Ask Chef Walter: The Secret and the Saffron – Walter Potenza

by Master Chef Walter Potenza, contributing writer

A history of the Druze people, and its cuisine, completed with a tested recipe for Druze Mnazaleh.

Friends:

The Druze are a unique and often misunderstood community in the Middle East. Their history is more than just religious debates and politics; it is a living story shaped by family, faith, and food. To understand the Druze, you have to imagine traveling from the secret meetings of 11th-century Cairo to the bright kitchens of the Galilean and Lebanese mountains, where the smell of spices tells a story of survival and identity.

The Genesis of a Faith: Between a Caliph and a Heretic

The Druze faith began during a time of great spiritual and political change. In the early 11th century, Cairo was the center of the Fatimid Caliphate, which supported Isma’ili Shi’ism. In 1017, a Persian mystic and scholar named Hamza ibn Ali ibn Ahmad started teaching a new belief. He said that the divine intellect had appeared in human form as the Fatimid Caliph al-Hakim bi-Amr Allah.

This belief led to a dramatic conflict. Caliph al-Hakim was a mysterious and controversial leader, and the idea of his divinity became central to the new faith. Another preacher, Muhammad bin Ismail al-Darazi, also supported the movement, but Hamza thought his ideas were too extreme. Al-Darazi called himself “the Sword of the Faith” and taught an incarnationist view that Hamza strongly opposed. In 1018, al-Darazi was killed, and his name became linked to the community as a heretic. Strangely, outsiders began calling the group Druze after him, even though they have always called themselves al-Muwaḥḥidūn, or “the Unitarians.”

The new faith quickly faced strong opposition from religious leaders in Cairo. Riots started, and the movement was forced underground. Things got worse when Caliph al-Hakim disappeared during a night ride in 1021 and was thought to be assassinated. His successor, al-Zahir, began harshly persecuting the Druze. Hamza went into hiding, and leadership passed to al-Muqtanā Bahāʾ al-Dīn. To escape danger in Egypt, Druze missionaries fled to the remote mountains of Syria and Lebanon, where they built the communities that still exist today. In 1043, al-Muqtanā decided that no new converts would be allowed, so from then on, only those born into the faith could be Druze.

A Tapestry of Belief and Identity

The Druze faith is private and closed to outsiders. Their holy texts, called the Rasa’il al-hikmah (Epistles of Wisdom), are fully known only to a spiritual group called the uqqāl, or “the wise.” Most Druze, known as the juhhāl, live regular lives centered on family and community, while still respecting the main beliefs of their faith.

Druze beliefs come from many sources. Their faith started with Isma’ili Shi’ism but was also influenced by Greek philosophy, especially Neoplatonism and Pythagoreanism, and by Gnosticism. This mix has created beliefs that make them different from their neighbors. A key idea is reincarnation (taqammus), which holds that the soul is eternal and reborn as another Druze person after death. This continues until the soul reunites with the Cosmic Mind. The Druze honor many prophets from Abrahamic religions, such as Jethro (Shuʿayb), Moses, Jesus, and Muhammad, seeing them as different forms of the same divine truth. Over time, they have developed a unique ethnic identity. They speak Arabic and share a culture, but their roots are often traced to Arab tribes who settled in the Levant before and during the early Islamic period.

The Flavors of the Mountain: A Culinary Portrait

To really understand the Druze, you need to share a meal with them. Their food reflects their history, shaped by the land, hospitality, and quiet pride. Mountain cooking uses simple, high-quality ingredients like bulgur wheat, olives, lamb, goat yogurt, and a careful mix of spices. Each dish passed down through generations tells the story of the community.

Mansoufi is a great example of Druze cooking. Its name comes from the Arabic word tansif, meaning “sifting,” and refers to the careful preparation of bulgur wheat. The dish is made of small, coin-sized bulgur gnocchi, rolled by hand and simmered until soft. Mansoufi is a simple dish, thought to have started in Lebanon when meat was hard to find. Its simplicity shows the resourcefulness and warmth of the Druze people. Served with sautéed onions and a tangy goat yogurt sauce, topped with sumac and dried mint, Mansoufi is more than just food—it is comfort and care on a plate.

Druze cooks often talk about “measuring with the eyes,” which is central to their way of cooking. Recipes are not written with exact amounts; instead, they are learned by watching and practicing. Hikam Aride, a Druze woman from Daliyat al-Karmel in Israel, follows this tradition. Her life has been full of challenges and achievements. She married young, divorced at twenty-seven with four children, and built a new life, eventually becoming a well-known cooking teacher. In her classes, she teaches dishes like vegan Kubbeh made with mashed potatoes and bulgur, and Mansaf—tender lamb shoulder on spiced rice, topped with fried nuts.

Mansaf is also a famous Jordanian dish, but the Druze have their own version. It is a celebratory meal, usually shared by fifteen to twenty people, reflecting the strong sense of community among the Druze. Cultural blending can also be seen in dishes like Waraq’ Inab, or stuffed grape leaves. In the Druze recipe, the sour taste comes from fresh tomatoes grated into the rice filling, which adds a special sweetness and depth of flavor.

Today in Israel, Druze food helps connect different communities. Restaurants like Nurah’s Kitchen in Daliyat al-Karmel are known for their kosher Druze dishes. Chef Nurah Huseisi made her restaurant kosher, so her sons, including one who is a brigadier general in the Israeli army, and their fellow soldiers could eat there. The buffet, made fresh every day by Druze women, includes homemade hummus, tightly rolled grape leaves, and the ever-popular Mansaf. This shows how the Druze community stays true to its traditions while also being part of the wider society.

A Legacy Preserved

From the mysteries of Caliph al-Hakim to the simple taste of bulgur gnocchi, the Druze story is one of lasting tradition. For a thousand years, they have faced changing politics in the Middle East, keeping their faith private and their identity strong through community. They have fought crusades, resisted empires, and now serve in their countries’ armies. Their history is found in stories of leaders and warriors, but their culture survives in the everyday act of cooking for family and friends. With spices measured by eye and grape leaves rolled by hand, the Druze people keep their traditions alive and share them, one meal at a time.

A Taste of the Mountain: Druze Mnazaleh

Mnazaleh is a dish that feels like home in Druze villages across the mountains of northern Israel and southern Lebanon. This meal is cooked slowly, with family coming and going from the kitchen, stories being shared over sweet tea, and the afternoon sun shining on the floors.

Mnazaleh is an eggplant-and-chickpea stew, but it is more than that. The recipe has been handed down through generations of Druze cooks, always taught with the advice to “measure with your eyes”  instead of using exact amounts. Each family has its own version and special touches. At its core, Mnazaleh is about turning simple ingredients into a comforting, nourishing meal with patience and care.

I learned this recipe years ago, from a chef colleague in the kitchens of Daliyat al-Karmel, a Druze town on Mount Carmel. There, the air often smells of pine, sage, and onions cooking slowly in olive oil. Let’s make this dish together, just as they do in that town.

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Druze Mnazaleh (Recipe)

Before We Begin

This recipe is not exact. The Druze cooks I have seen do not use measuring spoons. They add ingredients by pinching, sprinkling, and tasting. Use these measurements as rough guidelines, not strict rules. Trust your instincts. You will know when the eggplant is ready.

What You’ll Need

For the eggplant:

1 large eggplant, about 2 pounds

Salt, for drawing out bitterness

Olive oil, for roasting, or vegetable oil, for frying

For the stew:

1 large onion, sliced thin

1 tablespoon fresh garlic, minced fine

4 medium tomatoes

2 tablespoons tomato paste

1¾ cups cooked chickpeas, drained if using canned

¼ cup olive oil for cooking

½ cup water

Fresh parsley or cilantro, chopped, for finishing

For the spices (this is your baharat blend):

1 teaspoon cumin

1 teaspoon baharat spice blend (if you have it, if not, don’t worry)

¼ teaspoon cinnamon

Salt and black pepper, to taste

A pinch of dried chili, if you like a little warmth

First, the Eggplant

Peel the eggplant but leave a few thin strips of purple skin on each piece. The skin is not just for appearance; it helps the eggplant keep its shape during cooking, and the mix of soft flesh and chewy skin adds to the dish.

Cut the eggplant into chunks about an inch or two in size. Nothing needs to be perfect here. These are mountain vegetables, after all.

Here is an old trick: place the eggplant chunks in a colander and sprinkle them well with salt. Let them sit for thirty to forty-five minutes. You will see small drops of moisture appear on the surface. This process removes the bitterness from the eggplant and makes it sweeter. Afterward, rinse the pieces well and dry them with a clean kitchen towel. Notice how light and ready they feel.

Meanwhile, the Tomatoes

While the eggplant sits, use a box grater to grate your tomatoes into a bowl. Hold each tomato and grate it through the large holes until only a strip of skin remains, then discard the skin and move to the next tomato. This method gives you fresh tomato puree without peeling or seeding. The Druze women I have cooked with do this quickly and easily, filling the bowl with bright red tomatoes.

Now, a Choice

You can prepare the eggplant in two ways, and both are good. The traditional method is to fry the eggplant until it is golden and tender, with each piece soft inside and crisp outside. Use about an inch of vegetable oil in a deep pan, frying the eggplant in batches so the pieces do not crowd, then drain them on paper towels. This method is rich and flavorful, just as grandmothers used to make it.

The lighter option is to roast the eggplant. Toss the dried eggplant chunks with olive oil, spread them on a baking sheet, and bake at 425°F. Roast for 10 minutes, then flip the pieces and roast for another 10 to 15 minutes until they are tender and browned at the edges. This method is easier, less messy, and brings out the eggplant’s natural flavor.

Choose whichever suits your mood and your kitchen.

Building the Stew

Take a wide pot or a deep sauté pan and warm two tablespoons of olive oil over medium heat. Add your sliced onion and let it cook slowly, stirring now and then, for at least 10 minutes, maybe 15. You want the onion soft and translucent, just beginning to think about caramelizing, the kitchen filling with that sweet, patient fragrance.

Add the garlic and cook for another minute, just until you can smell it.

Now add the tomato paste and spices: cumin, baharat if you have it, cinnamon, salt, pepper, and a pinch of chili if you like. Cook for 1 to 2 minutes, stirring constantly, until the spices become fragrant and the paste darkens slightly.

Pour your grated tomatoes and bring everything to a simmer. Let it bubble gently for 5 to 10 minutes, until it thickens slightly, and the color deepens. Taste it now. Adjust the salt. This is your sauce, your foundation.

Bringing It Together

Gently add the cooked eggplant and chickpeas. Pour in half a cup of water, which turns the mixture from a sauce into a stew perfect for dipping bread. Simmer for another 5 minutes to allow the flavors to blend. Stir carefully, as the eggplant is now soft and should stay in chunks.

To Finish and Serve

This dish is not served piping hot. It rests. It comes to the table warm, or, as the Druze taught me, not very hot. It should rest and be brought to the table at warm or at room temperature, which is when the flavors are best. Let it sit while you chop parsley or cilantro, warm your pita bread, and prepare small bowls of olives and fresh vegetables. made something that connects you to a thousand years of mountain kitchens, to women who measured with their eyes and cooked with their hearts, to a tradition that survives not in books but in the passing of recipes from hand to hand, generation to generation.