Tahini

Based on Wikipedia: Tahini

The Paste That Conquered Three Continents

Four thousand years ago, someone in ancient Mesopotamia ground sesame seeds into a paste. They probably had no idea they were creating one of the most enduring foods in human history—a simple preparation that would spread across the Middle East, leap to Asia, survive millennia of empires rising and falling, and eventually end up in your local grocery store, quietly sitting between the peanut butter and the almond butter.

That paste is tahini.

If you've eaten hummus, you've eaten tahini. If you've had baba ghanoush, halva, or falafel with that creamy white sauce drizzled on top, you've eaten tahini. It's one of those ingredients that hides in plain sight—essential to some of the world's most beloved dishes, yet rarely getting top billing.

What Exactly Is It?

At its core, tahini is remarkably simple: sesame seeds, ground into a paste. That's it. No emulsifiers, no added oils, no stabilizers. Just seeds and pressure.

But within that simplicity lies surprising variety. The seeds can be hulled or unhulled. Hulled tahini—made from seeds with their outer coating removed—produces a milder, creamier result with a light tan color. Unhulled tahini keeps that fibrous outer layer intact, resulting in a slightly bitter but more nutritious paste with an earthier, darker appearance.

Then there's the question of roasting. Raw tahini comes from untoasted seeds and has a lighter flavor. Roasted tahini, made from toasted seeds, develops deeper, nuttier notes. The roasting process transforms both color and taste, much like the difference between raw and roasted peanuts.

And then there's black tahini—made from black sesame seeds, which are actually the same species as regular sesame but with a different seed coat color. Black tahini has a more intense, almost smoky flavor and a dramatic appearance that makes it popular in desserts where visual impact matters.

The Ancient Roots

The oldest known reference to sesame appears in a cuneiform tablet from four thousand years ago, describing the Mesopotamian custom of serving sesame wine to the gods. The Greek historian Herodotus, writing around 450 BCE, documented sesame cultivation along the Tigris and Euphrates rivers in what is now Iraq. At that time, sesame was primarily valued for its oil—the seeds contain over fifty percent fat, making them an excellent source of cooking oil in a region where olive trees struggled to grow.

But grinding those oily seeds into a paste? That innovation took longer to appear in the historical record.

The first clear evidence of tahini as we know it comes from a tenth-century Arabic cookbook called Kitab al-Tabikh, which translates simply to "The Book of Dishes." The recipes describe ground sesame used as a condiment or eaten with bread—not so different from how people in the Middle East still enjoy it today.

By the thirteenth century, tahini had become sophisticated enough to appear as an ingredient in hummus. An anonymous Arabic cookbook from that era, Kitab Wasf al-Atima al-Mutada, includes a recipe for hummus kasa that calls for tahini. This means that hummus as we recognize it—chickpeas blended with sesame paste—has existed for at least eight hundred years.

A fourteenth-century Jewish scholar named Ishtori Haparchi, writing in Hebrew, observed that Middle Eastern inhabitants of his time ate tahini mixed with date honey. This combination of sesame paste and sweet syrup remains popular throughout the region today, a culinary tradition that has persisted largely unchanged for seven centuries.

The Etymology of a Word

The word "tahini" itself tells a story of linguistic travel. It derives from the Arabic root ط-ح-ن, transliterated as T-H-N, which as a verb means "to grind." This same root gives Arabic its word for flour, ṭaḥīn. When you say "tahini," you're essentially saying "ground stuff" in Arabic.

The term traveled into English through Levantine Arabic pronunciation—the dialect spoken in Syria, Lebanon, Jordan, and Palestine. The more formal Arabic term is ṭaḥīniyya, but the casual Levantine pronunciation ṭaḥīna became the basis for the English word. Hebrew borrowed it too, as ṭḥina.

English speakers didn't adopt the word until relatively recently. Before the late 1930s, English texts referred to "sesame butter" or "sesame seed butter." The exotic-sounding "tahini" only gained traction as Middle Eastern cuisine became more familiar in Western countries.

How It's Made

Traditional tahini production is a multi-step process that begins with soaking raw sesame seeds in water. This softening allows the outer bran layer to be separated from the inner kernel. The crushed, soaked seeds then go into a salt water bath, where a neat bit of physics takes over: the bran sinks while the lighter kernels float to the surface.

Those floating kernels get skimmed off, dried, and then either used raw or toasted. Finally, they're ground—traditionally between stone millstones, though modern production often uses steel grinding equipment. The grinding releases the seeds' natural oils, transforming the solid kernels into that characteristic smooth, pourable paste.

The high oil content that makes this transformation possible also creates a storage dilemma. Some manufacturers recommend refrigeration to prevent the oils from going rancid. Others advise against refrigeration because cold tahini becomes thick and difficult to stir or pour. There's no consensus—which is why you'll find tahini in both the shelf-stable and refrigerated sections of different stores.

Over time, tahini naturally separates, with oil rising to the top. This isn't a sign of spoilage; it's simple physics. A good stir reincorporates everything.

The Nutritional Picture

Tahini is calorie-dense—about 600 calories per hundred grams, or roughly 90 calories per tablespoon. More than half of those calories come from fat, mostly the unsaturated kind that nutritionists generally approve of.

But tahini isn't just empty calories. It's remarkably rich in thiamine, also known as vitamin B1. A hundred-gram serving provides more than the entire daily recommended intake. Thiamine plays a crucial role in converting food into energy and maintaining proper nerve function. Tahini is also a meaningful source of several dietary minerals, including phosphorus, magnesium, iron, and zinc.

The unhulled version, despite its slightly bitter taste, contains more fiber and minerals than hulled tahini because those nutrients concentrate in the seed coat that hulling removes. This is a common trade-off in food processing: improved taste and texture often come at the cost of some nutritional value.

A Tour of Regional Variations

What makes tahini fascinating isn't just its longevity but its adaptability. Almost every culture that adopted it found its own way to use it.

Egypt

In Egypt, tehina forms the backbone of the national cuisine. It accompanies ta'miya (the Egyptian name for falafel), ful medames (stewed fava beans), and grilled meats like kofta. The Egyptian version typically blends tahini with lemon juice, garlic, and water, seasoned with salt and cumin. The result is a smooth, ivory-colored sauce that can be adjusted from thick dip to thin dressing simply by varying the water content.

The Levant

Throughout Lebanon, Syria, Jordan, and Palestine, tahini anchors the sauce called tarator—the creamy white condiment drizzled over falafel and shawarma. It also appears in siyadiyeh, a traditional fish dish that demonstrates tahini's versatility with seafood.

The Gaza Strip produces a distinctive rust-colored variety called "red tahina." The color comes from a longer, more intensive roasting process that pushes the sesame seeds past their normal toasting point. The result has a more assertive, almost burnt flavor that works particularly well in sumagiyya, a lamb dish with chard and sumac.

In the West Bank city of Nablus, bakers make "black tahina" by mixing regular tahini with qizha paste—ground black cumin seeds. This shouldn't be confused with black tahini made from black sesame seeds; they're different products with different flavors and purposes.

Israel

Tahini is so central to Israeli cuisine that it appears at almost every meal. Beyond the expected hummus and falafel applications, Israelis use it as a sauce for baked fish, as a topping for Jerusalem mixed grill (a dish of grilled organ meats), and in desserts ranging from halva ice cream to tahini cookies. A classic preparation bakes tahini with lamb or beef kufta, the sauce forming a creamy layer over the spiced meat.

Iraq

Iraqis call tahini by a different name entirely: rashi. The most beloved use combines it with date syrup, locally called rub. This sweet mixture, eaten with bread, represents one of the oldest surviving combinations—essentially unchanged from what the fourteenth-century scholar Ishtori Haparchi observed seven hundred years ago.

Iran

In Persian, tahini goes by ardeh. It forms the base of halvardeh, an Iranian halva that combines tahini with sugar and egg whites. The cities of Yazd and Ardakan are particularly famous for this confection, and visitors bring it home as a regional specialty. Iranians also eat tahini at breakfast, paired with sweet syrups—grape, date, or carob.

Turkey

Turkish tahini, called tahin, meets pekmez—a sweet syrup made from boiled grape juice. The combination, tahin-pekmez, appears at breakfast tables and after meals as a sweet bread dip. The bitterness of tahini balanced against the concentrated sweetness of fruit syrup creates a satisfying contrast.

Greece

Greeks spread tahini on bread like Americans might use peanut butter, topping it with honey or jam. Greek supermarkets stock jars of tahini pre-mixed with honey or cocoa in their breakfast aisles, a convenience product that speaks to how thoroughly tahini has integrated into everyday eating.

Cyprus

Cypriots pronounce it tashi and use it in ways that set their cuisine apart from mainland Greece. Where Greeks would typically use tzatziki—the yogurt-cucumber sauce—Cypriots often substitute tahini, even in pita souvlaki. They also make tahinopitta, a savory pie featuring tahini as a primary ingredient.

Armenia

Armenians use tahini as a sauce for lahmajoun, the thin-crusted meat flatbread sometimes called Armenian pizza. The sesame paste adds richness and helps cut through the spiced meat topping.

The Asian Cousin

China and Japan use sesame paste too, but their versions differ from Middle Eastern tahini in important ways. Chinese sesame paste, zhīmájiàng, almost always comes from roasted sesame, giving it a much darker color and deeper flavor than typical Middle Eastern tahini. The Chinese version also tends to be less bitter, partly because of different processing methods.

In Sichuan cuisine, sesame paste appears in dandan noodles—that spicy, numbing bowl of ground pork and noodles that defines the region's cooking. Hubei province has its hot dry noodles, where sesame paste coats the noodles in a savory coating. Northeastern Chinese and Taiwanese cuisines feature ma jiang mian, or sesame paste noodles.

Chinese cooks also use sesame paste as a spread for mantou (steamed buns) and as a base for bing, the various flatbreads that appear throughout Chinese cuisine. In hot pot restaurants, sesame paste often forms the foundation of the dipping sauce, mixed with soy sauce, vinegar, and aromatics.

White sesame paste typically goes into savory dishes, while black sesame paste appears in desserts. This isn't the same as black sesame soup, a sweet Chinese dessert made by a different method entirely, though both showcase the distinctive flavor of black sesame.

The American Arrival

Tahini reached American shores through health food stores. By 1940, you could find sesame tahini alongside other "raw nut butters" in the small natural food shops that catered to health-conscious consumers. For decades, it remained a niche product, unknown to most Americans.

The rise of Middle Eastern restaurants in American cities changed that. As hummus went from exotic to mainstream—now available in virtually every American supermarket—tahini rode along as an essential ingredient. Today, tahini has crossed over from specialty stores to general grocery aisles, though many American consumers still know it only as "the stuff that's in hummus."

Beyond the Obvious Uses

The most familiar tahini preparations barely scratch the surface of what this ingredient can do. Yes, it thins out with lemon juice and garlic for a classic sauce. Yes, it blends with chickpeas for hummus. But tahini's high fat content and emulsifying properties make it useful in ways that might surprise people who only know it from Mediterranean restaurants.

Tahini makes excellent salad dressings, whisked with vinegar or citrus until it becomes pourable. It enriches baked goods—cookies, cakes, brownies—adding moisture and a subtle nuttiness that complements chocolate particularly well. Mixed with maple syrup, it becomes a pancake topping or ice cream sauce. Stirred into hot pasta, it creates a creamy coating without any dairy.

Halva represents tahini's most elaborate sweet application. This confection, made by cooking tahini with hot sugar syrup until the mixture firms up, appears throughout the Middle East and Eastern Mediterranean. Some versions fold in pistachios or almonds. Others incorporate chocolate or vanilla. The texture ranges from crumbly to smooth depending on technique and tradition.

Ice cream makers have discovered that tahini's high fat content and distinctive flavor make it an excellent base for frozen desserts. Tahini ice cream and tahini frozen yogurt have appeared on restaurant menus and in artisanal ice cream shops, introducing the ingredient to audiences who might never order it in a savory context.

The Enduring Appeal

What explains tahini's persistence across four millennia and three continents? Partly it's practical: sesame seeds grow in hot climates where other oil-producing crops struggle, and the paste they produce is shelf-stable, nutritious, and versatile. Partly it's cultural: once a food becomes embedded in a cuisine's foundational dishes, it tends to stay there.

But there's something else too. Tahini occupies an unusual space in the flavor spectrum. It's rich but not heavy. Nutty but not sweet. Slightly bitter but not unpleasant. This balance makes it remarkably adaptable—equally at home in savory sauces and sweet confections, able to enhance other flavors without overwhelming them.

The next time you dip bread into hummus or drizzle sauce over a falafel, consider that you're participating in a culinary tradition older than most religions, older than most written languages, older than almost any food preparation still in common use. That creamy sesame paste connects you to ancient Mesopotamian temple offerings, medieval Arabic cookbooks, and the daily meals of hundreds of millions of people across the globe.

Not bad for something made from ground-up seeds.