Upside Down Orange Muffins with Semolina and Spelt Flour

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Grandma Masuda, may she rest in peace, made the most delicious orange cake I ever tasted. A very high cake, baked in an aluminum mold with a hole in the middle, yellow as the sun, from all the oranges gramma had squeezed into. I can still see and feel its taste. I’ve had some good orange cakes since then, but no one compares to this cake. For years I’ve been trying to recreate her recipe, but I probably will never quite make it. It’s impossible to reminisce about this orange cake and not remember gramma’s apartment, with the old sideboard, and the glass-cabinet on it and inside pictures, including a picture of my grandparents looking straight at the camera. I think the picture was printed on a plate, but the years that have passed may be deceptive.

In front of the living room was a small kitchen, and at the end a stove, always with huge pots on it, filled with various wonderful dishes. No matter when you came, grandma always offered food, and when I say food I mean a crazy meal of a million dishes and salads, and there is no way you will not eat, even a little, because grandma didn’t really let go till you ate. After grandma died, so many people came to her funeral, some of them unknown to us. It turns out that grandma, who lived alone for many years, would walk around in the neighborhood and give out pots full of food to people who she knew needed a hot meal and couldn’t take care of it themselves, I can just imagine her walking around the neighborhood with pots, an old woman with a clear agenda of feeding the world. She saw it as a Mitzvah, and never told anyone about it.

Grandma Fanny, may she rest in peace, was probably the best cook in the world, except my mom. Throughout her life, until she got sick, she would command over huge meals, meals I still can’t decide if they had more participants or more dishes … I remember in great detail the preparations before the holidays, almost like a military operation, the whole house was filled with huge plastic basins, filled with all the market had to offer, and everyone had a different task- cleaning the artichokes, take beans out of its bags, cut the edges off the green beans. Days of preparations for the meal that is the crowning glory of the holiday. Before we would eat, we all sang all the holidays songs, because grandma never demanded anything except to hear us sing before eating, and for a few moments she sat, and only listen to all of the family singing with a little smile on her face.

On the Mimouna (the north-african jewish celebration that marks the end of Passover) we would never see grandma. She was too busy preparing us mofletta (Moroccan-jewish pancake) and barcokesh (dairy couscous) with sacks of flour and semolina that grandpa bought from the Arabs in the wadi at the end of the holiday. I remember as a child sneaking in to her kitchen and looking at the oil-spattered balls lying on the greased worktop just before spreading them one by one for delicious moflettas and then frying them in huge piles in a small frying pan that stood next to the full steaming pot of the couscous. I remember helping her, flattening the mofletta’s balls myself, passing the couscous through the colander, I remember the pride I felt, how I already knew in those moments that it was a great privilege that had fallen into my hands. I would give a great deal to return to those moments, even for a little while, and I’m sure I would ask her a lot of questions.

Grandma Fanny and grandma Masuda were part of a generation of women whose kitchen was (really) their place. Both women were brilliant, intelligent, and sensitive women, the world could enjoy their contribution very much, but the limitations for women at those times made the beneficiaries mostly family and acquaintances. From their small kitchens they fed generations of happy and satisfied people, and even today, years after they died, I can feel the wonderful flavors they have brought to my life. Because that’s how it is with good food, it stays with you long after the meal itself has ended.

Some recipes come from products you see in the market, some recipes pass from generation to generation, some of the most delicious recipes I know came from leftovers found in the refrigerator. This recipe was born out of a picture I had in my head, of the orange coin, like a small sun, on top of the muffins. I tried several versions, but once the semolina came into the picture, I knew I’d found it.

Upside down orange muffins, in a slightly healthier version than usual, and to my taste (much) tastier, with spelled flour, olive oil, ground almonds and of course, orange juice. The oranges at the bottom (or at the top) of the muffins are briefly cooked in sugar water and rosemary.