How to Make Halva From Tahini and Infuse It With a Range of Flavors | Epicurious

The subject line of my email read something like this: “Seeking a halva mentor.”

I had recently returned from a whirlwind weeklong food tour to Israel arranged for a group of chefs and food journalists. We had roamed market stalls overflowing with ruby pomegranates; fresh, hot bagels; savory borekas; gorgeous milky white cheeses; and every sort of dried spice, tangy pickle, and olive variety imaginable. We feasted on multi-course meals prepared by celebrated local chefs, and tasted outstanding Israeli wines. Sabich sandwiches sold from simple kiosk stands for mere shekels blew our minds. And halva. Oh, the halva.

This rich sesame confection is a staple sweet in the Middle East, and popular in Poland, the Balkans, and several other countries surrounding the Mediterranean. Known for its smooth-sandy texture and nutty sweetness, it’s insanely delicious and wonderfully, terribly addictive.

Choose your own halva adventure.

At the Carmel Market in Tel Aviv, we gathered around a vendor who cut small pieces from thick rounds of the candy to give us a taste. Alongside plain halva, rows of alluring flavors seemed to go on for days: Lemon, chocolate-lemon, marbled chocolate, coffee, cranberry, pistachio, pecan (and just every other nut on the planet), raisin, cinnamon, and even hot chile. I purchased several slabs, weighing in at over a kilo, gingerly tucking them into my suitcase to take with me back home to Maine.

Weeks later, when my stash ran out, I realized that if I wanted to continue to eat good halva, I’d have to make it myself. Fresh halva from Israel had spoiled me forever. And while craft halva is slowly becoming available stateside, good quality retail product is a rare offering in most U.S. markets. Plus, pre-made sorts are often overly sugary. I wondered if the sugar could be adjusted to suit palates that leaned less sweet. And wouldn’t it be fun to choose my own flavors!

I had been cooking professionally for over two decades, but my candy-making skills were limited. I needed an expert—a halva mentor—who could teach me the ins and outs of making this beguiling confection.

My friend Naama Shefi, founder of the hip recipe and event platform, Jewish Food Society, knew just who to call, and a few short days later I found myself WhatsApp’ing with Rinat Tzadok, a well-known Israeli pastry chef and recipe developer, and partner at the beloved bakeries, Lehamim and Breads Bakery in Tel Aviv and New York.

Tzadok assured me that making the candy at home is easy and worthwhile. “The beauty of making your own halva,” she told me, “is having control of your ingredients.” Plus, she relayed, “It’s simple!” She shared her recipe for basic halva, which is simply hot sugar syrup mixed into tahini, and, just like that, I was off to the kitchen.

After whipping up a few beautiful pans of the candy on my own, I agreed—it is indeed a snap, especially with a few key tips for halva-making success:

Tahini, a paste made from sesame seeds, can be found in the international aisle or nut butter section of most supermarkets. You can use any brand you like, but since it's the foundation of halva, you'll want to be sure it's high quality and fresh. “Tahini quality varies,” Tzadok reminded me. “It’s important to use a good one.”

If you've been storing an opened jar or can of the stuff in your cupboard or fridge for some time, be sure to check its freshness by giving it a good sniff. If it emits any rancid odor, it will taste bad, too, in which case you'll want to get a fresh jar before making your halva. Also, if you've been keeping your tahini in the fridge, let it come to room temperature before you add the hot sugar syrup so the components can fully incorporate before the confection begins to cool and solidify.

Like baking, candy-making is all about precision, so when you make the sugar syrup, use a candy thermometer to gauge the temperature. Cook the syrup until it reaches firm ball candy stage, 245ºF to 250ºF. You can tinker as you like, varying the amount of sugar to adjust the sweetness of your halva. “Just remember," Tzadok taught me, "to bring the temperature of our syrup to around 248ºF; this is how you get the perfect dense sandy-ish texture."

When you're mixing together that hot sugar syrup with your tahini, “the texture should be neither liquidy, like pancake batter, nor firm, like bread dough,” Tzadok advised. Mix it too little and your sugar will not fully incorporate; too much and your candy is apt to be crumbly. Give the mixing process your undivided attention and otherwise don’t worry. It’s easy to get the feel for this and every other stage of halva making in the moment.

Refrigerate your halva until it’s firm enough to cut. A couple of hours will do, but more fridge time helps the sugar crystals and flavors develop, yielding an even richer tasting and flakier/sandier treat. If you can handle the wait, let your halva chill overnight.

Once I had plain halva down pat, my imagination ran wild. I made a pistachio-rose version, one with lemon and poppy seeds, another marbled with chocolate and cardamom, and a chocolate-za’atar variation inspired by that wondrous food tour and the incomparable chocolatier, Ika Cohen, who laid out a dazzling array of halva-filled chocolates spiked with ingredients like za’atar, tamarind, and kaffir lime at a welcome dinner cooked by the talented chef, Ido Zarmi at the Tower of David in Jerusalem’s Old City on the first night of our journey.

I get fancy sometimes, folding a bit of the candy into ice cream. I have also been eyeing these halva-swirled brownies. But a few squares of good, fresh halva are perfect as an afternoon pick-me-up alongside a cup of tea or espresso, or simply stacked on a pretty serving plate to bring to a friend.