What the Hummus: HOW TO MAKE HUMMUS!

A few weeks back, I wrote a feature ranting about Usdan’s hummus. The next day, I very sadly paired my sad Usdan salad with sad Usdan hummus, and it was not a highlight of my life.

I’m finally settled into my home for break, which means a few things: I have not left the house unless it’s for work or for IKEA, I have eaten approximately 567 loaves of bread, and I’ve spent a particularly significant amount of time in the kitchen.

“Making my family proud of my ability to take care of myself,” aside, my house is currently under construction and the kitchen is one of the only places where I can’t either fall through a ceiling or trip over some wood planks.

On the way home from IKEA, I force my mom to make a pit stop at the local halal market. Once home, my mom gave me her recipe, and I cross-checked with some Turkish recipe site for measurements, and I made a…beautiful…batch of hummus. Seriously, it’s really good. I posted a short recipe on Instagram, but I decided this recipe deserves a home on the blog because of my past writing on the subject. Here we go:

Before the recipe, here’s an extended disclaimer: I’ve learned how to cook in Turkish, so I’ve rarely had to crack open an English cookbook, so I don’t know English cooking jargon, names of cooking appliances, etc. This has led to some awkward moments. For example, when I was giving a tour and was describing campus dining/kitchens in dorms, the following happened:

Parent: What’s the kitchen in the dorms like?

Me: Really great! Once, I went down to the Butts kitchen at midnight, and saw some students huddled around the kitchen. They were making some apple cider, and were uh…they were…doing the thing to the apples.

Me: *makes hand gesture that somewhat mimics a grater*

Parent 1: Slicing?

Me: No, no. It cuts it even smaller. Like, thin pieces.

Parent 2: Cutting?

Me: No, like, **thin** pieces

Parent 3: Peeling?

Me: No, no. It’s like the metal thingy and you slide the food over it…ugh, whatever. It’ll come to me.

Me: *Continues spiel*

Me: …and the meal plan, GRATER, the WORD IS GRATER. THEY WERE GRATING THE APPLES.

Another time, I accidentally told my friend to make pink sauce in a saucepan rather than a normal (?) pan because I literally say tava (the Turkish word for pan) for everything and didn’t know the difference, and let’s say that the vodka didn’t cook out so he literally made penne ala vodka, but like…vodka. 

The point is I don’t know how to cook in English.

As a result, I’ve been conditioned to cook with Turkish measurements; I’ve researched some translations to these measurements:

“su bardgi” means “water cup,”

“çay bardagi” means “teacup,”

“yemek kasigi” means “food spoon,” and

“tatli kasigi” means “dessert spoon.” We also have “çay kasigi,” which is “teaspoon,” which is also apparently a “dessert spoon,” which is slightly more than one actual teaspoon.*

Apparently “1 US Customary Cup” is 236.588 mL, so I’m going to approximate most of these measurements. 1 teaspoon is 4.92892 mL, so we’ll be using some good ‘ol sig figs for that one too. This is a lot better than the typical measurement of “göz ayari,” which means “eye measurement,” and I have no idea whose eyes we’re using for this measurement.

Ingredients:

For the hummus:

  • 1 can chickpeas, washed
  • 5 yemek kasigi tahini (approximately 2 teaspoons).
    • I definitely put…a lot more than that. Up to your sesame desires.
  • 4 cloves of garlic
  • 1 lemon, squeezed for ~juice~
  • 1/2 çay bardagi oil (so basically a ~~BABY~~ bit more than 1/4 cup)
  • 1 çay kasigi cumin (1 teaspoon)
  • 1/2 teaspoon salt (I give up on the Turkish measurements)
  • Water, for texture
    • Quote from my mother: I put 3-4 ice cubes in the processor. Since the blade heats up the chick peas, the hummus ends up being a little bit bitter. The ice prevents that.
      • I made the hummus without ice. I Googled how long it would take for an ice cube tray to freeze (~a few hours~) and I am far too impatient to wait for ice to freeze.
        • It turned out fine; so you do you.
          • Basically, just add water if you need the consistency to be a bit thinner.

For the ~accoutrement~:

  • Oil
  • A shitton of Red pepper
  • Parsley, chopp’d.

Other things you’ll need:

  • Your mom’s prehistoric food processor thingy. I swear, this thing is older than I am, has lived in every location I have existed in, and my mom has absolutely no intention to replace it. I don’t know how it works, nor do I think it’s particularly safe, but it makes the hummus smooth and that’s all that matters.
  • Relative ability to understand texture of spreads

LET’S MAKE THIS:

It’s actually pretty easy. Put all the ingredients in the food processor, and let that baby run for a few minutes. You want the hummus to be smooth, unlike Fountain Boi™, so don’t let your hummus be weird and chunky. Check periodically both for smoothness and salt content. I ended up adding in a significant amount of salt in later on to compensate for the extreme lack of salt my diet has had a lá Usdan. After you run it in the processor (mine took a few minutes), scoop into a bowl. Throw some red pepper flakes on top, a drizzle of oil, and some parsley. Serve with pita, or toasted bread, wheat thins, bb carrots, or just a spoon. Whatever floats your boat.

***

And voíla! You have made some Middle-Eastern-gal verified hummus. Seriously. After posting that photo set, I devoured the hummus. I cannot express how happy I am of the results.

You’re welcome, Wesleyan. You’re welcome.

xoxo,

Meli

*it pains me that WordPress doesn’t recognize the actual letters in the alphabet. ***sigh***