Hummus B’Tahini (Hummus With Tahini) Recipe

For such a humble and simple dish, hummus has inspired an impressive and complex battle of opinions. From texture and flavor to cooking techniques, everyone seems to think there is a best or right way to make hummus. Though there are some guiding principles to keep in mind—more on that below—how you prepare the spread ultimately comes down to personal preference. Silky hummus is a triumphant treat. But if we start splitting hairs over the degree of smoothness and trouble ourselves to the point of vowing to never to make hummus again unless we painstakingly peel each chickpea, then we miss the spirit of what this dish is all about: transforming a humble ingredient into a delicious and fulfilling dish.

The Origins of Hummus

“Hummus” is the Arabic word for chickpea. Although the word has become synonymous with the chickpea and tahini dip of the same name, this particular spread’s complete Arabic designation is hummus b’tahini. Simply translated, the term means tahini hummus, which is made up of two primary components: tahini and chickpeas.

Tahini

Tahini is made of one ingredient: ground sesame seeds. It can be crafted from hulled, unroasted seeds for a light and mild flavor, or hulled, roasted seeds for a nuttier taste. Some also prepare hummus with unhulled seeds (toasted or untoasted), which taste similar but have a pleasant hint of bitterness. Any of these work well in hummus, though most of what you find commercially across the world is the hulled, roasted variety. But if you ever visit a tahini mill or specialty store, the best way to discover your preference is through tasting and experimentation. 

Sesame seeds are one of the oldest known oil crops, with possible origins in Africa or Asia. One of the earliest references to tahini dates back to the 10th century, where it was described as “tahin al simsim,” or sesame paste, in the cookbook Kitab al Tabikh by Arabic author Ibn Sayyar al-Warraq, which contains recipes from what is now modern-day Baghdad. The term « tahini » stems from the Arabic word « tahhiniyya, » derived from the root verb « tahan, » meaning to grind or mill. (If my etymology lessons remind you of the father from My Big Fat Greek Wedding, you’re not alone—I’ve heard it many times before!) 

Most references in Kitab al Tabikh use tahini as a spread on different breads, which might then be topped with dried or cured meats. Some recipes state that having tahini with honey or date syrup might help it pass through the digestive system faster—and is probably where the dish dibs wa tahini (tahini with date or grape molasses) originates. In the book, tahini is also featured in baked goods. Today, tahini’s popularity is soaring across the world, propelled by its esteemed place in Arab cuisine, specifically the Levant region, where it stars in beloved foods like hummus and halaweh (halva).

Some consider Ethiopian sesame seeds the best because of the climate and nutrient-rich soil they are grown in—a similar concept to how terroir can impact the flavor of wine grapes. Having tasted tahini made from both Ethiopian seeds and others, however, I find the emphasis on the seed’s origin overstated. The milling process, degree of roasting, and the freshness upon purchase all significantly shape tahini’s flavor, sometimes more so than the seed’s origin. 

To ensure you are getting the freshest and highest quality tahini, always look at the date of production and make sure there are no ingredients other than sesame on the list. I avoid anything that contains added oil, salt, emulsifiers, sugar, and flavorings, which can negatively impact the flavor and texture of the paste. I prefer to buy Lebanese or Palestinian tahini, which can be found in most Middle Eastern grocery stores. Both tend to have an excellent flavor and smooth texture that isn’t overly thick.

But even amongst good quality tahini, tasting is the only way to know which brand is truly the best. You should be able to enjoy it the way you would a spoonful of peanut butter. My personal test: It should taste pleasant on its own; there might be a hint of sweetness, and there should be no bitter aftertaste or acidic notes.

Chickpeas

The chickpea likely dates back to the 10,000 BCE, when archaeological records show evidence of its domestication in the Fertile Crescent. It’s a finicky plant, apparently, and how it successfully spread across the Middle East, South Asia, Ethiopia, and the Western Mediterranean remains unclear. 

At some point in history, someone thought to combine tahini and chickpeas together. One of the earliest records of this goes back to a 13th century Syrian cookbook called Al-Wusla ila al-Habib fi Wasf al-Tayyibat wal-Teeb, which culinary historian Charles Perry has since translated as Scents and Flavors: A Syrian Cookbook. The book has a basic recipe for fresh chickpeas that are cooked and mashed, topped with a tahini and vinegar mixture, then layered with crushed walnuts and lemon juice before finally being garnished with spices and herbs.

Tips for Making the Best Hummus

There are probably as many ways to make hummus as there are Arab families, and you should prepare it the way you like. While I think there is no right or wrong way to make hummus, the recipe I offer here reflects my efforts to create the best hummus for myself. I have experimented quite a bit: I’ve prepped hummus with dried and canned beans; peeled and unpeeled chickpeas; just tahini or a combination of tahini and olive oil; with and without garlic and spices—the list goes on. 

Though many hesitate to make it at home because it involves pots, strainers, and a food processor, along with the many parts that require cleaning, it’s possible to enjoy fresh hummus regularly. I make hummus three times a week, right before sending my kids to school, and it takes me ten minutes at most. The secret? I use jarred chickpeas and skip the food processor and all its finicky parts. With the following tips, you, too, will be able to make hummus whenever you want.

It’s Okay to Use Canned or Jarred Chickpeas

While there are some benefits to boiling your own chickpeas, you can still make excellent hummus with good quality jarred or canned chickpeas, so if having to cook your own chickpeas is what’s deterring you from making hummus, it’s perfectly acceptable to skip that step. (I personally prefer the jarred variety over canned for quality and texture, and also because it lacks the tinny aftertaste that some canned products may have.)

If You’re Preparing Chickpeas From Scratch, Cook Them Properly

As for smoothness, this has less to do with peeling the chickpeas—a step some recipes recommend—and more to do with how well cooked the chickpeas are and what equipment you use to blend them. If you are starting with dried chickpeas and cooking them from scratch, adding baking soda to the cooking water helps chickpeas cook and soften faster by altering the pH level and allowing the pectin in the skin to break down more effectively. For the silkiest chickpeas, make sure to cook them until they are falling apart. (See my instructions for cooking dried chickpeas below the main recipe for full instructions.)

Make Smaller Batches, and Skip the Food Processor

Some will tell you that a powerful blender will make smoother hummus than a regular food processor, but blenders don’t work well if the consistency of the spread is too thick, and you risk ending up with hummus soup if you go down that route. Some might choose to circumvent this by blending the chickpeas while hot, but that also isn’t ideal. Not only will your hummus sit for longer in the food safety danger zone—40º to 140ºF or 4º to 60ºC, the temperature at which harmful bacteria grows the fastest—but you also won’t be able to gauge its final texture, as hummus thickens considerably as it sits and cools. 

While some recipes call for grinding the chickpeas with water and lemon juice alone in a blender to get it smooth and then simply whisking in the tahini, this does not produce the same flavor or texture you get from processing tahini with chickpeas or, as is the traditional method, pounding the tahini and chickpeas together.

Instead of relying on a food processor or a high-speed blender, I make smaller batches, blitzing everything together in a two- or four-cup glass measuring cup with my trusty immersion blender. Processing all the ingredients together emulsifies the ingredients and gives the hummus a more cohesive texture and flavor. (It tastes best when it’s fresh, anyway.)

Experiment With Flavors—Or Keep It Simple

Once you master this way of making the spread, fresh hummus will be accessible to you on a regular basis with minimal effort—and you can then focus on experimenting with flavors and preferences. 

Some people like to use garlic in their hummus, but I don’t recommend incorporating garlic unless you are going to consume the entire portion of hummus immediately, because garlic oxidizes quite quickly and its sulfuric compounds give the hummus a stronger and unpleasant aroma as the spread sits. Some use spices like cumin, others are purists. I like mine with a little lemon juice, salt, and generous amounts of tahini. 

In Jerusalem hummus shops, and across some other Palestinian towns, vendors may top hummus b’tahini with a tart blended sauce made of tahini, lemon juice, water, and chopped parsley. It looks pretty, but I prefer my hummus with no additions—because when it’s really good, nothing should distract from its flavor.