Make a vat of shakshuka, eat for a week
If you're going to the trouble of cooking, make it count
I summoned a hawk this week.
He’s been around the neighborhood before, usually perched in the oak tree across the street. (This tree is usually filled to the brim with crows, sparrows, starlings, and squirrels, all notably absent whenever the hawk comes around.) We’d seen him once or twice in the past few months, but it had been a while, and I thought of him again on Saturday. The very next day, who should appear but our hawk friend, hanging out on a light pole?
(He came back the next day, too. Braeden summoned him that time.)
Anyway, that was this week’s excitement!
How ‘bout for you?
I realized it’s fitting that I’ve got shakshuka on the brain. From 2014 up until 2020, I’ve made a giant vat of it for a brunch held for visiting chefs at Sips & Suppers. And even though the pandemic put a pause on that, a sudden craving for eggs poached in a spiced tomato sauce struck, as if summoned.
Making that shakshuka all those years ago — a scaled up version of this recipe, from Joan Nathan — was the first time I’d had it. As I learned from Joan, the preparation comes from North Africa back when it was in Ottoman control, i.e., after Cortes (more colonizing ilk!) brought tomatoes back from Mexico.
How shakshuka got from mid-16th century North Africa to star status at your latest brunch is thanks, in part, to North African immigrants to Israel. As Einat Admony writes in her cookbook Shuk, shakshuka more or less simmered under the radar until 1993, when Bino Gabso opened Doctor Shakshuka in Jaffa, serving made-to-order skillets of the dish with bread to soak up the sauce.
Admony also writes that today there are plenty of shakshuka riffs, which makes me feel much better about the quote unquote non-traditional version I’m about to tell you about. On the one hand, what is authenticity anyway? On the other, I’m a white lady sharing a recipe from a culture that’s not my own, so before I tell you how to mess with its structure I wanted to convey its origins.
To make shakshuka, you first make a flavorful sauce in which to poach the eggs. Really the sauce can be anything, but since we were swimming in pumpkin, that’s what I went with. (And as I noted last week, pumpkin and tomato make ideal pairs: the sweet notes from squash mellow the tomato’s acidity.)
The first time I made this, I used homemade canned tomatoes (this recipe), the second time a can of Cento crushed tomatoes. The version with home-canned tomatoes was better — they were a bit chunkier than the Cento, a bit brighter in flavor — but the second version, pictured above, was also tasty.
A few canned tomato notes:
While I love a canned tomato product, I would avoid crushed tomatoes and go for whole, so you have more flexibility.
If you want to make them taste less, well, canned: add a little vinegar (or any acid) and a little sweetener (honey, maple, sugar, etc.).
You could also add a pint or so of halved cherry or grape tomatoes — even better if you roast them first, to concentrate their sweetness.
Pumpkin and tomato shakshuka
I’m listing the ingredients but no exact quantities because they don’t really matter: make as much or as little as you want and season it to taste. If you’re going to the trouble of cooking, though, you may as well make a big batch of sauce and use the leftovers elsewhere (more on that below).
Oil
Spices (I used cumin, coriander, anise, and ajwain seeds; a riff on a spice blend recipe from Asha Loupy at Diaspora Co.)
Onion, chopped
Salt and pepper
Cooked pumpkin, chopped
Tomatoes, chopped (fresh are good in season, otherwise, canned — use the juices, too)
Vinegar and/or sugar, if needed
Cheese, herbs, hot sauce/chile flakes, for serving
Bread or something similar, to soak up sauce
Eggs
Make the sauce first: warm a little oil in a skillet or pot set over medium-high, then add the spices and let them sizzle for about 30 seconds.
Add the onion and cook it as long as you’d like. I like my onions on the soft and browning side, so, 15 to 20 minutes. Season with salt and pepper as the onions cook.
Add the pumpkin and tomatoes, stir, season with more salt, then let it simmer (partially covered if needed to avoid aggressive spattering) over medium to medium-low heat for at least 20 minutes, but probably longer. It should be fairly thick when it’s done — saucy but not watery. (If you’re using fresh tomatoes, it’ll take longer to cook out the juices.)
Taste and adjust the spices, salt, and pepper as needed. Also adjust acidity/sweetness with vinegar and sugar, if needed. This is your last chance to mess with the sauce before poaching your eggs, so make it taste how you want it to now!
If you have time, let it rest: Even if only for an hour, a rest helps the flavors meld together. Cover and let it sit for up to 2 or 3 hours on the stove, or refrigerate it for up to 5 (ish) days until you’re ready to poach those eggs.
Prep your toppings/bread: Do this first because the eggs only cook for 7 to 10 minutes and you’ll want to eat it ASAP. Something creamy (cheese, yogurt) is nice, as are fresh herbs (cilantro, parsley, dill, mint). Pickles of any sort are a good way to add briny tang. Add hot sauce or chile flakes if you like spice! Also good: sumac and za’atar.
Serve it with bread (pita, other flatbreads, even tortillas) to soak up the sauce; you could also use grits, polenta, or roasted cauliflower if you’re not into bread.
Add the eggs: If you’ve made a big batch of sauce, but you’re cooking just a few servings of shakshuka, put about 1/2 to 1 cup of sauce per serving into an appropriately sized skillet. (The middle photo above, for two servings, is an 8-inch skillet.)
Warm the sauce over medium heat until it’s bubbling on the edges, then make a shallow well in the sauce for each egg you’ll cook. Crack the eggs into the wells, cover the pan, and let the eggs poach gently (medium-low heat) for 7 to 10 minutes, or until the eggs are as cooked as you like.
That’s it! Serve it right away, while it’s steaming hot.
Astute photo-viewers will see that I added chickpeas to my shakshuka. You don’t need to do that, I just had cooked chickpeas that I needed to use. (“I just had something I needed to use: A Kara Elder Story” will be the title of my forthcoming memoir.)
Leftover sauce is great over pasta (especially if you have a friend named Mel who makes pasta from scratch). I could even see it being spread over a pizza. Knowing me, I would also use it as the base for a stew or chili. The important thing to remember is: it’s a tasty tomato sauce — you’ll find something clever to do with it.
I don’t know what I’m writing about next week, so, it’ll be surprise for all of us. See you then.