Rusana Sayadyan threw down a ball of dough the size of a tangerine and rolled it out into a big, floppy disc, lifting the edges to spin it around. Thirteen years ago, she was an apprentice at a bakery in Armenia, learning to make jingalov hats — the football-shaped flatbreads stuffed with a dozen varieties of herbs and green leaves. Now she was here, in Los Angeles — an expert — teaching someone else. She pushed back her puffy white bonnet with the back of her arm and mixed a handful of greens with salt, oil and paprika. After she scooped the mixture onto the dough, she used her fingers to pinch it shut, sealing the greens inside, then flipped the disc onto a hot griddle.

Zhengyalov Hatz, where Sayadyan works, opened in November. It has a few locations in Armenia, but this is its first in America. The bakery doesn’t bother with a food menu. What would be the point, when it sells only one thing? Everyone who walks in is there for hot jingalov hats the size of a newborn, and they’re likely to be greeted with the only question that matters: “How many?” Sayadyan makes more than 100 each day, chopping sorrel and spinach, beet leaves and dill, cilantro and scallions, with a sharp knife that makes clean cuts, so the greens stay green. The key to a good jingalov isn’t just the dough, she told me, which is nothing but flour, water and a little salt, kneaded until it’s smooth. The key is the greens — washed, thoroughly dried and mixed together in the right kind of ratio, so that sour leaves creep up on the sweet ones, and so that the final bread is tangy and juicy.

In “Lavash,” an Armenian cookbook written by Kate Leahy, John Lee and Ara Zada, the jingalov recipe suggests pomegranate seeds to add more tang, and some home cooks add finely chopped fruit leather made from sour plums to create the same effect. When the authors were in Armenia, researching the book, they learned that some resourceful jingalov vendors will even add citric acid to mimic sour greens, when wild sorrel and other key leaves are out of season.