Labneh: a creamy, tangy Middle Eastern yogurt strained until extra thick. It’s sort of a cross between whipped cream cheese and sour cream—but better. Lebanese people eat labneh with chips, chicken, kibbeh, fries. Growing up, it was my version of American ketchup.
I consider it the butter to my bread.
This obsession dates back to my childhood in Lebanon (my family jokes that I switched from drinking my mother’s milk to the tangy spread). Ultimately, the smooth spread reminds me of my grandmother Odette, and all of the ladies who cooked in her kitchen.
Every summer morning, I'd rush to her beach house to find out what was on the menu for the day. It was often something grilled, not fried, like kebab, whole fish, lamb, chicken thighs with a bunch of delicious sides. These massive home-cooked meals were sort of like a catering business—and always made with love.
She served lunch every day for 10 to 15 people, even though her beach house (or chalet, as we called it) barely had a kitchen: It had a sink, a makeshift pilot burner, and 8x15 square inches of counter space. Everything, including her famous labneh, was prepped in advance and then finished at the beach house overlooking the deep blue Mediterranean sea.
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“Personally, I like fa*ge brand yogurt. I plop some in a bowl with a good sprinkling of salt and put it in my gas oven to warm while I continue with the rest of the ingredients. My oven's pilot light radiates just the right amount of heat to warm the yogurt. I make a brown butter sauce, add some minced garlic, chipotle powder (and/or smoked paprika), a few crushed cumin seeds , then a splash of olive oil to stop the cooking. I top the yogurt with a poached egg, then drizzle it with the warm spiced brown butter and a grind of fresh black pepper. DELICIOUS! A slice of ciabatta toast (or warm pita) sops up the remains in the bowl. This is one of my absolute favorite breakfasts. You can easily customize this to your own liking. The possibilities are endless. Try it!”
— Sharon
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My grandma’s special secret? She had specific containers, clothes, and a fridge dedicated to her labneh-making. She'd let the freshly delivered yogurt strain in a cheesecloths for days, or sometimes three to four days to pickle or to turn into cheese.
As a child I'd catch myself opening the fridge and standing in front of it, mesmerized by my grandma’s thickening yogurt and all of the cheesecloths. The aroma alone held power over the whole fridge. That smell would engulf the kitchen in two seconds, which my grandmother would smell immediately and yell at me to close the door (as we never knew when the government was going to shut the electricity off for the day).
My favorite thing was when Odo would infuse the labneh. Sometimes with mint, oregano, or thyme. But my favorite was garlic—I loved the way it gave the yogurt a bite and kicked the taste up a notch, infusing it like no other ingredient. I was never allowed to have the garlic labneh before school for obvious reasons. So I'd begin my day with a labneh, olive, mint, and cucumber tartine in the morning, then normally for a snack after school. Pita chips or fries with labneh was always served with dinner.
In Lebanon, the “plain food diet,” comprised of rice and labneh, was king when you fell ill with stomach issues. Most boys and girls argued with their mom and dad about this meal, but I couldn’t put the bowl down—and even asked for seconds.
When I moved to America in 2004, I carried my labneh addiction with me to the Boston suburbs. I'd force my father to bring me to Cedar's Market a few towns over to buy labneh. Though this was a makeshift version, it still felt like I was back in my fishing village, Anfeh, thousands of miles away.
My new reality consisted of processed foods, but labneh was always there. I'd bring a labneh tartine to school, and my classmates would look at me in confusion. While they were devouring pizza squares, chicken burgers, and mozzarella sticks at lunchtime (which I dubbed “the golden lunch”), I was eating yogurt mixed with olives, mint, and cucumber.
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Years later, Greek yogurt gained popularity in the States, and therefore so did my version of chips and dip.
It was a great source of pride for me to bring labneh with me, when I travelled back to Yarmouth, Massachusetts a few weeks ago to visit my best friend’s family at their Cape house. They’re your typical South-Boston, Irish-American clan, turned off by ingredients like black pepper, cilantro, cumin, and jalapeño.
But when I whipped out my famous labneh and Cape Cod chips, they all came over slowly with their beers and tried it. It won raves, and all were wondering where this “new thing” had been their whole lives. In that moment, my two cultures collided, and I converted them into labneh lovers, too.
Ingredients
| 2 | pounds non-fat Greek yogurt |
| 2 | garlic cloves, grated or finely chopped |
| 1 | lemon, juiced |
| 2 | teaspoons kosher salt |
| extra-virgin olive oil | |
| dried mint (optional) |
| 2 | pounds non-fat Greek yogurt |
| 2 | garlic cloves, grated or finely chopped |
| 1 | lemon, juiced |
| 2 | teaspoons kosher salt |
| extra-virgin olive oil | |
| dried mint (optional) |
What's your favorite way to eat Greek yogurt? Let us know in the comments below.
