If you weren't aware there was war – another war – in Nagorno-Karabakh last year, I won't judge you for not keeping up. Such has been Covid's unremitting chokehold on the news cycle that stories that would have made headlines any other time have had to settle for also-rans and afterthoughts. The tensions between the breakaway Armenian republic and Azerbaijan in whose borders it is located, kept at a simmer during Soviet control erupted after its collapse, the long running conflict now showing every sign of outlasting generations. But this week's reading was less about the fighting and more about the food of Nagorno-Karabakh. I liked the look of jingalov hats (flatbreads stuffed with fresh greens) and for completeness also threw in khorovats, a grilled meat dish from the mainland.

The signs of life were not encouraging – no phone number, shuttered shop front on Google Street View – for a grocery shop called Armenia in East Ham. Unwilling to take a chance on a potentially vain crosstown haul, I turned my focus to two points of interest in nearer Kensington – an Armenian church and an Armenian café. I took the tube to Gloucester Road. St Yegiche Church was a few blocks down. It hadn't opened for daily services yet, so after a quick sweep of the exterior I left for my next stop. Jakobs was at the other end of the road, the adobe shopfront difficult to miss. My Armenian coffee looked and tasted like Turkish coffee, but I was sure I had failed to pick up on differences better known to native drinkers.

The sunshine promised for the weekend had arrived, casting light and shadow as I cut through Kensington's bright white houses and bosky private parks. The Garden Basket was a greengrocer on a side street. I got baby spinach, lamb's lettuce, parsley and watercress to stuff my jingalov hats. Miller of Kensington, a butcher two doors down was halal, so I had to fall back on the one in my local village for 700g of pork tenderloin.

I cut the pork and an onion into chunks. I mixed them and seasoned them with salt, black pepper, oregano, thyme and paprika, then left them in the fridge to marinate for 1-2 hours.

I added 210g of flour and a teaspoon of salt in a mixing bowl. I poured 160ml of water and kneaded, adding more flour until I got a pliable dough. I left the dough to rest and assembled the greens. I coarsely chopped the spinach, the parsley leaves, the lamb's lettuce and the watercress and added them to a bowl. I tossed the greens until they were mixed. Wife, Son and Daughter started the barbeque in the back garden.

I divided the dough into four balls. I rolled out the first ball into a thin large circle. I scooped a generous handful of the greens and put them in a smaller bowl. I added a sprinkle of salt, a dash each of sweet paprika and chilli flakes, and a drizzle each of sunflower oil and lemon juice. I heaped the greens on the rolled dough leaving a little space around the edges. I drew diametrically opposite ends of the dough with both hands over the greens and pinched them together, like buttoning a shirt over a rotund stomach. I repeated from top to bottom until the dough was sealed. I turned it over and flattened it with my palm. I placed the flatbread on a heated pan seam side down and turned it over a few times until brown spots had formed all over it. My buttoning technique improved with every successive flatbread; the last one had no tears or folds. I took the flatbreads over to the back garden, where the meat was getting pulled off the skewers onto a plate.

The pork khorovats met with family approval.  Their opinions on the jingalov hats was more lukewarm but I liked them – the crisp exterior paired nicely with the steamed, tangy filling. Shnorakaloot'yoon, Hayastan!

Krishnan

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