You’ve probably seen the videos. Big, muscular men in aprons wielding massive wooden pestles, slamming them into deep frozen vats with a rhythm that sounds more like a construction site than a dessert shop. This is the heartbeat of Al-Hamidiyah Souq. It’s the sound of Bakdash ice cream Syria, a legendary institution that has been stretching the limits of dairy since 1895.
Honestly, calling it "ice cream" feels like a bit of a lie.
Standard Western ice cream is airy. It’s fluffy. It’s meant to melt the second it hits your tongue. But Syrian booza? That’s a whole different beast. It’s elastic. It’s chewy. You could practically play tug-of-war with a scoop of Bakdash before you actually eat it.
The Secret Isn't Just Milk
Most people think the magic of Bakdash is just some old family recipe kept under lock and key. While the proportions are secret, the ingredients aren't. It’s the chemistry of the Levant.
The stretch comes from sahlab (ground orchid tuber flour) and mastic (a resin from the mastic tree). Mastic gives it that slightly piney, sophisticated undertone that cuts through the sugar. If you try to make this at home with cornstarch, you’re going to fail. It won’t have that "bounce."
Then there’s the pounding.
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They don't churn this in a machine with a little plastic paddle. They beat it. This manual labor isn't just for show or for the tourists snapping photos. It knocks the air out. By the time they’re done, the mixture is so dense it’s basically a dairy-based workout.
More Than Just a Shop in Damascus
Bakdash isn't just a business; it’s a survivor.
The main branch in the Al-Hamidiyah Souq has seen the Ottoman Empire fall, the French Mandate come and go, and over a decade of brutal conflict that reshaped the country. Through it all, the shop stayed open. It became a symbol of "normalcy" in a city that often felt anything but. During the height of the Syrian civil war, seeing photos of people still crowded into Bakdash for a bowl of ashta (clotted cream) topped with a mountain of emerald-green Aleppo pistachios was a powerful image of resilience.
It’s iconic.
Because of the diaspora, the brand has spread. You can find "Bakdash" or shops claiming the lineage in Amman, Jordan, particularly on Rainbow Street. You’ll see them in Istanbul and even parts of Europe. But ask any Damascene, and they’ll tell you the same thing: it’s never quite the same as the original. There's something about the limestone walls of the old souq and the specific chill of that Damascus air that makes the original hit differently.
What You're Actually Ordering
When you walk in, don't look for a menu with thirty flavors. This isn't Baskin-Robbins. You’re there for the Ashta.
It’s a white, creamy base, heavily scented with rosewater and orange blossom water.
- They scrape a massive slab of it out of the freezer.
- They roll it in crushed pistachios until you can't see the white anymore.
- Sometimes they’ll serve it in a cone, but the "pro" move is the bowl.
The texture is almost like mozzarella cheese had a baby with a marshmallow. It’s cold, obviously, but the fat content is so high and the air content so low that it doesn't give you that sharp brain freeze. It just lingers.
The Business of Tradition
From a business perspective, Bakdash is a masterclass in brand longevity. They haven't modernized the look. The flickering fluorescent lights, the simple wooden benches, and the chaotic service are part of the charm. If they turned it into a sleek, minimalist boutique, the soul would vanish instantly.
They’ve also stayed remarkably affordable. Despite the massive inflation in Syria, the goal has always been to keep booza accessible to the masses. It’s a democratic dessert. You’ll see wealthy businessmen sitting next to street vendors, both of them digging into the same $1 bowl of cream.
Common Misconceptions
A lot of travel bloggers claim this is the "oldest ice cream shop in the world." That's not technically true—places in Italy and France have older claims—but it is arguably the most famous traditional mastic ice cream parlor on the planet.
Another mistake? Thinking booza is the same as Turkish Dondurma.
They are cousins, sure. They both use mastic and sahlab. But Dondurma is often even tougher, sometimes requiring a knife and fork to eat. Bakdash’s Syrian version is slightly more refined, focusing more on the ashta creaminess than just the sheer structural integrity of the resin.
Navigating the Experience Today
If you’re traveling to Damascus now, the souq is still the place to go.
- Timing matters: Go in the late afternoon. The light filters through the bullet holes in the corrugated metal roof of the souq, creating these "cathedral" beams of light.
- Cash is king: Don't even think about a card.
- Noise: Be prepared for it to be loud. The pounding of the ice cream is constant.
Why It Still Matters
In a world of ultra-processed foods and "fast-churn" technology, Bakdash is a reminder that some things are better when they're difficult to make. It requires human strength, specific regional ingredients, and a refusal to change with the times.
It represents the Syrian identity—resilient, sweet, and firmly rooted in history.
Next Steps for the Culinary Traveler
If you want to experience the legacy of Bakdash without traveling to Syria right now, look for authentic Syrian creameries in Jordan (Amman) or the Fatih district in Istanbul. Specifically, look for shops that display the traditional large wooden pestles. If they are pulling the ice cream out of a soft-serve machine, turn around and walk out. To get the real flavor profile at home, source authentic Mastic tears (Chios is the best) and Sahlab powder from a Middle Eastern grocer, but remember that the "beat" of the Damascus original is something that cannot be replicated by a home mixer. Seek out "Ashta" flavored desserts to train your palate for the specific floral notes that define the Bakdash experience.