Tahini and Halva Blondies with Sesame Brittle

Fudgy, nutty and shot through with toasted sesame

Tahini and Halva Blondies with Sesame Brittle

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ServesMakes 16 squaresPrep25 minCook30 minCuisineMiddle EasternCourseDessert

Ingredients

  • 175g unsalted butter
  • 150g tahini, well stirred
  • 200g soft light brown sugar
  • 75g caster sugar
  • 2 large eggs, plus 1 yolk
  • 1 tsp vanilla extract
  • 200g plain flour
  • 1/2 tsp baking powder
  • 3/4 tsp fine sea salt
  • 150g vanilla halva, broken into chunks
  • 75g caster sugar (for the brittle)
  • 3 tbsp sesame seeds
  • Flaky sea salt, to finish

Method

  1. Make the brittle first: scatter the sesame seeds over a lined tray. Melt 75g caster sugar in a dry pan until it turns deep amber, pour it over the seeds, and leave to set hard before smashing into shards.
  2. Preheat the oven to 170C fan and line a 20cm square tin with parchment, leaving an overhang.
  3. Melt the butter until just liquid, then whisk in the tahini until smooth and glossy.
  4. Whisk in both sugars, then beat in the eggs, yolk and vanilla until thick and ribboned.
  5. Fold in the flour, baking powder and fine salt until just combined, then fold through most of the halva chunks.
  6. Scrape into the tin, level the top, and press in the remaining halva and half the sesame brittle.
  7. Bake for 28 to 32 minutes until the top is set and golden but the centre still has a slight wobble.
  8. Cool completely in the tin, then scatter with the rest of the brittle and a little flaky salt before slicing into squares.

Blondies are the unsung sibling of the brownie, and for a long time I treated them as an afterthought, a beige consolation prize for people who do not like chocolate. Then I started building them around tahini, and they became something I make on purpose. This version is fudgy and dense in the middle, with the deep butterscotch hum of brown sugar and the savoury, faintly bitter edge of sesame paste running all the way through. Pockets of halva melt into soft, marbled veins, and a scatter of homemade sesame brittle on top gives every square a glassy, caramelised crunch. It is sweet, yes, but grown-up sweet, the kind of thing you can eat with strong coffee and not feel you have ruined your afternoon.

Tahini is just toasted sesame seeds ground to a paste, but it behaves a little like a nut butter and a little like an oil, and both qualities are useful here. The fat keeps the crumb tender and gives that prized fudgy density, while the toasted-seed flavour brings a savoury counterweight to all the sugar. Sesame and brown sugar are old friends; the molasses notes in soft light brown sugar lean naturally towards the roasted, slightly tannic flavour of tahini. The result is more interesting than a plain blondie because it is not relentlessly sweet. There is a bitterness underneath, the same trick that makes salted caramel so moreish.

Stir your tahini well before you measure it. The good stuff separates in the jar, with a slick of oil sitting on top of a stiff paste at the bottom, and you want it homogenous and pourable. A tahini that has gone claggy and dry at the base will make the batter stiff and the flavour harsh, so if yours is past its best, buy a fresh jar. It is the backbone of the whole tray.

Halva is the other half of the equation, and it earns its place. Made by binding tahini with a boiled sugar syrup, it has a crumbly, fudge-like texture that melts beautifully when baked. As the blondies cook, the chunks soften and bleed slightly into the surrounding batter, leaving sweet, almost flaky seams that are denser and more intense than the crumb around them. I use plain vanilla halva, but the pistachio or chocolate-marbled kinds work too if that is what your corner shop sells. Break it into rough, generous pieces rather than crumbs; you want to find it when you bite in.

Fold most of it through the batter and save a handful to press into the top, where it will catch a little colour and look the part. Do not overmix once the halva goes in, or you will smear it into the batter and lose those distinct veins.

The twist that lifts these from very good to memorable is the sesame brittle scattered over the top. It is the easiest brittle in the world: toast sesame seeds, pour molten caramel over them, let it set, and smash it. What you get is a sheet of amber glass studded with seeds, sweet and bitter and snappy all at once. Half goes into the bake so it half-melts into the surface, and the rest goes on after cooling so it stays crisp and audible.

Caramel intimidates people unnecessarily. Use a clean, dry, light-coloured pan so you can see the colour, melt the sugar over a medium heat without stirring, and only swirl the pan if it is colouring unevenly. Pull it off the heat the moment it reaches a deep amber, just short of where it smells like it might burn, because it carries on cooking in the residual heat. Pour quickly and stand back; molten sugar is unforgiving on skin.

The single most important rule with blondies is to underbake them slightly. A blondie baked until firm all the way through is a flapjack with ambitions; a blondie pulled when the centre still wobbles is fudge with a cakey edge. Look for set, golden edges and a middle that looks barely done, then trust it to firm up as it cools. They are honestly better the next day, once the crumb has settled and the flavours have married.

Cool them completely in the tin before you even think about cutting. Warm blondies tear and crumble; cold ones slice into clean squares with a sharp knife wiped between cuts. Finish with flaky salt, which does the same job it does on a good chocolate chip cookie, sharpening the sesame and making the sweetness sing.

Once you have the base, it flexes. Swap a third of the plain flour for wholemeal to push the nuttiness further, or add a handful of chopped dark chocolate if you want the sesame-and-cocoa pairing that tahini brownies do so well. A spoonful of black sesame paste rippled through the batter gives dramatic grey marbling and an even deeper flavour. However you tweak it, keep the brittle. That crunch is the whole point.

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Fern
Written by Fern

vo.rs's resident home cook. A firm believer that the best recipes are the classics with one small, clever twist, Fern cooks the way most of us actually do: in a normal kitchen, on a normal weeknight, without a brigade of sous-chefs. Expect generous flavour, honest shortcuts and strong opinions about garlic.