Msakhan is a living archive of Palestinian tradition and family
The first time I packed msakhan for my children’s school lunches, I felt like I was breaking some unspoken rule of my childhood. Growing up, msakhan wasn’t portable. It was sprawling, messy and meant to be eaten in a group, with olive oil dripping down your arms and chicken bones piling up on the table. Msakhan was never meant for neatness or convenience; it was meant to be a feast.
But there it was, neatly rolled in flour tortillas – the only option I could find at a neighbourhood supermarket in Philadelphia – wrapped carefully in foil, crossing time, borders and even form, in ways I couldn’t have imagined as a child.
Msakhan, you see, is not just a dish: it’s a living archive of Palestinian history, geography and ingenuity. Its story begins with the land – bread and olive groves pressed for their oil.
The word msakhan translates to ‘heated’ or ‘reheated’, a nod to its origins as a solution for day-old bread. Villagers would brush olive oil over stale taboon loaves and warm them on a fire, turning what might have gone to waste into a meal rich with flavour. Over time, this simple act of preservation became something more – a base for onions slow-cooked in copious amounts of olive oil, bright and citrusy sumac, roasted chicken and toasted pine nuts or almonds atop the bread.
Each of these additional ingredients speaks to the rhythm of Palestinian life: white onions gathered in the summer, dried and stored for later use. Almonds that went through a similar process, prepared and preserved for future meals. Sumac which ripened toward the end of summer, followed closely by the olive harvest in the autumn or early winter, when fresh oil became abundant. Chicken, once a staple of backyard farms, was available year-round but often saved for special occasions.
With these ingredients, what began as a practical way to sustain villagers through lean times has become a symbol of festivity and national identity. Yet what makes msakhan endure isn’t only its ingredients, but how it has evolved to meet the needs of a changing world.
Growing up, msakhan was a whole-day affair. Fridays at my grandmother’s house began early, with dough kneaded, left to rise, then baked in an outdoor oven. I can still picture her scooping handfuls of incredibly wet dough, allowing it to dance between her palms until it was large enough to be spread over the hot river stones in the oven. Then, chicken was simmered on the stovetop, onions were cooked down in olive oil and nuts were fried. Finally, right before eating, the towering platters of bread and chicken were grilled to golden perfection.
But as life changed, msakhan adapted too. I still remember the first time I had msakhan in the form of a roll – I was in high school and we had been invited to a lunch gathering at a family friend’s home. On the table were these paper thin shrak (or marqooq) rolls – they were glistening and golden. I had no idea what they were and yet when I took a bite, there was no mistake: this was msakhan. It had the familiar taste of sweet onions and sour sumac with the tender chicken and crispy nuts, but the form was entirely foreign.
Msakhan rolls, made with traditional paper thin shrak or marqooq bread, are now a common sight at gatherings. Abroad, substitutions like tortillas or even spring roll wrappers have become popular – showing how far this dish has traveled.
Then there’s the ingenious msakhan fatteh, which flips the dish’s foundation entirely. Fatteh – derived from the Arabic word meaning ‘to crumble’ – is a category of dishes that layer bread, yoghurt and various toppings. In msakhan fatteh, the traditional bread is traded in for toasted bite-size morsels of pita bread, leaving the chicken, onions and sumac to shine atop before being smothered with a garlic yoghurt sauce. The irony isn’t lost here: a dish that once relied on reheated taboon bread has now been reimagined in a form that sometimes skips its key ingredient altogether.
Rather than diminishing msakhan’s cultural significance, I believe these transformations expand its reach, keeping the spirit of msakhan alive. Whether served on a towering platter of bread with bone-in pieces of chicken or rolled into neat, golden parcels, each new version tells a story of the land and the people who shaped it.
Perhaps what makes msakhan so enduring is its ability to cross borders and generations while staying true to its roots. It holds memory in its layers, each bite a delicious reminder of how food can both preserve and progress in a world where cultural traditions risk being forgotten or diluted.
So the next time you taste msakhan – whether it’s the classic recipe served open-faced or a reimagined roll passed around at a party – know that you’re participating in a history much larger than any one plate. It’s a story of land, resilience and adaptation. And like all good stories, it’s one that continues to grow with each retelling.
This article is taken from Port issue 36. To continue reading, buy the issue or subscribe head here
