Who Invented Hummus and Why Should You Care?
A food history as complicated as the region it comes from, but it could be a catalyst of connection — plus a recipe
You should care because it’s one of the most delicious substances on earth — a simple thing really — chickpeas and tahini with olive oil, along with garlic and few other optional ingredients. But the sum of its parts is alchemy — a mysterious and magical creation that can be eaten any time of day or night.
It’s also a potential medium — a pathway to peace for the Middle East. Call it hummus diplomacy. It’s one of the rare things Israelis, Syrians, Lebanon, and the Egyptians all agree on. The shit is good and we invented it. But what if they invented it all together? What is hummus is a shared cultural legacy that can be a symbol for a larger shared history? Many believe it can. Call it the power of hummus. When you can find commonality between cultures who often don’t like each other, you have to exploit it. But before you can use hummus to heal, I suppose, you have to argue about it.
The debate over the origin of hummus is very, very old — probably nearly as old as hummus itself. The Greeks like to claim it as their own, but the Arabs are equally adamant it’s their cuisine heritage. The Israelis claim it, too, with vigor of the Israeli Defense Force. So do the Lebanese, and the Turks, and the Syrians. So, who’s right? The truth is that no one really knows for sure where hummus originated and it will likely remain a food mystery forever — along with what is really in Velveeta cheese.
In terms of historical records and food history, there’s little concrete evidence for any one theory over the other. Most of the ingredients of hummus have been around for centuries. The chickpea dates back more than 10,000 years in Turkey and is, according to Anissa Helou, the Syrian-Lebanese author of several popular Middle Eastern cookbooks, one of the earliest legumes ever cultivated. And tahini, the sesame paste that is vital to hummus b’tahini, is mentioned in 13th-Century Arabic cookbooks. But the exact combination of ingredients that make up the popular dish is harder to pin down.
“It’s a Jewish food,” writes chef Tom Kabalo of Raq Hummus in the Israeli-occupied territory of Golan Heights. “This history was mentioned in our bible 3,500 years ago.” He’s not the only one who thinks that hummus is biblical — it’s a common refrain in Israel. Kabalo and others are referring to a passage from the Book of Ruth, part of the third and final section of the Hebrew Bible: “Come hither, and eat of the bread, and dip thy morsel in the hometz.”
While it’s true that hometz does sound similar to hummus, there’s also a good reason to believe otherwise — in modern Hebrew, hometz means vinegar. Of course, “dip your bread in vinegar” would be an odd expression of hospitality, so therein lies the uncertainty.
Many claim the delicious paste comes originally from Lebanon, and that it has been being made here for at least 2,500 years — often with a healthy squeeze of lemon. Charles Parry, a Southern California food historian, writes: “I tend to take the Lebanese claim somewhat seriously. Beirut would be my choice in response to the question of who invented hummus. It stood out as a sophisticated city throughout the Middle Ages, one with a vigorous culinary tradition, and all of the required ingredients were abundant there — including lemons.”
However, another popular theory says that hummus is neither from Israel nor Lebanon — but Egyptian. “The earliest recipe I’ve seen for hummus that includes tahini is from an Egyptian cookbook,” said Middle East historian Ari Ariel, who teaches history and international studies at the University of Iowa. During an online lecture I attended in 2021 on food history — part of what made me so interested in the history of different foods, she outlines that the earliest known written recipes for a dish resembling hummus bi tahina are recorded in cookbooks written and housed in Cairo in the 13th century. So maybe hummus isn’t nearly as old as some claim.
These 13th century Egyptian cookbooks describe a dish made of cold pureed chickpeas, vinegar, pickled lemon, and herbs and spices. Many claim that it’s the hummus we enjoy today. But is it fair to consider those recipes hummus b’tahini if there’s no tahini? No garlic? I’m going to vote no on that one. I would call that chickpea paste. I guess we’ll never know.
Can hummus be used as a unifier in the greater Levant region? Israeli writer Anurag Mallick believes so. He describes getting eating a meal in Jerusalem and experiencing a feeling of déjà vu — the labneh, tahini and hummus were reminiscent of Oman, the shawarma, ubiquitous across India, was typically Middle East, nougat was Turkish, and baklava Greek. But it was heartening to realize that this food does span continents, cultures, and languages. The power of shared cuisine hasn’t been used for far in solving the issues in the eastern Mediterrean and the Middle East, but it could — and that possibility makes me, for one, believe in the powerful and transformative potential of eating together, sharing a table — and perhaps a recipe.
Hummus a la Conil
Ingredients
1 jar chickpeas, only half drained
3 tablespoons of tahini
4–5 roasted red peppers from a jar
About 1/2 cup olive oil (might need more or less depending on consistency)
4–5 garlic cloves
Juice of half a lemon
Pinch of smoked paprika
Pinch of ground cumin (optional)
Salt for seasoning
Method
Combine ingredients in a blender or food processor and blend/process until smooth. You can add more olive oil, lemon juice, or even a bit of water if it’s too thick.
Notes
I prefer my hummus a little chunky and very lemony. If you want yours smoother, just keep on blending until you’re happy with it. I serve hummus on top of Spanish style stews, with roasted vegetables, and with scrambled eggs, but I think I like it best with a warmed up piece of pita.
This hummus turns out orange by the way, so if that freaks you out, leave out the red pepper.