O, Ye of little faith! You thought I’d never come across, didn’t you. Granted, I’ve really dragged my heels with this recipe, and after taking so long with it, of course I feel like my reputation’s on the line.
I can’t count the number of people who’ve asked me – begged! – for a good recipe for biscochos, and for longer than I’m comfortable admitting. (Okay. Years.) There are two very good reasons for so much pleading, and for so much stalling on my part.
First (or second): Biscochos – Sephardic cookie rings – are a treat often first experienced in early childhood, and never, ever forgotten. You might even have teethed on them, though I also recall gnawing on Zwieback biscuits. (“She remembers teething?” you ask. Yep. Tastes and textures die hard).
Second (or first): What constitutes a “good” biscocho is entirely subjective, and a good biscocho recipe is very elusive. It can take ages to get it right. I’m still working on mine.
We Sephardim can’t claim biscochos as our own; they’ve been made in various guises for thousands of years and are ubiquitous throughout the Mediterranean. What we can claim – and it’s a very subjective claim – is a style and preferred flavor that says “ours!” Depending on your roots, that might mean wine or cognac or anise in the dough, or no alcohol at all. Laced with vanilla, encrusted with sesame, dusted with sugar and cinnamon, rolled in chopped walnuts – all Mediterranean flavors, and all of them fine. I’ve never forgotten my first biscocho, made by my Rhodes-born, Ladino-speaking Great Grandma Amateau (Nona to my elder cousins). The flavors were orange juice and sesame seeds, a divine combination. Divine! My eyes popped from the first taste, and I devoured several biscochos while my mother looked on, smiling.
As for the cookie’s many cousins, here’s a small sampling… Mizrahi Jews – or anyone from the Middle East, for that matter, will recognize biscochos as ka’ak. Are you Italian? Your biscocho cousins are taralli dolci, very dry, made with red or white wine or anise and perhaps dusted with granulated sugar. If you’re a Sephardi from the western Balkans, you probably use the Italian word or taralikos (Ladino for little taralli), but still make them with orange juice. My grandfather, whose mother was from Izmir, called them reshas; he liked them flavored with orange juice and dusted with cinnamon sugar or chopped walnuts. Romaniote Jews (indigenous Greek Jews) make koulourakia. Same concept, different execution. The dough is much richer than the Sephardic version, made with butter and cream and some strong alcohol – either cognac or ouzo. What Ottoman Sephardim think of as ‘our’ version, the Greeks call koulourakia me portokali – biscochos with orange, an indication that they consider it secondary to their own. Our Ottoman Sephardic version is lighter than the Greek, made with oil, without cream or alcohol, with orange and sesame, and with a light hand on the sugar. In short, it’s ours. That is precisely my idea of a biscocho. You might add vanilla (I do!), and if you grew up in Mexico that’s almost certainly your preference. Mexican biscochos have the same texture as Ottoman Sephardic biscochos, which should come as no surprise. In Spain, the cookie cousins are anise-flavored rosquillas (bizcocho refers to cake), though the similarity ends with the shape. I have yet to see anyone here even eating rosquillas, let alone wax rhapsodic. But I live in Catalunya. I’m sure it’s a different story in “Spain proper.”
Texture is a major challenge. A Sephardic style biscocho shouldn’t be very thick or fat or large. (Remember that post about eating daintily?) It’s doughy but not too dry, a little crumbly but not sandy, firm on the tooth, with a touch of crispness but not too much snap… at this point you’re either very confused, or thinking I am, or nodding your head in total agreement. As I said, elusive. Anyone can make a biscocho, but a good one? Subtle, subjective, elusive. Some recipes are easy. Only practice, and lots of it, makes a perfect biscocho.
Where to begin?
Between its two Ladino names, you’re guided as to what’s to be done: resha is an old Arabic word meaning “rope” (reshikas are little ropes); biscocho means “twice cooked”, just like biscotti or biscuit. So the task is to make little ropes and bake them twice. I came across one recipe that said to make a ball of dough and poke a hole through it. Don’t do that. We’ve called it rope for at least a thousand years. Make the rope.
I read dozens of recipes. Most I found way too dry and doughy, and one went so far to counter the problem that it yielded puff pastry cookies. Nice, but that’s not a biscocho, which is a rustic cookie of substance.
Last year – last year! – I had help narrowing down and testing a few recipes from the lovely Estelle, who was one of the first readers to ask me for a good biscocho recipe. She baked huge batches, reported results, fretted about her waistline, and even was brave enough to re-test my grandfather’s notes that I’d worked from years ago with shall we say dubious results. Gramps left very entertaining instructions in his flowery handwriting, and he did warn that his dough was messy, but he also said to stick with it. And I have. I’m still tinkering, but I’ve gotten the flavor darn close to my great grandma’s, and her daughters’ and daughters-in-law, who are all gone now save one, who’s about to turn 99 (though I think she’s really turning 100): subtly sweet, with that hint of fresh orange, a whisper of vanilla, and a coating of sesame seeds. It’s not overly doughy, though I’m still aiming for a little more delicate crumb. Tinker, tinker…
You’re not getting photos. (What kind of food blog is this!?) Okay, one, but you’ve seen it already and it’s sans sesame:
You wouldn’t be impressed with my other attempts, and I’ve got some pride. The oven I’m condemned to for now is a baker’s nightmare, which has aggravated my challenge tenfold. A single cookie comes out raw on one half and very dark brown on the other. Top versus bottom? No, I’m talking left versus right! I’ve become philosophical about the situation, telling myself it’s like learning to cook on a medieval hearth, though frankly I really have gotten better results over a campfire. I tell myself I’d have perfected my biscochos long ago if it weren’t for this daunting electric warming box, though the real secret’s in the kneading. Anyway, my own glorious range is in storage, my landlord’s a Simon Legree, and negotiations are best left for things more dire.
Though to you and me, making a perfect biscocho is indeed of dire importance.
22 responses to “The Biscochos Are Here!”
The Jews of Salonica called them roscas (rosquitas)………
My grandmother from Salonika called them rashikas.
In Portugal we called them Roscas or Rosquinhas too. Interesting to find out so many similarities
Hello Ino. I, too, grew upcalling the cookies rosquitas. My grandmother, Nona, was also from Salonika and her maiden name was Oro (Goldie) Alvo. My maiden name was Nahmias. Is there a chance we are related?
I remember orange, vanilla and cinnamon sugar. I also remembers the taste of anise….biscochitos, rosquillitas or galletitas , oh goodness, Janet, thank you.
I will make them for my Dad just to see his face light up when I give him a taste of his childhood.
My Cuban great grandmother and grandmother called them rosquillitas, biscochitos and galletitas.
I remember the taste of anise, orange, vanilla and most definitely cinnamon sugar sprinkled on top or almonds with a sugar syrup glaze, maybe?
I don’t think I’ve ever seen a sugar glaze on a biscocho, though that doesn’t mean nobody uses one (to wit, your family). To my sensibility that would be out of place on a rustic cookie, especially one not meant to be overly sweet. Almonds? Yes, why not! (Though personally I know no biscocho will ever thrill me like orange and sesame) 😉
Galletitas (from galletas) refers to any cookie shaped like a wafer (i.e. flat, no holes). Nabisco ‘Nilla Wafers, lengua de gato and ginger snaps are all galletas.
Where do I find the recipe? I follow you on FB and there is no link to the recipe.
Jon, the link’s at the end of the post. 😉
Thank you for your website and Blog. Your descriptioin of biscochos was so good, so like I remember as a kid, that I had to make some. Oh, god, were they good. I ate them in the evening as a snack and around lunch with some cheese. I even dipped them in wine. And thank you for bringing a piece of my childhood back to life.
Joe Carasso (My grandparents came from Solikina and Rhodes.)
Joe, I feel honored to know my effort has served your own childhood memory so well. Thank you for your feedback and your kind words.
The Rhodes part of the tribe has a very similar recipe to the Izmir one, the biggest difference being cinnamon sugar on top and not sesame seeds. I make these delicious cookies quite often and always think of the wonderful women in my family – long since gone – whose bisoshos (and all their other Sephardic dishes) – live on.
Biscoshos de Huevo
1 1/4 cups sugar
1 cup oil
1 teaspoon vanilla
4 teaspoons baking powder
7-8 cups all-purpose flour
1/2 cup sugar
1 teaspoon cinnamon
Place all ingredients except flour and baking powder into mixing bowl. Beat until well blended with electric mixer. Remove bowl and add flour and baking powder gradually. Knead the dough with your hands until the dough is no longer sticky, adding more flour if needed.
Take walnut-sized pieces and roll down on the table with palms of hands into a rope 5 inches and only 1/2 inch thick. Join into a bracelet shape. Dip one side into sugar and cinnamon topping. Place on cookie sheets. Bake for 15 minutes at 375 degrees, or until golden brown. Remove from pan while still warm and pile them in a 13×9 in. pyrex and put back in a 200 degree oven for about one hour to crisp.
Thanks for adding your recipe, Debby!
This looks like the recipe in the OVS (ATL) cookbook – with the very necessary step of twice baking at a lower temp. I just made a batch this AM! Funny story, the first time I made them, they came out softer than they should have been. The taste was right the texture was all wrong. I called my cousin Esther to talk about it. She asked what temp. did I do the 2nd bake at. Huh? Second bake? That wasn’t in the instructions. Her reply was “of course not, everyone knows they have to go in again”. And now, I too know.
Believe it or not, I don’t own the OVS cookbook and I’ve never even read it! I suppose that’s testament to how deeply ingrained our cultural taste sensibilities are, and how shared. I simply tried and tried until I tasted my childhood memory. Thanks for sharing your own sweet memory 🙂
Can the dough be made ahead and refrigerated? If so, must it be at room temperature before shaping the biscochos later?
You can’t make these shapes if the dough is cold; it will break rather than stretch.
My father is from Salonica, and I learned how to make rosquitas from his mom. We called the round ropes “biscochos.” Our rosquitas are shaped more like biscotti, but made with a cake batter which gets twice baked– so they’re much lighter, less dense than biscotti. I love your website! It’s a wonderful help to me as I try to make all the foods of my childhood– when no one is around any more to help. (Do you by chance have a chicken and okra recipe?) And by the way, my father knows the Nahmias family from Salonica.
Cookie names shift a bit from one family to the next, but they really do have specific meanings, and I try to stick to those. Rosquita means ‘little ring’, resha means ‘rope’, and biscocho (just like biscotto/i or biscuit) means ‘twice cooked’ – this of course is really the generic name for this whole category of cookies, which all get the second baking for crisping 🙂
Thanks so much for your kind words. And I’ll think about making chicken and okra soon – that’s delicious, too!
Hi Maxine, Enjoyed reading your comments. My father was also from Salonica, and my maiden name is Naar. I am inspired to make these rosquitas! I live in NJ~~where are you?