Kikat el Smida (كيكة السميد)

The semolina is the whole character of this cake. It doesn't disappear into softness like flour does. It keeps a little grain under the tooth, drinks the yogurt and orange, and gives you a cake that feels made for tea, not for a pastry window.

Give the batter a short rest before it goes into the oven. That is the small gesture that decides it: the smida needs time to swell, or the cake bakes up sandy instead of moist. Ten minutes is enough. You'll see the batter thicken a little, and then it is ready.

Kikat el smida belongs to dawza atay, the afternoon pause when mint tea comes out and someone cuts what is in the house. Coconut appears in many kitchens, orange in others, apricot jam brushed on top when there is a jar open. None of this is ceremony, but it is la cuisine du lien, the cooking of connection. Cut generous squares. A table is a door you leave open.