The narrow streets of old Manama held a treasure I had yet to discover. Tucked between a traditional spice shop and a small electronics store a ‘khabaz’, a local bakery, stood with its characteristic iron bars framing the window and the unmistakable glow of a clay oven visible from the street.
Like so many khabaz shops scattered across Bahrain, it looked rather unassuming from the outside, but my Bahraini friend earlier in the week had insisted this was where my family and I needed to experience authentic Bahraini bread, ‘khobez’.
As my family and I approached the bakery early in the morning, the aroma hit me first – a rich, yeasty fragrance mixed with the warm, earthy scent emanating from the traditional clay oven. Through the window bars, I could see the baker, his face flushed from the heat, skilfully manoeuvring long wooden paddles to retrieve golden rounds of khobez from the depths of the fire-heated oven.
What struck me immediately was how affordable everything was. Thanks to government subsidies, a fresh piece of khobez cost mere fils, making this artisanal bread accessible to everyone in the community. Families, labourers, office workers; people from all walks of life gathered here for their daily bread.
The baker handed me a piece still warm from the oven, and I understood instantly why my friend had been so insistent. The bread was wonderfully soft in the centre with just the right amount of crispness around the edges where it had kissed the clay oven walls. The bread had a subtle, almost nutty flavour that spoke of tradition and time-honoured techniques.
Watching the entire process unfold was mesmerising. The baker moved with practised efficiency, sliding fresh dough into the clay oven with one paddle whilst retrieving finished slices with another. The rhythm was hypnotic, and I found myself drawn into the ancient dance of bread-making that has remained unchanged for generations.
My daughter was equally fascinated by the whole process – the way the dough transformed in the intense heat, the skill required to time each piece perfectly, and the satisfying thud as each finished piece landed in the collection basket.
“Can we come back tomorrow, Mammy?” she asked, already planning our return visit.
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