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Cooking for the Departed: Exploring the Singular Authenticity of Helva

Article by Bora Isyar | Photography by Sibel Kutlusoy | Published January 23, 2025


A Sweet History: Helva's Journey Through Time


Helva, a common name for butter-fried starch-based desserts, is one of Turkey's most popular sweet treats. Although the ingredients vary from kind to kind, the basic recipe remains the same: starch base, nuts, and spices are fried in butter on low heat and then enriched with a sugar-based syrup. The earliest recipe culinary historians have located dates back to the 11th century. However, many believe that helva was invented long before that in Mesopotamia, whence it spread all over the globe. As it reached all corners of the world, different cultures reinterpreted, redefined, and reshaped it, birthing countless unique, if not authentic helvas – the Greek 1-2-3-4 helva (one cup of olive oil, two cups of semolina, three cups of sugar, four cups of water, and a cinnamon stick on top), farsalon (native to central Greece, made with corn starch, and has the consistency of jelly with a buttery caramel flavor), Indian sooji (made with semolina, ghee, and sugar), gris (from Bulgaria and made with lemon zest and cinnamon), and the Burmese pathein (includes rice flour, coconut, and poppy seeds as main ingredients), to name but a few.


Culinary adventurers in initially Ottoman Empire and later Turkey have also played around with the basic recipe, tweaking the taste and consistency – almond helva (which uses rose water), bitli helva (with soapwort juice and lemon salt), bridal helva (with beetroot red and tahini), gil helva (gil means ordinary in Farsi although this helva is anything but: its main ingredients include honey, sesame oil, almonds, rose water and saffron), hashish helva (with molasses instead of sugar), höşmerim (which has cheese), pişmaniye (floss helva with coconut and vanilla flavor and similar consistency to cotton candy), kağıt helva (crisp sweet wafer with tahini), and last but certainly not least, semolina helva a.k.a. helva of the dead.




The Recipe of Remembrance: Making the Helva of the Dead


The most commonly used recipe for the helva of the dead is as follows: melt the butter in a pan and add pine nuts and semolina. Fry on low heat, constantly stirring. In a separate bowl, mix milk, sugar, and water. Then boil the mixture on low heat, turning it into syrup. Once the semolina is golden brown, add the hot syrup and continue stirring until it absorbs all the syrup. Then let it rest. 


Despite (or perhaps because of) the straightforward if physically demanding and tedious nature of preparing it, helva presents an interesting example of the relationship between experiencing food (not only its preparation and consumption but also partaking in the rituals and engaging with the folkloric myths that surround it) and the notion of authenticity. 


First things first: although many do cook it at home, on their own, especially when sugar cravings become unbearable, semolina helva is, in its essence, a communal and commemorative dessert. We’ll get to the communal aspect shortly. Regarding its commemorative nature, it should be noted that although it is known as the helva of the dead, semolina helva is consumed on many occasions as well – birth of a child, circumcision ceremony, and marriage to name a few. Still, it attains its true meaning for many when cooked in the name of the dead. The reason might be historical: according to renowned Ottoman traveler Evliya Çelebi, ever since the 14th century, semolina helva, aptly called Ghazi (a Muslim warrior victorious in battle against opponents of Islam) helva at the time, was prepared and consumed in abundance during ceremonies held before sending off soldiers to war and also for the souls of the martyrs who lost their lives on the battlefield. 


Whatever the reason, death continues to have a special relationship with semolina helva, which is cooked “for the soul of the deceased” (as the Turkish saying goes) during the wake and on the 7th, 40th, and 52nd days after death. However, this is not necessarily a religious (as many theologians have stated over and over again that Islam has no such requirement) but a cultural tradition based on two folkloric notions that, although no one believes in, still play a part in the construction of the mystical world of the helva of the dead. 


First, when people are served the helva in the deceased's house, they give their thanks by praying, which eases the suffering of the dead. Second, the scent released during frying is so ambrosial that as semolina helva satisfies the mourners’ hunger, the aroma rises above the sky and gratifies the deceased’s soul. 


A Philosophical Reflection: Authenticity and the Singular Nature of Mourning


Moving away from the realm of the dead to the living, from the so-called sacred to the profane, a brief look into the rituals grounding the helva experience lays its communal essence bare before our eyes. On the aforementioned days, the house of the deceased is often packed with mourners. The frying process reminds one of a relay race, with a line of people waiting their turn to stir (it takes a long time to fry on low heat, and stirrers soon start feeling the strain on their arms, shoulders, and legs) and sharing their stories about the deceased, often with a wistful look in their eyes. What appears here is a culture of sharing and aiding, a unique experience whereby food serves as a facilitator or even a catalyst for social being. In this communal act lies the true  authenticity of semolina helva, but to fully grasp what that means in this context,however, we must return to the memory of the departed one final time.. 


Working his way through the labyrinth-like aporias of responsibility with his German counterpart Martin Heidegger as his guide, French philosopher Jacques Derrida suggested that death is the moment of absolute singularity of any being, as no other being can undergo death for another. To clarify, of course, one can die in the name of another or something (in fact, religions, nationalism, and many other ideologies are built on the principle that one should die in the name of something bigger and holier than the individual) but no one can die someone else’s death. Indeed, it is only because my death belongs to me that I can die in the name of someone else. So, what does that mean for the helva of the dead?


Because the deceased attains absolute singularity in death, the helva that is made for her and the entire experience surrounding it also becomes singular. In other words, the whole  communal activity centers around the deceased and reflects her singularity. And the singular is neither universal nor individual; it is neither self-same nor imitable. It is absolute and indomitable authenticity. And it is in this sense that every moment the helva of the dead is prepared and consumed, its true authentic nature is enacted anew.

 

 

 

 

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