Well-bread in Arabia: A taste of ka'ak

As Ziyad Ayass, Lebanese street-food entrepreneur and my host for the night, walks me over to his eatery at Mercato Shopping Mall in Jumeirah, I notice a petite kiosk with neon lights reading 'Ka'ak Al Manara – Lebanese Canteen’ in English and Arabic. Ka'ak Al Manara, it turns out, is the descendant of a food pop-up concept gone viral. The former corporate consultant dove into the wobbly world of food start-ups after his food cart at the Ripe Market, Dubai's winter pop-up bazaar, hit a sweet spot with gourmets. Impressed, I watch Ayass bustle around, instructing men to dish out varieties of what appears to be interestingly-fashioned bread.

All about the ka'ak

Sure enough, research reveals ka'ak to be a Lebanese spin on a Turkish street bread called simit. Simit was one of the many cultural influences that the Ottoman Empire  brought with when it dictated matters of power and palate in the Middle-East. A circular bread, generously encrusted with seasame seeds, simit gained eclecticism in Lebanon when the new patrons began enjoying it with za’atar (local herb-mix) and picon cheese, giving birth to the very basic form of ka'ak. 

Now that the counter has started smelling of meat, cheese and bake-warm air, Ayass explains how unlike the other Levantine staple manakish (bread topped with cheese, thyme or ground meat), ka'ak never found prominence beyond the borders of Jordan, Syria or Lebanon. Up until now, that is. "In Lebanon, finding ka'ak-cycles parked outside schools is a common sight. We thought we'd bring this cultural nostalgia to the world," Ayass says, urging me to take my first bite.

Savoury + Sweet = Succulent

Ka'ak reminds me of a small beaded handbag. No, really. The golden-brown base and small hole punched at the upper end, which gives it it's curious shape, bears testimony to the old Lebanese practice of hanging the snack from hooks on peddling cycles.

Biting into it proves fruitful, quite literally, as my tongue is met by the warm bonhomie of turkey and—raspberries! The texture that cushions this lovely dyad is as interesting, it's crisp-ish wheat flour body not dampened one bit by the juicy occupants. Not about to stop now, I sample other varieties like the traditional Za’atar and Thyme Ka'ak, flavoured with a sesame and oil mix; Four Cheese Ka'ak with mozzarella, cheddar, akawi and salty picon cheese; the oddly familiar Chicken Fajita Ka'ak; and the sizzling Nutella Ka'ak. All that corrupting Nutella smeared around my pout, I take heart at Ayass' assurance that a basic ka'ak is vegan-friendly and otherwise healthy. I have clear favourites, but it’s incredible how a minor variation in the filling – a different cheese, a quick smattering of sumac or chilli paste – makes each flavour stand out.

A cheesy romance 

"The dream is to have many more kiosks that can serve small communities, before turning Ka'ak Al Manara into the world's biggest ka'ak chain," Ayass confesses, dishing out his final offering – a syrupy Arabic cheese-pie called knafeh. This messy treat is the ka'ak's staple consort, as they share a long history of being served together by vendors in Beirut. Over the years, people developed the habit of stuffing their kaáks with the knafeh, creating a knafeh sandwich.

In-bread potential

Somewhere along this very chatty meal, I learn that owning his own joint hasn't caused the young businessman to disconnect from his passion for pop-ups. In fact, the beef 'sandwich' I had so fancied at Dubai's annual Etisalat 'Beach Canteen' the previous day, was apparently a beef ka'ak (made peppy with tahina sauce, herb-mix, parsley and pickle) from Al Manara's pop-up at the venue. "Well, that's the thing about ka'ak," Ayass smiles. "You can have it anywhere, stuff it with anything. The bread remains just as special." Between thick mouthfuls, I decide to agree.