but a variation for my own kitchen inspired by recent tastings in Jordan. It is not quite as tangy or gamey in flavour as the traditional version, but I would suggest, much easier.

Shawarma Spice mix:

• 1 tbsp. cumin
• 1 tbsp. ground coriander
• 1 tbsp. garlic powder
• 1/2 tsp. cardamom
• 1/2 tsp. ground cloves
• 1 tsp. ground black pepper
• 1/2 tsp. ground cinnamon

Tastes better if you use whole spices and toast them a little then grind them, but using fresh ground spices is a whole lot easier.

Petra by day

The walk is long, there’s no denying.

The path is texturally treacherous rather than difficult. I find my feet slipping over ancient cobble slabs, polished with the feet and rain of hundreds of years. The soles of my shoes trap wicked prickly pebbles and my toes are covered in dust, powdered into monochrome. Wet and dark patches must be avoided – equine refuse no doubt, and sometimes difficult to spot as I weave through stark sunlight and shadow in the high-walled siq. The walls provide cool shade, respite from the spring sun, which, almost like Dubai's, is already developing its summer venom.

Siq punks traverse the channel at speed, selling trinkets and knowledge, practicing their English, including its accents and colloquialisms… ‘g'day maaayte. They are immune to the undulations of the path it seems, more so than the horses, which slip frequently and heavily to the disdain of their bearers. Tourists topple above them like precarious bowling pins, smiling, chatting with their guides or companions.

 

Timed like the Metro, a horse and carriage thunders past every two minutes. Steel-rimmed wheels clatter or crunch on the path. The drivers whip the animals shamelessly, the passengers bump and shake in the cart like beans in a jar, faces frozen with fear, cameras trapped in their bags, a far reach from their gripping white knuckles. The horse drinks its own lather.

I’ve been to the Treasury (The Kazneh) already, but I am still anticipatory as this will be my first vision in daylight. It comes to me in pieces – a column and corner of decorative lintel appears through a peephole of cliffs, bathed in dusty sunbeams. Bit by bit, the walls give way, and I find myself in the same place as last night. Same, but different. This time is is full of light and noise. It’s bigger than I remember, as is the cove it sits in, and the aisle that leads to further parts of the city is visible.

We stop for tea, hot and sweet, and sit watching the people watching a monument that has watched people back for two thousand years. Aye, one of the seven wonders it is. It’s beautiful, and beautifully preserved, but the true wonder is in the location. Hidden for years by the Bedouins, like something out of the tales of the Arabian Nights. Precious artwork stored remotely in a piece of God’s own best work – the man-made sculpture no less picturesque than the natural rock formations, the narrow siqs drilled by water long gone, and the defiant vegetation, even fruit-bearing figs sprouting from solid stone.

 

We take camels for then next section, and see the theatre, the 17 graves and the more elaborate tombs from a height. Other tourists photograph us. My small son sits in front of me, bobbing naughtily each time I try to snap between steps. Fortunately it’s bright, and I can set my shutter speed high – from the top of this beast there is no pause for framing. But I will find later that there is a gauze of golden curls in more than half the pictures. We move slowly, but our untrained seats struggle with the ride. Before long, goldilocks’ “oohs” and “whaaah”s give way to groans. And then he declares in his loud baby voice “Urrrh. Ohh, my choo choo’s going to fall off!” We laugh, so he repeats it often, and loudly. It becomes unfunny as the rear bump on the saddle grinds itself against my poor coccyx.

At the end of roman street, we dismount. Behind us are shanty stores touting rustic silverware, pashminas and semi-precious gems. Most of the sales are done by the last stall though as trekkers refuel with lukewarm Coke and mineral water. To the left is the ongoing dig by Brown University at the Petra Great Temple. Children have rifled through the discarded rubble and chosen the more interesting pieces. They sell them from cardboard boxes while sitting in the dirt in the sun. One child is no more than two. Perhaps his mother works at a nearby stall, or his brother provides donkey rides up the hill, but he is alone except for the tourist from New Zealand giving him water from her own bottle.

Photo by A.Griffiths Belt, Nat Geographic

Ahead are more craggy gorges, and goat tracks to wind through them.  Those with the energy and inclination continue past the museums and the incongruous Crown Plaza "Basin Restaurant" on foot or upon the back of a donkey to the monastery (Al Deir). My bottom is too sore and the children too tired to continue. It means more kilometres, and I've already done at least 2 on foot and 1 on a camel, and they must be repeated on the return, uphill. I've missed out on a massive replica of the treasury with extra columns (although suggested to be a tomb rather than a monastery, as the treasury is believed to have also been a tomb or even a library), accessible all the way to the top, where you can perch on its cone for an almighty photo opportunity. But it's 6km from the entry point, and involves a daunting climb. It's a sight that will have to wait until I have children who can babysit themselves. Hopefully I will still be fit enough to endure it.

A modern hat sits atop the byzantine church, and it is almost mistaken as being part of the Basin Restaurant. Instead it is a 5th century cathedral of mosaic, re-discovered only in 1990 and excavated by the the American Center of Oriental Research soon after, to open in 1998. 

The Winged Lions temple hides in a hollow, its broken walls and columns gaping like giant teeth and discarded bones. Elsewhere in the basin, the living scatter. Tourists, bedouins, donkeys, tourists on donkeys, bedouins selling donkeys for the Al Deir climb. Cheeky local teens loiter and jeer politely, but I tell them my camel awaits with a grimace on my face. "Akhh ya teezi", I tell them, as I have been taught "Ouch, my butt".

I trapse around Qasr al bint, the only full building to remain on the Main St of Petra. I touch the walls not fenced off, and they powder my hand. Is it desert sand or erosion of this stone? The former I suppose - if it has been here this long, my feeble fingers could not brush it away.

The family return on the camel, but I walk behind, preferring to save my poor teezi and pass under the Arched Gate on foot to better appreciate its perspective. I battle gravel in my sandals, taking photos without the bumps or blond curls. Still though, I fear it is all too hurried, and I longingly stare at those who have climbed the rock faces to expore closer. I turn back to the hill that leads to the monastery. I smile in thanks to the lady selling sweet bronze camels, stretched in the Nabataean style while I shake my head. "Not today, shukran". No. It seems I must come back. Not tomorrow, but soon, I think.

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Getting around:
Entry to the park is 50JD for a day, 55 for two and 60 for 3. Under 12s free. Petra is more than just the Treasury. Although this building is spectacular, with its pink and perfect facade, it is just the pretty face, and not as accessible as many of the other sights. This link includes a fairly good description of the places to go and a reasonably scaled map. Distance from the main gate to the Treasury is a little over a kilometer. This can be done on foot, on horseback or by cart. Pick up your ride just inside the entrance (3JD for a horse, about 15-20 for a cart). Note that only the carts can continue past the half-way point into the siq. From the Treasury to Qasr al Bint is another easy walk, about 1.5km. Camels can be picked up from in front of the Treasury for about 5-10JD one way, depending on bargaining prowess and numbers travelling. Once at Qasr al Bint, there are donkeys and camels for either the return trip (camel) or a continuation onto the monastery (donkey). My suggestion is to walk down, and grab a donkey when you tire. If you can stand the animal abuse, get a cart back up the siq on your return.

Eating and drinking:
There are plenty of options inside the gates - Jordanians have embraced tourist demand and you will find kiosks about every 500m. There are plenty at the entry, one at the horse station at entry to the siq, another basic restaurant at the Treasury (tea and snacks), and the Basin Restaurant or Nabataen Tent plus various stores around main street. There is even a restaurant at the Monastery I am told. Just near the main entry is the Guest house, with the Cave Bar attatched. They serve a lovely local pinot grigio, good shisha and basic meals (not superb, but edible) on a terrace or inside a genuine Nabataen cave. It's a good reward at the end of a long day.

Stay:
We stayed at the Petra Movenpick, just outside the gates. It's a reasonable 4-5*, decorated in elaborate Syrian style with some very good food and a pretty ordinary pool. Petra Moon, despite its 2-3* rating, is also close by, and comes highly recommended from many sources. The Petra Guest House by Crown Plaza is the closest to the gate, also reasonably priced, and has varied reviews. If you don't mind getting a taxi to the gate, you might want to try one of the hotels with sweeping views over the wadi - either the Marriot or aptly named Grand View Resort. But it may be worth travelling a couple of kilometres further afield for something exotic like Taybet Zaman, which may be for me next time, methinks. Taxis are everywhere and relatively cheap.

Further Information:
Official Petra Park page - needs a little work I think, but the basic information is there (no map)
Grand View Resort pages have some excellent information on exploring Petra - more than you would expect of a hotel site. 
Nabataea.net also has some easy to follow listings and in-depth information
As mentioned before, the best map I found is on atlas tours' page on Petra
Some legends of Petra can be found here
More of my photos here.

As Lion and I discovered, the Matrix is no longer located in the walls of the treasury. "Of course not Mum, Sam put it in Optimus Prime's chest!" duh... (They in fact used the Monastery)

Night Treasure at Petra

I'm in a womb, with three hundred siblings. It's dim, warm, quiet. All I can hear is the rebab, as its melancholy wail reverberates off the walls surrounding us, and the occasional murmur of one of my twins. I can see just the golden pinpoints on the cool sandy floor, and diamond shards in the night sky above. The sky is close, curved unnaturally around us in this eerie atmosphere. And to my left, a looming relic. So totally enormous I feel like I am no longer a person, but a tiny tiny thing - a mouse, a lizard, a speck of caviar. A breeze joins us from a hidden aisle, and I close my eyes. The music encloses on me. My son nestles into my lap, fetal. He's completely afraid of the dark, and yet here, in a cavern, with no unnatural light, in the middle of nowhere, he's asleep.

Soon the silence is broken, ironically, with the cessation of the music. All the other mice clap, and I open my eyes and remember that I'm not alone. Chatter, the strobing of flash, and clashing applause bring me back to today. I've put my camera away with my voice, I might regret it later. I am at one of the seven wonders of the world, a tourist destination of the highest order, and to my surprise, even the cringing cynic in me is spellbound. The camera just can't capture this, and I miss out if I stick myself behind the lens. My husband grinns like a loon. My eldest son is gobsmacked, frozen in gape - a miracle, I believe. We are at ancient Petra. At night.


The mewing strings of the rebab give way to a flute - open and woody, breathy and piercing. The musician weaves his way through the people and the candles, his long Bedouin garb swaying and stroking the sandy floor as he goes. The 300 people are so quiet, even with my eyes closed, I can tell exactly where he is. Another man serves mint tea or qahwah sweetened and mild for the tourist palate - even my son enjoys it. Then begins the story.

"Wake up my son!" he cries. Again and again. His accent is thick, and the echoing chasm makes a mockery of him. "What am I doing here?" he asks, pacing before us with questioning arms open wide. I'm not entirely sure. I can't understand him. I think he is personifying the Treasury, waking it from its two-thousand year sleep, asking it what it is, what purpose it may have. I can't find the answer, nobody can. Like Stonehenge, this monument will baffle all those who attend it. Who made it? Why? How did they survive in this dusty corner of Maan? Why would they want to live out here anyway? Is it faintly possible what some say about Petra being the true birthplace of Islam?

All I know is that sitting here, in this secluded nest, I feel magic around me. If God was to visit me anywhere, it would be here.

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Forget what you read elsewhere about the tackyness of Petra by Night - it's no Pyramids light show. Go, but BEFORE you see it during the day. With all experiences in the dark, the mystery is gone if you know where you are going. And without the mystery, it's simply 1800 candles in paper bags on the sand with more than the faintest whiff of donkey poop in the air. Walking the winding siq however, without knowing which corner will be the one that reveals the two-tousand year old face of The Treasury creates such alluring butterflies of anticipation.

The rate is 12 JD per person, with kids under 12 free, so considering the day rate of entry is usually 50, it's not so bad, especially as entertainment is provided, which although meagre, is perfectly apt. We went at peak season (spring), and although crowded, there was ample room to sit in comfort, and the audience were perfectly behaved - perhaps it is the awe, or maybe the fearful candle-lit masks of the bedouins leading the event? 

The walk is not difficult, even our 5 year old made it all the way down. But there are no horses or donkeys at night, so ensure you're up for a trek - it's a good kilometre - probably a little more. Some is gravel, some sand, some cobbles, some concrete, some flat, and some with a slight incline. Don't even consider a stroller, and even if your child is older, pack a sling - we carried Goldilocks all the way back up, while he feigned sleep and seemed to weigh a further ten grams for every step we took.

For more information, visit www.petrapark.com and check out Lonely Planet's Gallery for a few more night shots. If you wish to gain entry before the hoards, contact the park direct, and you might get couple of shots in peace with a tripod. My own gallery of Petra by day can be found here...

Amman - entry to Jordan

 

Just a postcard today.  Here begins my series on Jordan. This morning I woke to a misty monochromatic dawn. Amman stretches over undulations in perfect repetition like so many white Lego towers. In half an hour I leave with Mr Ahmad to Bethany on the Jordan, where Jesus Christ was baptized two thousand years ago. Will I return washed clean? I fear it may take some scrubbing... 

Until later.

Honey Bundt

My kids have colds again. 

My granny knew the cure for the common cold a long, long time ago. So did her granny, and her granny's granny. Honey, citrus, and love. Now we have scientific proof - honey not only soothes a sore throat, it also aids in controlling bacteria and supports the immune system. Citrus is full of vitamin C, another immune booster, antioxidants and folate. And love? Well, I don't need a lab report to tell me that it makes you feel better (but there is one anyway)

I'm a big fan of Manuka honey - I always have some in my cupboard. That, and some organic local honey, which I have been told is good for fighting inflammation from exposure to local pollens. I also used a mix of half ghee, half grapeseed oil to boost antioxidents and linoleic acid. As usual, I have made a gluten free and dairy free option, but this could easily be made with standard ingredients.

I made this cake entirely by hand, as it was the 31st March, and I did so in honour of Earth Hour. It was lovely and fluffy - there is no need to use electric beaters. The kids also helped me with this one - it's super easy. It's not a super-sweet cake, but trust me, if they help you make it, they won't even notice.

Ingredients:

• 400g self raising flour (gluten free)
• 200g butter - softened (dairy free ghee or grapeseed oil)
• 3 eggs
• 100g honey (try and use local or manuka)
• pinch salt
• dash vanilla
• 200ml milk (rice milk, A2 milk or camel milk)

Icing:

• 2 tsp orange juice
• pinch salt
• 1/2 cup icing sugar

Instructions:

1. Preheat oven to 180°C (350°F). In a large bowl, whisk eggs, honey, vanilla and butter/ghee/oil until creamy, then add sifted dry ingredients and milk alternating, whisking as you go - work those muscles!
2. Grease your pan (and flour a little if it is not particularly non-stick), then bake for 35-45 minutes, or until a knife tests clean.
3. When cake is cooled, mix icing ingredients together, adding more sugar or juice until you get a consistency like pouring cream, then drizzle over cake.

With all gluten free and dairy free substitutes, there always needs to be a little give and take. Rice milks vary in sweetness and density, and gluten free flour mixes vary in texture and dryness. You may need more or less liquid. I use Doves flour, and I find it quite dry - hence the large quantity of oil in this cake. I live in Dubai and so camel milk is readily available - lucky me. It is low in bad Casein and fat, and very creamy to taste. If only they would make it into a casein-free cheese, I would be happy! 
 

Orvieto - a castle on the clouds

I'd seen Orvieto in my dreams before. Floating, a castle village resting on stormclouds. Close up it was a town of gallant knights and minstrels, pomp and power, madness and frivolity, a big bite of full-flavoured life. In reality, the clouds are stone, but it rests on its pedestal no less grandly than I had hoped.

Photo by Byron Roe Photography (see note*)

Anyone who has never seen it before will have the same reaction upon watching it loom over the Roman Campagnia as if it was lord of Lazio, not the princeling of Umbria that it is. You will gape. It truly is the image of legends - a Latin Valhalla. And you will need to visit.
Either take the Funicular from the railway station, or the escalators from Campo della Fiera, or do as we did - drive the heavenly windy road to Via Roma, park and follow the stragglers past the funicular station and through the outer until the bitumen gives way to cobbles and you pass through the invisible walls into history.

This is no rambling village. Although the complete lack of cars may lead you to think this is a town for a simple stroll - it is not so. As each step takes you closer to the centre, and past stone buildings each more wrinkled by time than the last, you will realise that one day is not going to be enough. You will head for the Duomo - everybody does. You might stop for coffee in the shady Corso Cavour, nibble on tozzetti alle mandorle, then continue past the brick-a-brac and gourmet stores slowly. By the time you reach the piazza del duomo, you will be in need of lunch, and the discovery will hit you - you've misjudged the tourist merit of this town. My family alotted only a day to beautiful Orvieto, and I fear we missed the best parts. Ah well such is life. An excuse to return I suppose. But the day was by no mean wasted.

We ambled, allowing ourselves to stumble onto tourist attractions like the lazy folk we are. We missed the underground Orvieto, because that would have required organization, booking on a guided tour. Now I regret it. The Etruscan past and the love this region seems to have with mystery and intrigue has filled the tufa rock that Orvieto rests on with a warren of escape routes and subterranean art. 

We saw the Cathedral - a pied monolith of such grandeur, again, I found Orvieto had physically taken the breath from me. It's not just the outside - perfect geometry in travertine and basalt, and lacy sculpture and mocaic. Inside it is sheathed in works both delicate and grotesque by Fra Angelico and Luca Signorelli and a hush and cool that even the hottest rowdiest bunch of summer tourists cannot seem to penetrate. It's possibly the most jaw-dropping cathedral I've seen behind Gaudi's Sagrada Familia.

We dined at the kooky Hostaria Nonnamelia a clean and soulful restaurant with clever modern take on Umbria rustic, attitude-fueled staff and reasonable food. I partook of some homemade umbricelli - wiggly fat worms of buttery pasta with summer truffle. We did not get a chance to sample the more traditional fare of Orvieto, in particular the potatoes cooked in ashes (Patate cotte sotto la cenere) and braised rabbit with fennel. Perhaps if we had dined at the more rustic La Palomba or Duca Orvieto we may have.

We did however drink our fair share of Orvieto wine. I'm no stranger to this perfect drop of white that is simply a mouthful of summer. It's dry, very dry, defying it's sweet and viscous origins, when it was a nectar made for visiting popes. Now it is light, ranging from neutral with the scent of apple seeds when cheap to the better versions which can be perfumed like an Umbrian summer courtyard - rockmelon, honeysuckle and lemon rind mixed with crisping grass of the dried fields and a dewy whisper of summer rain.

As with all Italian lunches, we finished with a roll to the nearest Gelato supplier, which turned out to be the best we had tried in Italy (Gelateria Pasqualetti)



Fortunately, as with many towns in Umbria, Orvieto welcomes the stranger just to walk its streets in peace. Sometimes the greatest sights are not the grandest, the most famous. If you like that kind of thing, then of course you must visit the Torre del Morro, St Patrick's Well, The Albernoz Fortress, The Pozzo della Cava and one or more of the many palazzi or museums.

But you may well find that you miss all the little things that make Orvieto what it is today. You won't discover the restoration of a tiny chapel on Via Santo Stefano, so old and forgotten it's not even on the map anymore. You probably won't have time to play with the legs of a Pinnochio puppet with your four-year-old, or rummage through old maps in dusty stores in side alleys. You won't have time to touch the thousand-year old walls lining the streets, and practice your burgeoning Italian with a curious nonna at her post box. I guess it's all a matter of priorities, but if I went again, I'd make sure I had at least two days so I could do a bit of both...

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Orvieto (map) is one of the major sights of Umbria, but often missed in preferance of other towns such as Assisi, Spoleto, Todi, Perugia and Gubbio. It is an easy train journey from Rome, and so many will take it up in a day, but as I have mentioned, something will have to give.

Stay:
In town on a budget: La Casa di Tufo
In town mid-budget: Hotel Duomo
In town with no budget: Hotel Piccolomini
out of town ooh la la: La Badia
Or where we did in a holiday rental an hour's drive away: Tartagli Bassi

Some useful links:
Orvieto Wine Tours
Orvieto Tourism Official Site
Tourist map of Orvieto
Orvieto Underground

*Byron Roe Photography are a US based team who have the enviable job of traveling around the world to photograph weddings in exotic locations. They have kindly allowed me to use their photo, which was the only one I could find that justified the beauty of this town on the rock. You will have to ask Byron where he was when he took it.