Charred grains, sweet squash, sharp cheese, and a slap of green heat
Freekeh is the soul of Levantine autumn cooking—green wheat roasted young, nutty as anything, and utterly generous. This is what you make when the squash market stalls are groaning and the sumac harvest is in full swing. It's vegetable-led, proper filling, and needs nothing but a cold glass of arak to feel like you've sorted yourself out.
Heat oven to 220°C. Cut butternut squash in half lengthwise, scoop seeds (save for roasting if you fancy), slice into 2cm-thick half-moons. Toss with 30ml oil, sea salt, cracked pepper. Spread on a baking tray in one layer. Roast for 25–30 minutes until deeply golden at the edges and tender; the char is not a mistake, it's dinner.
Rinse freekeh under cold water—dust off any debris. Heat 30ml oil in a heavy-bottomed pot over medium-high heat. Toast the grain for 2–3 minutes, stirring often, until it smells warm and nutty. You'll hear it pop slightly. This wakes it up.
Pour in hot stock (or water), add a pinch of salt. Bring to a boil, then reduce heat to low, cover, and simmer for 20 minutes. The grain should drink the liquid entirely and stay separate, not gluey. Taste a grain; it should be tender but with a whisper of bite. Remove from heat and let it rest, covered, for 5 minutes.
While freekeh cooks, slice red onions into thin rings. Heat a heavy pan over medium heat (no oil needed yet). Add onions dry and stir constantly for 3–4 minutes—they'll start to soften and release their own water. Add a good glug of olive oil, a pinch of salt, and the sumac. Toss and cook for another 5 minutes until soft, sweet, and stained burgundy. Set aside.
Fluff freekeh with a fork onto a serving platter. Arrange roasted squash over the top. Scatter sumac onions across and between. Crumble feta generously. Dollop green harissa to the side (or stir through—your call; I prefer the sharp hit on the side). Drizzle a final good glug of olive oil, finish with sea salt flakes, and a grind of black pepper.
“Don't fuss this. The squash is golden and soft, freekeh is loose and nutty, onions are jewel-like, cheese is bright white against everything else. Green harissa sits unapologetic at the edge or tucked into dimples—it's meant to be a choice, not hidden. Serve warm or at room temperature; it's just as good either way. A handful of fresh flat-leaf parsley scattered at the end catches the light and smells right.”
First forkful: the grain has a warm, toasted backbone, the squash is sweet and almost buttery, the feta is sharp and salty, and the sumac onions cut through with a clean, almost citrus bite. The green harissa sits there, green and incendiary, waiting for you to add as much heat as you want. It builds—warmth, richness, then the bright slap of herbs and acid. Finishes clean, not heavy.
Skip the feta entirely and make the recipe your own. Crumble 150g of a good vegan feta alternative (cashew-based or store-bought) over the top, or leave it naked—freekeh, squash, and sumac onions with green harissa is enough. If you want richness, add a handful of toasted pine nuts or walnuts scattered over at the end. The green harissa, sumac, and roasted vegetables do all the heavy lifting.
Arak with a splash of water is the obvious play—it turns milky, cold, and cuts the richness. A dry white wine with good acidity works equally well.
Something crisp and hoppy to stand up to the sumac and harissa. Cold is the rule.
Chill it hard. The fizz and citrus echo the sumac and harissa without stepping on them.
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