Preserving the Soul of Lebanese Cuisine: A conversation with Chef / Founder Jad Youssef, Lebnani
- James Massoud
- 1 day ago
- 5 min read
From growing up in war-torn Beirut to building one of London’s first Lebanese street food success stories in Yalla Yalla and, more recently, earning critical acclaim at Lebnani in Surrey, Chef Jad Youssef has spent a lifetime championing the flavours of his homeland.
In this exclusive conversation with The Knife – ahead of the release his new cookbook, Lebnani – Jad reflects on family recipes, the regional identity of Lebanese cuisine, the power of restraint in cooking and why authenticity matters more than ever in a food world obsessed with reinvention.
You were born in Beirut during the Lebanese Civil War and learned to cook in your mother’s kitchen and your father’s pastry shop. When you look back now, which flavours, smells or moments from that time still guide the way you cook today?
When I think back to Beirut during the civil war, it’s always the kitchen that comes first. My mum cooking with whatever she could find, turning simple things into something full of comfort. The smell of garlic hitting olive oil, warm bread straight off the saj, my father’s pastry shop filling the air with orange blossom and syrup. Those contrasts of savoury and sweet, chaos and care, they still shape everything I cook today.
Lebnani is built around 84 family recipes cooked as they have been for generations. In an era obsessed with reinvention, why did protecting authenticity feel more important than modernising?
With Lebnani, it was never about reinventing anything. These are 84 family recipes cooked exactly as they’ve always been cooked. I think there’s so much pressure today to "modernise" tradition, but for me the real beauty is already there. My job was just to protect it, respect it, and pass it on as honestly as possible.
Lebanese food is often grouped under the broad label of "Middle Eastern." What do people miss when they fail to see Lebanese cuisine as its own deeply regional and nuanced culinary identity?
Lebanese food gets flattened too often into one label, but it’s incredibly regional. A dish in Beirut can taste completely different in Tripoli or the mountains. When people group it all as "Middle Eastern," they miss that detail, that pride in local identity, and the small differences that make it feel so personal and alive.
Your cooking celebrates herbs, grains, pulses and vegetables long before plant-led dining became fashionable. Do you feel Lebanese cuisine has always understood something modern food culture is only now catching up with?
I think Lebanese food has always been ahead of the curve without trying to be. It’s naturally plant-led; herbs, pulses, grains, vegetables are the foundation, not an afterthought. Long before it became a "trend", it was just how people ate at home, with meat used more as flavour than focus.
You’ve spoken about Lebanese cooking being simple, but deeply intentional. What are some of the small details or techniques diners might overlook that actually make the biggest difference to flavour?
The biggest thing people miss is restraint. A lot of Lebanese cooking is about knowing when to stop, not overcooking garlic, not drowning herbs, balancing acidity carefully. Even something like toum or tabboulé is all about texture and timing. The simplicity is what makes it powerful.
You trained in Beirut, worked in Oslo, built a following in London and now run an acclaimed restaurant in Reigate. How has moving between cultures changed your understanding of hospitality?
Moving between Beirut, Oslo, London, and now running a restaurant in Reigate has really shaped how I see hospitality. In Beirut it’s all instinct and emotion, in Oslo it’s calm and precision, and in London it’s fast-paced energy and full of movement. I think I’ve taken a bit from each place, keeping things warm and generous on the plate, while also paying attention to the details that make the whole experience feel right.
Yalla Yalla arrived in 2009 and became one of London’s first Lebanese street food success stories. Did you realise at the time you were helping shift perceptions of Lebanese food in Britain?
When we started Yalla Yalla, we weren’t thinking about changing perceptions, we just wanted to cook food we grew up with. But looking back, I realise it did help open doors for Lebanese food in London. People were discovering flavours they hadn’t really seen in that way before, especially in a street food setting.
At Lebnani, how do you balance the emotional weight of family recipes with the pressure of running a modern, award-winning restaurant that must constantly evolve?
At Lebnani, the balance is always between memory and now. These recipes carry a lot of emotion, but the restaurant is alive, so it has to evolve. We never change the heart of a dish, but we do adjust how we serve it, how it fits into today’s dining, that’s the constant conversation.
Jay Rayner praised your "gloriously zingy Lebanese flavours." What does balance mean in Lebanese cooking, especially when working with acidity, herbs, spice and richness on the same plate?
Balance in Lebanese cooking is everything. You’re always working with acidity, freshness, spice, richness – nothing should dominate. It’s about making sure every bite feels alive. Too much of one thing and you lose that "zingy" quality people often talk about, that brightness is key.
Provenance matters more than ever to diners. How do British seasonal produce and local suppliers interact with recipes bedded in Lebanon without losing their soul?
British produce has actually been a really beautiful match with Lebanese recipes. The soul of the dish always stays the same, but I might use a different aubergine or lamb, depending on where we are. It’s about respect; you don’t force ingredients, you let them work together.
You’ve cooked on stages from Meatopia to Taste of London and appeared on MasterChef. Has public recognition changed you as a chef, or simply given you a bigger platform to tell your story?
Public recognition is nice, of course, but it hasn’t changed how I cook. If anything, it’s just given me more responsibility to stay true to the story. Whether it’s a small kitchen or a stage like Meatopia or MasterChef, I still see it as the same thing – cooking food that means something.
If someone sits down to Lebanese food for the very first time and you want them to understand the country through one dish, what would you serve, and why?
If someone is trying Lebanese food for the first time, I’d serve them shish taouk with toum, fresh khobez, and a simple salad. It has everything in one plate: smoke, garlic, acidity, softness, freshness. It tells you exactly what Lebanese food is about – generosity, balance, and sharing.
