18 SAVEUR.COMTHE POUNDING OF BOOZA is a spectacle worth
lining up for. Though the word mea ns “ice crea m” in
Levantine Arabic, today it mostly refers to the Syrian
version, a combination of milk with sahlab or salep (a
starchy orchid-root f lour) and mastic gum (a tacky,
piney-tasting tree resin), which give it its character-
istic stretchiness. The landmark Bakdash shop in
Damascus, Syria, opened in 1986 and mesmerized
customers with a rhythmic pounding of the sweet
base: Servers hammered 3-foot-long wooden paddles
against the cold metal counter until the booza looked
like soft serve but stretched like taffy. It became a
ritual to crowd in and watch the show.
After more than 100 years of production in Syria,
booza has been on the move over the last six years,
but for bittersweet reasons. The ice cream’s journey
mirrors the migration of millions of Syrians f leeing
the ongoing war at home. At the first Bakdash off-
shoot, across the border in Jorda n’s capita l, A mma n,
Jordanian co-owner Yarob Mustafa, 31, is grappling
with the right recipe to expand the treat’s range with-
out losing its Syrian identity. This May marked the
opening of a seventh branch in Jordan. By October,
Mustafa is hoping to open the first store in Baghdad.
After that, his sights are set on America; booza shops
have a lready opened in Brook ly n a nd Sa n Fra ncisco.
When the Bakdash franchise in Jordan first came
to Amman in 2013, it wasn’t clear how long the Syr-
ian war would go on. In the initial months, Mustafa
shipped chunks of the frozen, pre-pounded ice cream
from Syria into Jordan. As fighting and violence wors-
ened, the border closed. Now the relationship betweenEAT THE WORLD
the earliest ones were likely made
using kosher butter or oil, there are
records of Jews switching to baking
with lard—decidedly against their
beliefs—during the massacres and
persecution led by the Catholic
church in the 14th and 15th centu-
ries. While many Jews continued to
practice their faith in secret, some of
these conversos cooked with lard to
convince the church of their loyalty.
Centuries later, mallorcas are
a staple at bakeries in San Juan,
Puerto Rico, thanks to Antonio
Rigo, who, in 1900, crossed the
Atlantic from Felanitx, Mallorca,
with his family recipe in tow. Within
t wo yea rs, he’d opened Ma llorquina
Bakery, which ultimately became La
Bombonera, a cafe that still makes
some of the best mallorcas on the
island. The bread swiftly took on a
life of its own there,
ultimately mani-
festing as the sweet,
griddled ham-and-
cheese versions
found today in cafes
across San Juan.
Their legacy,
though, is still on the
move. At Chris-
tina Balzebre’s
Levee Baking Co. in
New Orleans, self-
taught Puerto Rican
baker Diego Mar-
tin-Perez is making
his own version of mallorcas —the
one I brought home with me—
with wild yeasts and freshly
milled heirloom grains. Unlike the
mallorcas I’ve had in San Juan,
Martin-Perez’s are hefty, but with a
strong rise and distinct sourdough
aroma. He says that, growing up in
Puerto Rico, mallorcas represented
“sheer nostalgia. We had a bakery
across the street from my school, and
they were my after-school snack. If
I went alone, I’d get a plain, toasted
mallorca. If I went with my mom,
we’d get a six-pack.” With Balzebre’s
help, Martin-Perez has found a new
market for his hometown pastries—
across yet another great distance. At
home in Oakland, I can’t help but feel
that their journey isn’t over yet. “Fluffy and
pleasantly
sweet, mallor-
cas travel well
across break-
fast cultures.”
This taffylike ice cream from Syria is traveling
beyond its country’s borders. But can it hold
on to its roots? BY MIRIAM BERGERThe Booza Boom
CONTINUED ON P. 20Every cup of
booza at Bakdash
in Amman,
Jordan, comes
colorfully coated
with raw green
pistachios.