Tastes of Mavi Boncuk

The Heat of the Matter

2009-08-31T21:00:00.000-07:00

Source: http://www.gourmet.com/magazine/2000s/2009/05/heat-of-the-matter-turkish-peppers

In a sun-soaked valley in southern turkey, hospitality still rules and chile peppers are a constant presence in people’s lives.
It’s dusk in Şanlıurfa, 30 miles from the Syrian border in south-central Turkey. From our hotel terrace, we watch birds glide through the apricot-gold light that slants onto the building below, a shrine to the birthplace of Abraham. The first notes of the call to prayer float up to us, a single voice becoming a syncopated cacophony as a dozen muezzins from other mosques join in. This moment, I think, is why I love Turkey. Okay, maybe this moment and the food. In fact, I could swear I detect on the breeze the slightly harsh, sweetly vegetal aroma of the peppers that brought me here.

These are not just any peppers. They are, you might say, an obsession. And obsessions are unpredictable. Sometimes one springs full-blown into your consciousness; at other times, it grows slowly, almost unnoticed, until a friend says to you, “Do you have to put those Turkish peppers on everything?”

Well, just about.

In every café and kebab joint in Turkey, you will find Urfa and Maras, two dried, flaked red chile peppers, set out on the table. Urfa, named for the city, now called Şanlıurfa, near which it is grown, is a deep oxblood red, with an earthy, rather smoky flavor that contains, oddly, an echo of tobacco. Cherry-red Maras, which takes its name from the nearby town of Kahramanmaraş, has a brighter flavor, brash and fruity but with a very faint edge of bitterness. With both, the complex initial taste is followed by a mild, slow-building heat that lingers tantalizingly in the mouth. Added to a dish, these peppers deepen and broaden all the other flavors. Leave them out, and the food seems somehow flatter.

Over the course of several visits to Istanbul and coastal Turkey, I had become addicted. Back home, I found myself tossing the peppers into stews, rubbing them onto chops before putting them on the grill, and generally making them part of my daily cooking routine. A little pinch of Maras in that vinaigrette? Sure. A sprinkling of Urfa on the poached eggs? Why not?

After a while, though, even that wasn’t enough. As with artisanal products from all over the world, these peppers taste of the sun, air, and soil where they were grown. What is it, I wondered, about that place that gives them their unique character? I wanted to get to know the culinary equivalent of the peppers’ families. I needed to go to the source.

“We live always with this pepper; it is the constant in our lives,” says Ömer Aksoy, a representative of pepper producer Harran İsot, plucking a perfectly red Urfa from a low-growing plant. “The first batch we pick green and eat raw; the last ones, just before the rains begin, are the hottest—those are for flavoring.” In the morning, he explains, young children will clean a couple of peppers, take them to the fırın (communal oven), put them on the side to roast, then bring them home and eat them for breakfast, slathered with butter. But his personal favorite way to eat the fresh peppers is in a condiment called salça, which he translates as “pepper marmalade.” A classic folk product, it’s made differently in each region. Although there are mass-produced versions in some places, here it is made by hand, exactly the way it has been made for centuries, and only for use in the home. The villagers, he explains, like to spread it on bread and sprinkle it with ground hazelnuts or walnuts as a snack, or top it with a couple of fresh eggs for breakfast.

Sounds good to me. “Can we get ahold of some?” I ask. After a quick cellphone call, he says, “They will be making it today in Yaylak, a village not far from here. Let’s go.”

Driving to the village through the barren landscape of the Bozova Valley, we stop to watch Urfa peppers being harvested in a small field. Because they ripen at different rates, there are three or four separate pickings each season, which means the process cannot be mechanized—or at least, no machine has yet been developed that can search a plant and select only the ripe peppers. So, like many fruit and vegetable crops all over the world, the Maras are picked primarily by migrant workers, most of whom live in temporary huts adjoining the fields. Moving slowly across the rows, bent over, carefully plucking the red specimens and placing them in large white sacks, the workers are friendly but businesslike, eager to fill as many sacks as possible in the relative cool of the morning.

Except for the tractor idling at the side of the field, we could be back in the early days of the Ottoman Empire. But, as in modernizing countries everywhere, technology is very likely to be making changes, and very soon.

This had become clear to me on the previous day in Kahramanmaraş. The day began with a tour of a plant where the peppers, after being picked, sorted, stemmed, and dried—either the old-fashioned way, out in the sun, or in specially designed commercial ovens—are chopped and ground. The resulting small flakes may then be mixed with up to 30 percent seeds, as well as some salt and oil. The highest quality, however, is mixed with only a tiny amount of salt and oil and sold (or used personally) as is. Urfa peppers, I learned later, are also briefly fermented after drying, which gives them their dark color and smoky flavor.

Then we went out to see the Maras peppers in the field. Strolling through the rather haphazard rows, a grower explained the timeless appeal of his product. “This dry climate, which has just enough rain, is ideal for them,” he said proudly. “That, and the soil, give them their flavor. People have grown them in other places, but they don’t taste the same.”

Just then a man dressed in a short-sleeved white shirt and gray pants walked briskly across the field to join us. Kemal Belpınar turned out to be from a local branch of the Turkish Ministry of Agriculture, and he excitedly told me about possible future projects: increasing the crop by using hybrid seeds from Spain; starting the peppers in the richer soil of Adana and transplanting them here; perhaps even adopting a method pioneered by the Israelis of treating the peppers with chemicals so they all ripen simultaneously and therefore can be picked by machine.

Despite my efforts to appear approving, I think he saw the dismay in my face. To me, it seems like they are starting down a path—standardization, mechanization, selecting and growing plants for ease of harvesting and shipping rather than for flavor—that we in the United States went down long ago and are now trying to reverse.

But there is no evidence of this trend in Yaylak. As we drive into the village, we see no other cars, only donkey-drawn carts. Indeed, the sole mechanical device immediately in evidence is a kind of oversize meat grinder set up on the porch of a tiny store. This, it seems, is for making salça.

I ask what preparation is necessary before the peppers are dumped into the grinder. After a long, muttered conversation among several of the men, we are led into an interior courtyard. There, a group of women (noticeably absent from the small crowd that has gathered in front of the store) sit around a cloth spread out on the dirt. Grabbing peppers from piles behind them, they split them open with a whack of a wooden mallet, clear out the seeds with their fingers, then rip the peppers in half and toss them into blue plastic buckets. Visibly uneasy in our presence, they nevertheless work with the grace and fluidity born of repeating the same motions they have made tens of thousands of times before.

When the buckets are full, the men take them around to the front of the building, where a boy of about 16 switches on the grinder. He begins to dump in the peppers, and almost instantly my lungs are seared with fumes so harsh that even when I walk 20 feet away, I can’t stop coughing. It’s like the vegetable equivalent of tear gas. The boy, meanwhile, calmly feeds bucket after bucket of peppers into the maw of the grinder, not so much as blinking at the fumes.

The next step on the road to salça will be to add a bit of olive oil to the puréed peppers, then spread the mixture out in large round metal pans on the rooftops, where it will dry and thicken in the sun over several days as it is scraped and turned. “It is the sun that gives our peppers their sweetness and that dries the paste,” says Aksoy. Finally, salt and extra-virgin olive oil are stirred in, and the coarse paste is ready to eat.

I am promised a taste, but first there is another stop. “They are going to slaughter a lamb for you in Hacılar,” Aksoy announces. Only strenuous protests manage to persuade him to call and dissuade our hosts. But when we arrive, after a stroll through another field of drying peppers, we are ushered into the home of a village elder. There, in a large room layered with thick carpets and lined with pillows, the boys of the family lay out a feast: fresh-killed chicken, its flavor astonishingly deep and clean; rice pilaf larded with currants and pine nuts; still-warm whole-wheat flatbread with an amazing texture, at once grainy and tender; thick homemade yogurt studded with cucumber from the garden outside the door; çoban salatası, the classic “shepherd’s salad,” here flavored with sweet-sour pomegranate molasses; a huge platter of sweet green grapes; the salted yogurt drink known as ayran; and, of course, tea. It is only after we begin eating that we remember that this is Ramadan, and none of our hosts are able to share so much as a glass of water along with us. Yet they urge us to eat. “We like people with an appetite,” says one of the man’s sons.

It is an incredible meal, and an equally inspiring setting. I ask Aksoy about the room, much fancier than the rest of the dwelling. “It is the misafirhane, the guest chamber,” he replies. “This is where peace is created. When a guest comes, they give everything they have.”

After we leave the room and start to say good-bye, another boy comes to us with a small bowl of salça. I take a dab and put it in my mouth. There is no heat, just an unusually sweet and pure version of the Maras’s bright flavor, with a slightly musky, vegetal undertone. In a second, though, the heat blooms, not just in the back of my throat but throughout my mouth. It’s not intense, but it’s strong enough to make me laugh. The villagers gathered around all laugh, too, an expression of shared pleasure but also of pride. This is perhaps the best gift they could have given—my obsession has been justified.

Keşkek-Wedding Pulse

2009-08-02T10:10:00.000-07:00

Kashkak, keşkek, kashkeg, kishkak, kashkek, etc. is a sort of meat and wheat or barley stew found in Turkish cuisine. The word kashkak is a Persian diminutive of kashk, to which it is related. It is documented in Iran and Greater Syria as early as the 15th century, but is no longer eaten there. Keşkek is a wedding breakfast for Anatolia in Turkey.

Keşkek is called "Haşıl" in Northeast and Middle Anatolia regions in Turkey. It is a common meal frequently consumed during religious festivals, weddings or funerals.

Bibliography

Françoise Aubaile-Sallenave, "Al-Kishk: the past and present of a complex culinary practice", in Sami Zubaida and Richard Tapper, A Taste of Thyme: Culinary Cultures of the Middle East, London and New York, 1994 and 2000, ISBN 1-86064-603-4.

Ingredients

* 1 tablespoon sunflower oil
* 1/4 tablespoon salt
* 3 tablespoons margarine
* 2 large onions
* 1/2 tablespoon cinnamon
* 1000 gr. mutton neck
* 1000 gr. soft, white wheat

Directions

355 cal (6 servings)

Soak wheat in cold water and allow to stand for 8 hours. Put the wheat, the mutton neck cut into 4-5 pieces, and enough water to cover, into a saucepan, and boil till the wheat and meat become tender. Strain the necks and bone them. After straining the wheat, add the meat and salt and blend well with a wooden spoon. Dice the onions and saute in sunflower oil till golden. Drain the onions and add to the meat and wheat, adn blend with a wooden spoon till the mixture becomes pasty. Top with melted butter and cinnamon before serving.

Kashkek is a traditional Turkish dish which is still served, especially at wedding feasts, in many regions in Anatolis, and more recently, in luxurous restaurants which serve Turkish specialities and have included kashkek on their menues.

Lamb Kebabs with Eggplant | Kösk Kebabi

2008-11-30T11:15:00.000-08:00

Lamb Kebabs with Eggplant | Kösk Kebabi

SERVES 4

This is an adaptation of a dish we were served at Kösk, a restaurant in Konya.

3⁄4 lb. boneless leg of lamb, cut into 2⁄3" cubes
1 1⁄2 oz. lamb fat, preferably tail fat, cut into 2⁄3" cubes
1⁄4 cup olive oil
1 tsp. coarse salt, plus more to taste
5 slender, pale purple eggplants (about 1 1⁄4 lbs.)
1⁄4 cup butter
1 large green pepper, cored, seeded, and finely chopped
2 medium tomatoes, cored, peeled, and finely chopped
1⁄3 cup lamb stock (see Panfried Lamb Kebabs with Bulgar Pilav, step 1)
1⁄2 cup cilantro leaves

1. Toss together lamb, fat, and oil in a shallow dish. Refrigerate for 24 hours. Drain, transfer to a bowl; discard oil. Add salt; toss to combine. Thread 1 piece fat between every 4–6 pieces lamb onto six 15"–20" metal skewers; set aside.

2. Preheat oven to 400°. Arrange eggplant on a baking sheet in a single layer. Roast until soft, about 30 minutes. Let cool slightly; remove and discard skin. Transfer flesh to a medium bowl; mash smooth with a fork.

3. Melt butter in a large skillet over medium heat. Add peppers and cook until softened, 8–10 minutes. Add tomatoes and cook until most of the liquid has evaporated, 8–10 minutes. Add eggplant and salt to taste; stir to combine. Transfer to a serving platter. Preheat a grill to medium. Grill kebabs, turning and basting with stock occasionally, until golden brown, about 5 minutes. Slide meat and fat off onto eggplant mixture. Garnish with cilantro.

This recipe was first published in Saveur in Issue #95

Lamb and Yogurt Soup | Tutmaç Çorbasi

2008-11-30T11:13:00.000-08:00

Lamb and Yogurt Soup | Tutmaç Çorbasi

SERVES 4 – 6

When adding the yogurt mixture to this soup, we were taught to stir it in only one direction, a technique used to prevent curdling.

FOR THE PASTA:
2⁄3 cup flour
1⁄2 tsp. salt
1 egg
2 1⁄2 cups vegetable oil

FOR THE CROUTONS:
1⁄2 cup flour
1⁄4 tsp. salt
1 egg

FOR THE MEAT AND BROTH:
1⁄2 lb. boneless leg of lamb,
cut into 1⁄2" pieces
Salt
1 tbsp. clarified butter
1 cup thick strained yogurt
2 tbsp. flour
1 egg
3 cloves garlic
3 tbsp. butter
2 tsp. dried peppermint

1. For the pasta: Put flour, salt, egg, and 1 tbsp. water into a medium bowl; mix to form a dough. Transfer to a lightly floured surface and knead until soft and pliant, 8–10 minutes. Halve dough, cover with a damp towel, and let rest for 20 minutes. Roll each piece of dough into an 8" × 12" rectangle. Cut each rectangle into small 1⁄2" pasta squares and let dry, uncovered, until no longer sticky, about 45 minutes.

2. Heat oil in a large deep skillet over medium heat. Working in batches, fry pasta squares, turning often, until golden brown, about 3 minutes. Transfer pasta to a paper towel–lined plate; let cool. Reserve skillet with remaining oil.

3. For the croutons: Put flour, salt, and egg into a medium bowl; mix to form a dough. Transfer to a lightly floured surface, divide into 4 pieces, and shape into 4 long 1⁄4"-wide ropes. Cut each rope crosswise into 1⁄4" pieces. (Sprinkle with a little flour to keep from sticking.) Reheat reserved oil in skillet over medium heat. Working in batches, fry dough pieces, turning often, until golden brown, about 1 1⁄2 minutes. Transfer croutons to a paper towel–lined plate and let cool.

4. For the meat and broth: Put 2 1⁄2 cups water into a medium pot; bring to a boil over medium-high heat. Add lamb, return to a boil, and skim off and discard any foam on surface. Reduce heat to medium-low and simmer, covered, until tender, about 1 hour. Remove from heat and stir in 1⁄2 tsp. salt; set aside.

5. Put 3 1⁄3 cups water, clarified butter, and 1 tsp. salt into a medium pot; bring to a boil over medium-high heat. Add fried pasta, reduce heat to medium-low, and simmer, covered, until soft, about 10 minutes. Drain in a colander and discard liquid.

6. Whisk together yogurt, flour, egg, and 1 cup water in a medium bowl. Mash garlic and 1⁄2 tsp. salt to a paste in a mortar with a pestle; add to yogurt mixture. Bring meat and broth back to a simmer over medium heat. Slowly pour yogurt mixture into broth while stirring gently in one direction, then add drained pasta. Bring soup to a boil and cook for 15–20 seconds. Remove from heat; let bubbles subside. Repeat process until soup is slightly thicker than maple syrup, 3–4 times more. Season with salt to taste; transfer to a large serving bowl. Heat butter in a small skillet over medium heat. Add mint, swirl to combine, then pour over soup. Garnish with some croutons; serve any that remain on the side.

This recipe was first published in Saveur in Issue #95

Panfried Lamb Kebabs with Bulgur Pilav | Tava Kebapli Bulgur Pilavi

2008-11-30T11:12:00.000-08:00

Panfried Lamb Kebabs with Bulgur Pilav | Tava Kebapli Bulgur Pilavi

SERVES 4

You can also use the stock made in step 1 to baste the Lamb Kebabs With Eggplant.

4 1⁄2 lbs. lamb bones
1 medium onion, cut into sixths
1 carrot, cut into 1" chunks
1 tbsp. rice
3 black peppercorns
Salt
1 1⁄2 cups fine bulgur
1⁄2 cup plus 6 tbsp. clarified butter
1 1⁄4-lb. piece boneless leg of lamb (from the largest end),
tendons, sinew, and fat removed and discarded, cut
crosswise into 1⁄2" slices
Ground cinnamon

1. Put bones and 10 cups water into a large pot and bring to a boil. Skim off and discard any foam from surface. Add onions, carrots, rice, and peppercorns, reduce heat to medium-low, and simmer for 1 hour. Season lamb stock with salt to taste; strain through a fine sieve into a large bowl. Discard solids.

2. Bring 2 cups of the lamb stock to a boil in a small pot over medium-high heat. Season with salt to taste, add bulgur, reduce heat to medium, and cook, covered, for 3 minutes. Reduce heat to medium-low; cook for 5 minutes. Uncover, drizzle with 1⁄2 cup butter; reduce heat to low. Cook, covered, until all liquid has been absorbed, about 20 minutes. Fluff with a fork, cover, and keep warm.

3. Pound lamb slices one at a time between 2 pieces of plastic wrap with a meat mallet, to a thickness of 1⁄8". Heat 2 tbsp. butter in a large skillet over medium-high heat. Sauté 3 slices lamb until golden brown, 2–4 minutes per side. Wipe out skillet and repeat twice with remaining butter and lamb. Sprinkle with cinnamon and salt. Serve with Rose Petal Salad with Parsley and Mint, if you like.

This recipe was first published in Saveur in Issue #95

Rose Petal Salad with Parsley and Mint | Gül Yaprakli Marul Salatasi

2008-11-30T11:10:00.000-08:00

Rose Petal Salad with Parsley and Mint | Gül Yaprakli Marul Salatasi

SERVES 4 – 6

We use only petals from organically grown roses for this fresh, tangy salad, sometimes tossing in some wild radish leaves, if they're available.

1 medium-size organic rose
3 tbsp. vegetable oil
1 tbsp. fresh lemon juice
Salt
1 bunch of parsley
1 bunch of mint
1 head of romaine lettuce

1. Gently pull the petals off rose, then cut off and discard the white bases from the petals and set the petals aside.

2. Put oil, lemon juice, and salt to taste into a large bowl and whisk until well combined. Pick the leaves off parsley and mint and put them into the bowl of dressing.

3. Trim and pull the leaves off lettuce. Wash and dry the leaves, thickly slice them, and transfer them to the bowl of dressing and herbs. Toss to coat well and transfer to a serving platter. Garnish with rose petals and serve immediately with the Panfried Lamb Kebabs With Bulgur Pilav, if you like.

This recipe was first published in Saveur in Issue #95

Almond Halvah | Badem Helvasi

2008-11-30T11:09:00.000-08:00

Almond Halvah | Badem Helvasi

SERVES 4

This is an adaptation of a recipe we enjoyed while visiting Turkey.

1⁄2 cup high-protein all-purpose flour, such as King Arthur
1⁄2 cup whole wheat flour
3 tbsp. blanched almond halves, toasted
1⁄4 tsp. salt
8 tbsp. butter
1 cup sugar
1 tsp. rose water

1. Stir together flours, 2 1⁄2 tbsp. of the almonds, and salt in a medium bowl. Melt butter in a medium pot over medium-high heat. Add flour mixture and stir with a wooden spoon until combined. Reduce heat to low and cook, stirring occasionally, until mixture darkens slightly and looks moist, about 30 minutes.

2. Meanwhile, put sugar and 1 2⁄3 cups water into a small pot; bring to a boil over medium-high heat, stirring to dissolve sugar. Allow syrup to boil for 2 minutes; remove from heat. Add syrup to flour–almond mixture and stir until well combined (the result should look like cookie dough). Cover pot and cook over low heat for 8 minutes. Uncover pot, transfer mixture to a serving plate, and smooth into a 7"–8" round with the back of a spoon. With a large soup spoon, press indentations around the edges of the almond halvah to form a decorative pattern, then sprinkle with rose water. Gently press the remaining almonds into the center of the halvah in a radiating flower pattern. Serve, warm or at room temperature, in scoops with Turkish Coffee, if you like.

This recipe was first published in Saveur in Issue #95

Turkish Herb and Spice Mix | Baharat Karisimi

2008-11-30T11:04:00.000-08:00

Turkish Herb and Spice Mix | Baharat Karisimi

MAKES 2 TBSP.

Seasoning mixtures of this kind are common in kitchens throughout Turkey. Use this spice mix in the recipe for the Marinated Grilled Lamb Loin Skewers.

1 1⁄2 tsp. dried winter savory
1 tbsp. pickling spice
1⁄2 tsp. ground cinnamon
1⁄2 tsp. freshly grated nutmeg
1⁄2 tsp. dried mint leaves, crumbled
1⁄2 tsp. ground cumin
1 tsp. freshly ground black pepper

1. In a spice mill, grind together to a fine powder dried winter savory, pickling spice, ground cinnamon, freshly grated nutmeg, crumbled dried mint leaves, ground cumin, and freshly ground black pepper. Store away from direct sunlight in a small airtight container for up to 3 months.

This recipe was first published in Saveur in Issue #27

Baklava Diplomacy

2008-11-14T19:18:00.000-08:00

Tony Eprile

01.15.08

Turkish baklava

Nadir Güllü is known in Turkey as the King of Baklava. The shop down the street from his factory in the Karakoy section of Istanbul sells a royal selection of extraordinary pastries, including chestnut, chocolate, and walnut baklavas along with the traditional pistachio. These honeyed delicacies bear about as much resemblance to those overly sweet and soggy confections sold in U.S. supermarkets as does Beluga caviar to lumpfish roe.

Güllü is a fifth-generation baklava maker, from a family originally hailing from Gaziantep in south central Turkey, the center of pistachio cultivation. A long-dead ancestor learned the art of baklava-making from a master baker in Damascus.

Today, Güllü’s factory is the largest baklava producer in the world, creating more than 55 different kinds of baklava and related phyllo pastries such as kunefe and burmali kadayif. The factory is kept more sterile than most surgical operating rooms, and it takes a seven-year apprenticeship to become a master phyllo roller. Each sheet of phyllo is thin enough to perform a puppet show behind it; forty sheets make a single tray of baklava.

Güllü takes his role seriously, saying that he practices “baklava diplomacy,” forging alliances with suppliers in Greece, Israel, and elsewhere. He demonstrated to me how one should use all the senses when tasting his baklava: First plunge a fork into the top to hear that satisfying kssshh! sound that comes from fresh, crisply baked phyllo that is saturated with syrup but not sodden. Then there is the odor of pistachio, baked pastry, and (depending on the type of pastry) rose water. Finally there is the texture in the mouth: enhanced by a liberal slathering of rich, whipped sheep’s-milk butter, the whole confection is then rolled in freshly ground pistachio nuts to give added crunch and flavor.

Not planning a trip to Turkey soon? The next best thing to a visit to Karaköy Güllüoglü is to order the frozen pastries and phyllo from the company’s outlet in Brooklyn: Gollugo Baklava.

Photographs by Tony Eprile

Street Food

2008-11-14T19:16:00.000-08:00

John Willoughby

Originally Published May 2005

Great food abounds on the streets of this culture-bridging city. Hunting for the perfect trash kebab, John Willoughby tries it all.

Normally a sane driver, at least by Turkish standards, Ihsan abruptly jerked the wheel to the right and swerved across three lanes of traffic on the busy Bosporus highway. I was seized by the sudden, horrible fear that I was about to die, not for love or patriotism or even money, but for a kebab. And a trash kebab, at that.

It’s not as if we hadn’t already had kebabs. Lots of kebabs. Really great kebabs. And even this skewered plenitude was only the beginning of what we had eaten on the streets of this always surprising city. In fact, the variety and quality of the food there echoes the magnificence of Istanbul’s not-so-distant Ottoman past, when eating was such an obsession that many of the 1,300 cooks in Topkapi Palace spent their entire professional lives perfecting a single dish.

Fittingly, it is in the warren of narrow streets outside the mammoth Grand Bazaar, in the historic Sultanahmet district, that Istanbul’s street-food scene reaches its zenith. That very afternoon, wandering among the bustling crowds dressed in everything from full-length black robes to business suits, Ihsan and I had stood in a long, snaking line outside a minuscule shop to take away the best doner kebab I have ever tasted. I thought I was satisfied, but about 20 feet later Ihsan stopped at a glass-topped cart for a stuffed mussel, nested in its shell over a mound of subtly spiced rice. As I ate my third, I noticed a woman sitting on the street behind me selling something I’d never seen before: long, translucent, bumpy, sausagelike shapes. They turned out to be an Ottoman sweet—ropes made of paper-thin grape “leather” that had been thickly stuffed with toasted walnut halves.

We kept strolling, meandering, sampling. We tried kokoreç, a pleasingly fatty snack of lamb intestines fashioned into coils, grilled over charcoal, then chopped up and seasoned with dried oregano and the ever-present Maras pepper. Next came a sandwich of ground lamb cooked on a wide, round, black metal griddle. In one narrow alley, we came upon my absolute favorite, çig kofte, the hand-fashioned “cigars” of heavily spiced raw ground veal served on a leaf of romaine lettuce with a squeeze of lemon and a scallion. Even after that, I couldn’t resist a piece of pide bread simply grilled and skimmed with butter.

When we finally emerged onto a main artery near the Egyptian Spice Bazaar, I couldn’t even look at the grilled corn and chestnuts on offer. But Ihsan said, “Well, it’s after nine. The cöp şiş stand should be opening about now,” and we took off on that fateful drive to the Asian side.

As it turned out, Istanbul’s drivers are unusually adept at avoidance tactics, and we made it safely to the curbside, where Ihsan hopped out of the car to embrace Ercan, the tall, thin Turk presiding over the brazier. As they laughed and hugged, I inspected the skewers laid out over the glowing coals: There were cubes of lamb interspersed with small chunks of mutton fat, spicy sucuk sausage alternating with aged kaşar cheese, long skewers of diminutive lamb livers.

This being Istanbul, where kebabs are practically a religion, this variety had its own very specific provenance. “We call them cöp şiş, ‘trash kebab,’” said Ihsan. “The style is from southeastern Anatolia, and they’re called trash because they started out as little pieces of whatever was left over from restaurants at the end of the day’s service. The stands still only open late at night.”

A few minutes later, we were headed back to the curb, a cold beer in one hand, and in the other, a sheet of thin flatbread wrapped around grilled lamb sprinkled with a sort of tomato relish. I took a bite: The deeply seared lamb, with its faint echoes of smoke and gaminess, was buoyed by the juicy brightness of tomato, the gentle bite of onions, oregano’s earthiness, and the complex, slightly chalky heat of Maras and Urfa peppers. Like the best street food everywhere, it was straightforward, robust, instantly addictive. “Now that,” said Ihsan with a sigh, “is a kebab.”

An Insider’s Guide to Eating Like a Turk

2008-11-14T19:12:00.000-08:00

Jenny White

Originally Published October 2008

The culinary customs of Istanbul can be confusing—to begin with, every type of food has its own restaurant—but once you figure things out, you’ll be rewarded with a culinary paradise.

When my parents came to visit me in Istanbul in the 1980s, they took one look at the tiny apartment I was sharing with another student and insisted that we go out for dinner. The conversation with my mother went something like this

“Where are we eating tonight?”

“Well, what kind of food do you want?” I asked. “Meat? Fish? Something with sauce?”

Mother, irritably: “I want to sit in the restaurant, look at the menu, and then decide.”

“Sorry, but you have to decide now. Each type of food has its own restaurant.”

“Okay, something with gravy.”

Duly instructed, I led them to my favorite lokanta.

“I’d like a beer,” my father announced when we had settled in.

“Sorry, the lokanta doesn’t serve alcohol.”

Despite the proliferation of foreign-style restaurants and chains in Istanbul, most Turks still insist on maintaining the authenticity not only of their food but of the entire eating experience. This can be confusing to the newcomer, but with even a little knowledge you will find the city a culinary paradise—which makes sense given that, as the capital of two successive empires and the cultural capital of the modern Turkish Republic, it has been the site of serious eating for thousands of years. The foods and customs of Istanbul’s traditional restaurants are also a window onto the tug-of-war between religion and secularism that permeates Turkish society. What is eaten where, and how, is not a casual matter here.

Alcohol, not surprisingly, is a primary indicator of a restaurant’s place in the social fabric. Those that serve wine and beer, in particular, are associated with Istanbul’s diverse ethnic and religious history and with today’s urban secular elites; those that don’t cater to the pious Muslim part of the population. This demarcates a fault line in Turkish politics and society so deep that some secularists won’t dine in a place that doesn’t serve drinks, and the pious won’t enter a restaurant that does. You can spot the difference right away by the presence or absence of women in head scarves. Lunch is less ideological than dinner—something like the Christmas Truce of 1914, when British and German soldiers shared cigarettes and a song in no-man’s-land before returning to their trenches.

In Ottoman times, Greeks (called Rum, a corruption of Rome) and other Christians were the merchants and tavern keepers, while Muslims kept to the barracks and the bureaucracy. The prominence of hard-drinking Christians in the city’s culinary history is reflected today in the meyhane (literally, “wine house”), an emblematic urban dining locale that serves primarily fish and raki, a clear anise-flavored alcohol that, with the addition of a splash of water, turns into white “lion’s milk,” drunk throughout the meal as other cultures drink wine. Dining on fish while drinking alcohol is the quintessential hallmark of being urban and secular.

The custom in meyhaneler is to first choose from a variety of cold appetizers (mezes) displayed on an enormous tray, then hot appetizers, followed by a fish, then fruit. In a precise culinary pas de deux, the classic meyhane starter is sweet melon with tart white cheese, followed immediately by raki with a water chaser. The variety of other mezes is endless but usually includes seasonal vegetables in olive oil or yogurt, morsels of seafood, bean pâtés, hot pockets of cheese in flaky pastry, calamari, and spiced liver.

There is no more classic meyhane than Refik, located in Beyog˘lu, Istanbul’s vibrant nightlife district. The food here is delicious—the grilled “Albanian liver” sprinkled with tangy spring onions and the börek (savory grilled pastries stuffed with cheese or minced lamb) are particularly good—but even more important is the atmosphere. For more than half a century, owner Refik Arslan, now 85, has overseen the nightly transubstantiation of food, drink, and fellowship into keyif, a condition that British explorer Sir Richard Burton once described as a feeling of intoxication derived from a social state of connection.

My own quintessential keyif experience happened some years ago. My friends and I were working our way through a glorious array of mezes and several bottles of raki when suddenly a rug merchant named Hasan began to sing. As his voice rose and fell along the complex scales of Turkish classical music, a hush settled over the room. When he finished, the laughter and clinking of glasses resumed, fish was ordered, more raki was poured. Before long, the next table—an amateur singing club out on the town—broke into song. When they were done, a man at another table piped up, and so it went the entire evening. We heard the shutters go down at the restaurants next door, but no one was willing to break the spell. Even the waiters stood entranced until two in the morning, when we spilled out into the deserted street. There’s a Turkish saying that goes, “What the heart wants is intimate conversation, the rest is an excuse.”

Fish restaurants tend to be more sedate than meyhaneler, although there’s no rule against spontaneous singing. Ismet Baba is an airy shack perilously suspended above the water next to the ferry landing in the charming Asian village of Kuzguncuk, a famously tolerant neighborhood that’s home to artists and writers. Enormous windows give diners a view of the Bosporus Bridge and a parade of cargo ships, ferries, and fishing boats. There is no menu; the fish available that day and their prices are listed on a blackboard. Among the best are barbunya, red mullet flash-fried in cornmeal, and simple, grilled kalkan (turbot). The restaurant is always full, so come early in the evening and bring cash to pay your bill.

Fish rarely appear on the menus of so-called “meat restaurants,” which don’t lend themselves to song, but rather to conversation and serious eating. These places tend to specialize in kebab, a cuisine from eastern Anatolia, the skewered chunks of lamb rotating over a glowing charcoal fire that evokes the Central Asian nomadic heritage of the Turks. A few meat restaurants serve beer, but the traditional accompaniment is ayran, a refreshing, lightly salted yogurt drink.

The Develi family from eastern Antep province has been in the kebab business since 1912. There are now several Develi restaurants in the city, but since a good view is an important ingredient of Istanbul eating, I recommend the one situated inside the Kalamı¸s yacht harbor, on the Asian side, near a seaside strolling path shaded by oleanders. Among the appetizers, a favorite is ali nazik, a smoky eggplant purée swirled with yogurt and topped with succulent lamb cooked in butter. You must also try the restaurant’s famed version of çi˘g köfte—spiced raw beef ground to a paste with bulgur, parsley, and Maras and Urfa peppers, then shaped into patties decorated with the imprint of the cook’s fingertips and served in a crisp leaf of romaine lettuce with a squeeze of lemon juice. The kuzu tandır, tender lamb cooked in a sealed clay jar, is also excellent, as is the fıstıklı köfte, grilled meatballs of lamb ground with pistachios. Kebabs come with a mound of arugula leaves, parsley, grilled long green peppers, and a juicy grilled tomato, and waiters circulate continuously with trays of delicacies newly hatched from the oven—tiny pizzas, stuffed eggplants, and balls of spicy ground lamb and walnuts.

Alcohol is not usually served in lokantalar, old-school restaurants that specialize in the sort of food mothers laboriously make at home in sturdy pots and casseroles: soups, stewed lamb, rice-stuffed squash, vegetable casseroles. Thirty years ago, lokantalar were the workingman’s kitchen away from home, located in the poorer parts of town. On a winter morning, behind steamed-up windows, you could make out men spooning up their breakfast soup or, in the wee hours, downing tripe soup to conquer their impending hangovers. Recently, “home-cooking” lokantalar have spread, in part to serve the tourist trade, but also because more and more Turks are eating out instead of making the time-consuming dishes at home.

By far the best lokanta in the city is Hacı Abdullah, in Beyog˘lu, the neighborhood built by the Genoese and Venetians during Byzantine times. Chattering crowds teem along Istiklal Avenue, but step around the corner and the noise drops away. Old men sell shoelaces and blue beads to ward off the evil eye beneath Hacı Abdullah’s modest sign. Inside, men in suits have taken off their jackets, families are chatting, and women are lunching beneath the stained-glass dome that crowns the back room. Founded in 1888, this place follows the old Ottoman custom of turning ownership over from masters to apprentices in each generation. The present manager, Hacı Abdullah Korun, is a sprightly man in his late fifties with a neat salt-and-pepper beard. “We use only the best ingredients from the same suppliers,” he explained with the enthusiasm of a man who has devoted his life to good food. “Butter from Urfa, olive oil from Balıksesir, lamb and veal delivered from Thrace.” The tradition here, as in all lokantalar, is to eat a variety of appetizers in olive oil—tart grape leaves stuffed with rice, pine nuts, and currants; rice studded with dill and pistachios and wrapped in cabbage leaves; a stuffed eggplant or green pepper—then move on to one of the several dozen meat or casserole dishes, such as braised lamb shanks wrapped in eggplant. Dessert might be a fruit kompostolokanta’s specialties, along with kes¸kek, coarsely ground mutton or chicken mixed with boiled and mashed wheat and chickpeas— a traditional meal served at Anatolian village weddings. such as spiced stewed quince, ruby red with a fresh, citrusy flavor. Compotes and pickles are among this

In Turkey, even the desserts are divided. Milk-based puddings are found only at shops called muhallebiciler; baklava has its own shops; and European-style cakes are sold only in pastahaneler (patisseries).

Down the hill from Beyog˘lu, a stone’s throw from the Galata Bridge, you will find Turkey’s best baklava. Elderly, bearded Hacı Mustafa Güllü sits behind the cash register at Güllüog˘lu while his son Nadir, a third-generation baklavacı, fields questions from the many foodies who make the pilgrimage to his shop and nearby baklava factory. So popular is his baklava, he told me, that a shipment on a bus was once stolen by passengers. In his cramped office, Nadir leads me through the baklava equivalent of a wine tasting. After handing me a plate with a single large piece of walnut baklava, he instructs me to look at it: “All five senses must be brought to bear. First the eye. Then smell. Then a sound like ‘kish’ when you bite into it. Then the palate. Then the stomach two hours later.” It had never occurred to me to smell my baklava, and I was taken by its rich, nutty scent. Fresh baklava is not overly sweet, but light and complex.

There are many muhallebiciler specializing in milk-based desserts, some quite old and well loved, but the memory of a place often doesn’t live up to the reality, especially when the shop has become a chain in the interim. That is not the case with Sütis¸, established in 1953, whose large, well-lit restaurants serve an enormous variety of milky desserts, as well as chicken dishes and doner kebabs. Emirgan, where the shop is located, is an easy bus ride up the European coast of the Bosporus, lined here with old Ottoman villas, tiny villages, and parks. From the outdoor terrace, there is a stunning view of the water to be enjoyed while you spoon up such sweets as baked pudding (fırın sütlaç), smoothly creamy under its scorched skin. After eating you can take a walk up the hill to Emirgan Park, where the sultan’s summer villas have been turned into cafés. No more sultans, and more choices, but the old rules still apply.

Turkish Cheese

2008-08-22T21:09:00.000-07:00

Turkish Cheese

A jury made up of the food writers of the daily Hürriyet newspaper and gourmets chose the best regional cheeses in Turkey. We also benefited from the detailed information in Prof. Dr. Artun Ünsal's book.

Erzincan Tulumu
It is cheese produced in the mountainous areas of Erzincan mostly from sheep's milk. The specialty is that the cheese is encased in an animal skin. Erzincan tulumu is produced in Bingöl, Erzincan, Elazığ, Tunceli and Erzurum, and is called "Dawn Cheese". It is white and creamy, fatty with a butter aroma, and has a somewhat bitter taste. Sometimes Erzincan Tulumu is produced from fat-free milk, which may slightly change its original taste. Tulum has a strong taste; as such it is not suitable for breakfast.

Van Otlu Peyniri
This cheese is produced mostly from sheep's milk in spring when the sheep give birth and therefore the milk and the grass are plenty. Wild herbs from the surrounding mountains in Van (an East Anatolian city) are added to milk to make "Otlu" cheese, a pungent cheese. Sarmısakotu (literally garlic herb) is one of the most important factors giving the taste while the most important process is the yeasting stage. Apart from the added herbs, texture, and ingredients, it resembles white cheese. The cheese is edible 2-3 months after yeasting.

Kargı Tulumu
This "tulum" cheese is made from autumnl milk in a goat's skin. The tastes of tulum cheeses vary according to the region and the milk used and Kargı tulumu is one of them. This creamy cheese is made in Çankırı and Çorum - Central Anatolian cities - and is the best among tulum cheeses.

Kars Gravyeri
Kars is an eastern Anatolian city famous for its pastures and cattle. Kars gravyer cheese is made of high-fat cow's milk. It looks like French "gruyere" cheese, tastes like Swiss "emmental" cheese and takes a long time to produce. It usually takes 10 months to age. There are holes of 1-2 cm in the cheese, which is yellow while the outer crust should be darker. If the holes are both big and small and irregular, it means the cheese is not of good quality.

Izmir Tulumu
The way of making tulum cheese in the Aegean region is different from the other regions in Anatolia. Saltwater is used in İzmir tulum. It is made from sheep's or mixed milk, contains higher fat than the traditional tulum and is harder and saltier than white cheese. Good İzmir tulum should have holes the size of a bird's eye. Otherwise it is considered defective.

Eski Kaşar (old kaşar)
Kaşar (rich aged yellow) is a kind of cheese which Turks tasted and learned about after they settled in Anatolia. It is made from sheep's milk. The reason it is called Eski (old) Kaşar is that the cheese is aged in sacks in an icehouse for six months, after which it gets its taste. If it is made from pure sheep's milk. It can be kept for up to three years.

Bandırma Mihaliç peyniri
Bandırma mihaliç cheese from Balıkesir - Bursa is among the regional cheeses. It is white with roundish holes, hard and crusty and made from high-fat sheep's milk. When grated it is as good as Italians' Parma (parmesan) cheese. Mihaliç is also quite long-lasting.

Beyaz Peynir (white cheese)
Beyaz peynir (white cheese) is one of the most favorite kinds of cheeses in Turkey and every region has a different way of producing it, such as leaving it in saltwater or hanging it up and letting it filter. White cheese of Trakya (Thrace) and Marmara region, which is usually from sheep's milk and has a soft texture with high fat, is among the favorites. White cheese has various types such as high-fat, low-fat and even diet.

Karadeniz tel peyniri
This cheese is the product of Eastern Anatolia and the Eastern Black Sea region and is made from fat-free milk. When rubbed between the hands, it separates into fibers and therefore is called tel (fiber) cheese. The color is light yellow and since it is fat-free and rich in protein, tel peynir is recommended to those on diets.
Çerkez füme (fumed)
Çerkez Füme is especially produced in the eastern Marmara region. It is light yellow or cream-colored with a thick crust. Çerkez füme is a low-fat cheese with a beautiful aroma. After some special processes, the bottom and top of the cheese are salted and the outer surface is fumed with smoke coming from pinewood or thick pitch pine in special fuming rooms. This process makes the cheese both tastier and longer-lasting.

The Traditional Cheeses of Turkey: Middle and Eastern Black Sea Region

2008-08-22T20:59:00.000-07:00

The Traditional Cheeses of Turkey: Middle and Eastern Black Sea Region
Authors: Ufuk Kamber a; Goknur Terzi b
Affiliations: a Department of Food Hygiene and Technology, Faculty of Veterinary Medicine, Kafkas University, Kars, Turkey | b Department of Food Hygiene and Technology, Faculty of Veterinary Medicine, 19 Mayis University, Samsun, Turkey | DOI: 10.1080/87559120701764555
journal Food Reviews International, Volume 24, Issue 1 January 2008 , pages 95 - 118

Abstract: Our research in the Black Sea Region revealed 34 distinct types of cheese, making it the richest region in Turkey for its types of cheese. These types of cheese are: Aho Cheese, Ayran Cheese, Ayran Kırması Cheese, Civil Cheese, Cokelek of Cabaltı Cheese, Eridik Cheese, Giresun Bitter Cheese, Gorcola Cheese, Imansiz Cheese, Kadina Cheese, Kargı Tulum Cheese, Karın Kaymagı Cheese, Kescedil Cheese, Kolete Cheese, Kuumllek Cheese, Kup Cokelek Cheese, Kurci Cheese, Minzi Cheese, Minzi Kurut Cheese, Ogma Cheese, Tonya Kashar Cheese, Broken Kashar with Lor Cheese, Sor Cheese, Sut Kırması Cheese, Tekne Cheese, Teleme Cheese, Telli Cheese, Telli Creamy Cheese, Tulum Kashar Cheese, Yayla Cheese, Yer Cheese, Yumme Cheese, and Yusufeli Molded Villagers Cheese. This publication covers the making, physical structure and appearance of local cheeses and the chemical and microbiological properties of some of the cheeses.

Best of Turkish Restaurants

2008-03-30T22:34:00.000-07:00

Best of Turkish Restaurants

Hünkar
The site is at Nişantaşı and open everyday between noon and midnight. Reservation is a must for groups. Soft music is played from CD. The owner Feridun Ügümü deals with the customers personally. The homemade dishes are delicious moreover stew with quince, kol böreği and hamsili pilav (pilav with anchovy) are among the specialties to be tasted. The price is 35-45 million TL per person.

Borsa-Boğaziçi
Borsa is at Lütfi Kırdar Convention Center and open every day between 12:16:00 and 18:00-23:00. Reservation is a must. Soft music is played from CD. Hünkar beğendi (eggplant pureé), keşkek, vegetables with olive oil, especially pilaki (dried beans with olive oil) are strongly recommended.

Beyti
Beyti was founded in 1945 and moved to its new site with 11 halls, 3 terraces and 5 kitchens located in Florya in 1970. It is open everyday from 11:30 to 24:00, except Mondays. Reservation is required. Beyti kebap and kuzu tandır (lamb meat cooked in a special oven)should not be missed. Experts say that it is the "pride" of Turkish cuisine in meat. The price is 25-40 million TL/person.

Hacı Salih Lokantası
It is located next to famous shoe store Gutan at İstiklal Caddesi. Haca Salih is open everyday between 12:00-19:00. There is no liquor service. Fixed menu can be applied for groups. Hünkar beğendi (eggplant pureé) and kadınbudu köfte (a kind of fried meatballs) are the specialties of the site. The price is 15-20 million TL/person.

Kanaat
This centennial restaurant at Üsküdar Square is open every day from 06:00 to 23:00 and serves for 24 hours during Ramadan. Except Ramadan period there is no need for reservation. There are no liquor, music and fixed menu and credit cards are not accepted. Uzbek pilaf with meat, elbasan tava and Turkish sweets are the specialties. The price is about 15-20 million TL/person.

Çiya
Çiya has three stores facing each other at Kadıköy Çarşısı and open everyday between 11:00-22:00. Except Ramadan reservation is not required. Şiveydiz, Şakiriye, Yuvarlama and Patlıcan Tatlısı (eggplant des) are worth trying. The owner Musa Dağdeviren personally deals with the customers. You have a chance to see the salads, main courses and sweets at first and then choose accordingly. Moreover you can also prepare your own plate. There is no liquor service. The price is about 15-20 million TL/person.

Feriye
It is a historical site next to the garden of Kabataş Lisesi and has a stunning Bosphorus view. It is open everyday between 12:00-15:00 and 19:00-23:00. The terrace is extraordinary during summer nights. Reservation is required even for lunch. Live music by piano. Fixed menu can be applied for groups. Kağıtta pastırma and nemse böreği is among the specialties. The price is 55-60 million TL/person

Hacı Baba
This is an old Beyoğlu restaurant famous with its Turkish cuisine. It is well known among tourists and therefore the customer profile is "multilingual"! Hacı Baba is open everyday from noon till 22:00. The experts appreciate their serving at least forty different meals everyday. The price is about 25-35 million TL/person.

Kaplan
This restaurant is located at Kaplan Village in Tire - İzmir and run by Hürmüz and Lütifi Cakır. The price is 10-15 million TL/person. Classical and Turkish music is played. Şiş köfte, melengeç, otlu bazlama and kabak çiçeği (squash flower) dessert are the specialties. The experts say that it is the best place where the local vegetables of İzmir are used.

İkbal
This restaurant is at Centrum Afyon and open every day between 07:00-22:30. The price is 15-20 million TL/person. Liquor is not served. Kuzu fırın (lamb meat baked in a special oven), çoban kavurma (meat roasted in its own fat with green pepper and tomatoes) and ekmek kadayıfı are the specialties.

Hans Derschwam | Stuffed Grape Leaves

2008-03-07T10:37:00.000-08:00

Stuffed Grape Leaves

The reference was made by Hans Derschwam in his travelogue to Turkey in the 16th Century. This German manuscript describes a dish of grape leaves filled with meat and plums.

Item mutton. Chopped small, a spoonful is put on a wine leaf and put together like a krapfen. In it, one also puts cut sour plums, and boils the whole thing simply in water. Serve hot.

The word “krapfen” means “stuffed fritter” in German and conveys the idea to fold over the leaves and enclose the filling.

Kadıköy: a gourmet’s one-stop shop

2008-02-18T08:54:00.000-08:00

Kadıköy: a gourmet’s one-stop shop

Kadıköy was in Ottoman hands long before the city of Constantinople fell. It predates Byzantium and was settled by the Megarians (Greeks) in 675 B.C. and named Chalcedon.

Chapters of İstanbul's history often tell the story of Byzas, the founder of Byzantium, consulting the Oracle of Delphi, who advised him to establish a colony "opposite the Land of the Blind." The suggestion was that the pioneers on the Asian side at Chalcedon must have been blind not to recognize the superior position of the peninsula across the water.

In İstanbul today the debate continues. Where are best places to live, work and shop? The Asian or European side? Üsküdar or Beşiktaş, Kadıköy or Beyoğlu? The argument goes on and there seems to be no winner; those that shop for all things food related in Eminönü vow of the superiority of the Spice Bazaar and its surrounds. Those that shop in Kadıköy adamantly state that they can get whatever they want from their immediate neighborhood. But are the shoppers of Kadıköy ignorant, "turning a blind eye" to everything the peninsula a boat ride away has to offer? Are they subjected to inferior produce and choice because of their insistence that the Megarians of Chalcedon started something that has survived to this day? Absolutely not! Today Kadıköy's very modern pedestrian mall sits on the old market site and a couple of blocks away from the ferry stops is one of İstanbul's most colorful, vibrant and accessible shopping spots.

Güneşlibahçe Sokağı (Sunny Garden Street) is the place to head to, although other shops on the way are worth a visit. Many traders have been in business since the early to mid 1900s and the more famous ones really need no introduction. Baylan Pastahanesi (patisserie) has been famous for almost all of its 47 years, and both Cafer Erol and Hacı Bekir Şekercisi (sweet makers) need no introduction, their presence in Kadıköy dating from 1945 and 1937 respectively. Kadıköy's own Mısır Çarşışı (Spice Bazaar), a tiny shop on the way up to Güneşlibahçe Sokağı has been operating since 1916. The interior has retained the décor of old, and the products available reflect all that a spice bazaar would traditionally offer -- spices, herbs and concoctions for both the kitchen and the home pharmacy.

But if the street's name does not draw a serious foodie up to the colorful, bursting strip of gourmet food shops, then nothing will. The intersection just past the Mısır Çarşışı is where the buzz begins. The fish sellers advertise their wares out loud, the constant throaty hum adding to the noise of a busy trading place. One is visually bombarded with every color from the perfectly displayed fruit and vegetables of the grocers dispersed throughout the marketplace. But the curious gourmet will turn right at this corner and meander along the next couple of blocks, visiting a number of smaller places along the way:

The muted vinegar aroma of Özcan Turşları (pickles) at No. 7 Güneşlibahçe hits you as you near their door. Inside the usual fare of pickled anything and everything awaits, but lined along the walls on narrow shelves are a range of sauces and vinegars that have only recently regained popularity in kitchens around the world. Verjuice (verjus), the extract of unripe grapes, was well-known in the Middle Ages and used in most sauces. Labeled as "koruk ekşisi," this pale golden-green viscous liquid may be the next gourmet accessory.

Over on the right hand side of the street on the next corner is Gözde Şarkuteri. Always busy with never less than half a dozen people lined up to place an order on a Saturday, the variety and quality of their produce acts like a magnet for customers. Seasonal sweets fill the front display cabinet, perhaps bright burnt oranges of kabak tatlısı (pumpkin dessert), ruby red of ayva tatlısı (quince dessert) or the molded un helvası (flour helva) -- all an irresistible attraction. Whether to buy for a snack on the run or as inspiration to try making it at home, Gözde is worth lingering over.

Cross the street and continue to Petek Fırın (bakery) and Çarşı (market bakery) on the left and stop and buy from their ranges of sweet and savory offerings. In between the two is Tariş Ayma, a trading company for the expanding Tariş brand. In the food lines the company produces very respectable vinegars (üzüm sirkesi), some aged in casks, olive oil (zeytinyağı), pomegranate sauces (nar sosu), sultanas and raisins (kuru üzüm) and dried fig (incir) products.

Immediately across the road is the welcoming Altınaoluk Zeytinyağlı at 24-26 Güneşlibahçe. They sell much more than olives and olive products. Cheese helva, a cake-like alternative to the traditional sesame helvas, contains walnuts and is baked in the oven. The shop assistants testify to there being no better dessert. Any number of unusual products are available, both local and international, but the most interesting include sumac ekşisi (sour sumac juice) and carob, date or mulberry pekmez (molasses).

Walking further along the market street, the Dicle fishmongers on the left house a very impressive selection of fish, with a tank from which one can choose the freshest, firmest flesh for dinner. The opposite corner is a good place to stop for a rejuvenating snack. Borsam Taş Fırın will serve hot, crispy lahmacun within minutes, so you can crunch it down with a side of ayran while thinking about the last few shopping stops.

Before the next corner ahead on Güneşlibahçe, Eta Bal offers yoghurt and honey to go for YTL 4. Yoghurt and honey complement one another perfectly, but the quantity of each is crucial. At Bal, in an effort to sell the honey, they will drown the yoghurt and a mouth-watering thought can turn into an overly sweet sugar rush. Catch them before they fill the cup to savor the creamy tang of yoghurt mellowed rather than drenched by honey.

With appetite sated and blood glucose restored, the scent of tea and coffee wafting from Brezilya Kurukahve will refocus wandering senses. Since 1920 this establishment has been grinding coffee; the ancient looking press still sits proudly by the front door. Inside, teas and coffees from Turkey and around the world assault the olfactory sense, but the array of dried fruits and related products will dazzle your eyes. The dried fruit pestils tempt with their heavy, caramelized colors and the desire to try them all is difficult to control.

At this point, the choices for what to do next are numerous. Go back and visit the same shops and pick up that verjuice you were unsure what to do with, head down toward the marina and check out the activity on the water, wander on to Çiya, probably Kadıköy's, if not İstanbul's best-known restaurant amongst gourmets, or just go home and cook up a storm!

Atina Bali | Honey of Athens

2008-02-02T15:48:00.001-08:00

Mavi Boncuk |

For the palates of Istanbul gourmets the top product during the Ottoman era was honey from Athens. Price (narh) records during the times of Sultan Ibrahim records wholesale price of 11 akces and a retail control pegged at 13 akces. Raw, unheated Athens honey was recorded 14 and 16 akces respectively. Honey from Crete was considered the second best. Ankara honey repleced both sources after the loss of Greece and Crete.

Athens honey was produced in two areas. "Weeping Pine Honey" from Evia, East of Athens, an amber color honey and "Heather Honey" from Sterea Hellas, Central Greece Collected in November in the area of Strerea Hellas, North of Athens, with explosive sweetness and strong aroma. Crete as a place rich in plants like thyme, sage, oregano, pine trees, acacias, eucalyptus and citrus fruits produced mostly "Wild Thyme Honey" even if thyme honey is mixed in small quantities (5%) with other types of honey, it managed to influence their perfume.

Some writers confuse this honey with honey [1] from Black Sea. Possibly with honey produced in the Camlihemsin area. This (Mad Honey) Deli bali is a mono-crop honey made from the spring flowers of the rhododendron (R. ponticum) that thrive on the humid Black Sea mountains. The nectar of the blooms contains andromedotoxin, a substance that can cause all sorts of weird effects in humans. Honey is an excellent local buy wherever in Turkey. Some of the mono-crop honeys to look out for are cam (pine), portakal (orange blossom), akasya (acacia) and kestane (chestnut). Whole natural honeycombs and nuts suspended in honey are also worth tracking down. Generally, the darker the colour, the more intense the flavour.

The European Union relies on Greece, one of the world's biggest bee settlements, to produce 14,000 tons of honey each year. The country is the European Union's third-top producer of honey. EU imported some 200,000 tons of honey each year and Turkey, which produces 70,000 tons of honey each year [2], exports only 18,000 to Europe.

[1] Prokopius, mentiones Athenae village (4th. century AD) of Rhizaeum, named after Athenai, a woman who ruled in the area. (Prokopius, Peri Ton Polemon, VIII. II. 1-33; AKKB 201). Renamed Pazar in 1928 as part of Çoruh province until Jan 2, 1936 and is now part of Rize province.

[2] Turkish product ranked 10th with 15,000 tons in 1970 ranked 4th in the world in 2000 with 63,500 tons (China 253, US 101, Argentina, 91)

The History of Coffee by Mark Pendergast

2007-12-31T10:43:00.000-08:00

The History of Coffee by Mark Pendergast

Creation Myth (c. 600 CE) Kaldi, an Ethiopian goatherd, is puzzled by his hyperactive goats; they are eating leaves and berries from a strange tree with glossy green leaves. Coffee is discovered. Cultivation soon spreads to Yemen.

c. 900 Arab physician Rhazes first mentions coffee in print, as a medicine.

c. 1400 In elaborate ceremony, Ethiopians roast, grind, and brew coffee beans. Coffee as we know it is born.

1475 Kiva Han, the world's first coffeehouse, is opened in Constantinople.

1511 Khair-Beg, governor of Mecca, bans coffeehouses when seditious verses are written about him there. The ban is reversed by Cairo sultan.

1538 Ottoman Turks occupy Yemen and parboil coffee beans (to render them infertile and maintain their monopoly) and export them from Mocha, hence coffee's nickname "mocha."

c. 1600 Pressured by advisors to condemn infidel coffee (imported through Venice), Pope Clement VIII instead blesses it.

1616 Dutch pirates spirit away coffee trees to a greenhouse in Holland. Around the same time Baba Budan smuggles fertile seeds to Mysore in India.

1650 A Lebanese Ottoman Jewish student named Jacobs [1] opens first [2] European coffeehouse at Oxford University, England. Over the next half century, coffee takes Europe by storm; coffeehouses are called "penny universities."

1658 The Dutch plant and cultivate coffee in Ceylon, later in Java and Sumatra, ultimately giving coffee the nickname "java."

1669 The Turkish ambassador to Paris, Soliman Aga, introduces coffee at sumptuous parties.

1674 In London, the Women's Petition Against Coffee claims that coffee renders their men impotent; men counter that coffee adds "spiritualescency to the Sperme." The following year, King Charles II fails in his attempt to ban coffeehouses.

1683 After their failed siege of Vienna, the Turks flee, leaving coffee beans behind. Franz George Kolschitzky uses the beans to open a café, where he filters coffee and adds milk.

1689 Café de Procope is opened in Paris opposite Comedie Francaise.

1710 Instead of boiling it, the French pour hot water through grounds in cloth bag for the first infusion brewing.

1723 Gabriel Mathieu de Clieu brings a coffee tree to Martinique; most of the coffee in Latin America descends from this tree.

1727 Francisco de Melho Palheta seduces the governor's wife in French Guiana; she gives him ripe coffee cherries to take back to Brazil.

1732 Johann Sebastian Bach writes the Coffee Cantata, in which a rebellious daughter demands her coffee.

1773 During the Boston Tea Party, rebellious American colonists throw British tea imports overboard; coffee drinking becomes a patriotic act.

1781 Frederick the Great forbids most Prussian coffee roasting, saying, "My people must drink beer."

1791 A slave revolt on San Domingo (Haiti) destroys coffee plantations, where half the world's coffee had been grown.

1806 Napoleon declares France self-sufficient and promotes chicory over coffee.

1850 James Folger arrives in San Francisco during the Gold Rush and makes his fortune from coffee.

1864 American Jabez Burns invents an efficient, self-dumping roaster.

1869 Coffee rust fungus, hemileia vastatrix, appears in Ceylon and soon wipes out the East Indies coffee industry.

1871 John Arbuckle opens a coffee factory in New York and makes millions from his pre-roasted, packaged, and branded Ariosa coffee.

1878 Caleb Chase and James Sanborn form Chase & Sanborn.

1881 The New York Coffee Exchange opens.

1892 Joel Cheek invents Maxwell House Coffee blend in Nashville, Tennessee.

1900 Hills Brothers introduces vacuum-packed canned coffee. Tokyo chemist Sartori Kato introduces instant coffee; it is sold the following year at the Pan American Exposition.

1901 Italian Luigi Bezzera invents first commercial espresso machine.

1906 In Bremen, Germany, Ludwig Roselius patents Kaffee Hag, the first decaffeinated coffee. In France, it is called Sanka (from sans caffeine).

1908 German housewife Melitta Bentz makes a coffee filter using her son's blotting paper.

1911 The National Coffee Roasters Association is founded; it later becomes the National Coffee Association.

1918 The U. S. Army requisitions all of G. Washington's instant coffee for troops in World War I.

1920 Prohibition of alcohol enacted in USA, making coffee and coffeehouses even more popular.

1938 Nestle introduces Nescafé, an improved instant coffee, just before World War II. Maxwell House follows with its instant brand.

1946 U.S. per capita coffee consumption reaches 19.8 pounds.

1960 The Colombian Coffee Federation debuts the character of Juan Valdez, the humble coffee grower, with his mule.

1965 Boyd Coffee introduces the Flav-R-Flo brewing system, pionerring the filter and cone home brewer.

1966 Dutch immigrant Alfred Peet opens Peet's Coffee in Berkeley, California, at what is considered the beginning of the specialty coffee revolution.

1970 Italian Luigi Goglio invents a one-way valve to let coffee de-gas without contact with oxygen.

1971 Jerry Baldwin, Zev Siegl, and Gordon Bowker open Starbucks in Seattle.

1975 The Black Frost in Brazil decimates the coffee harvest, leading to high prices over the next two years.

1982 The national charter for the Specialty Coffee Association of America (SCAA) is created; specialty coffee companies are invited to join as "charter members."

1987 Howard Schultz buys Starbucks and begins to turn it into a worldwide specialty coffee chain.

1988 In the Netherlands, the Max Havelaar seal certifies Fair Trade coffee. Transfair USA follows suit in 1999.

2006 Specialty coffee accounts for 40% of the U. S. retail coffee market.

2007 The 25th anniversary of the founding of the Specialty Coffee Association of America is celebrated. Coffee is the world's second most valuable legal traded commodity, after oil.

Notes

[1] Not to be confused with Johann Jacobs who opened a coffee and tea shop in Bremen, Germany, in 1895.

[2] The first person recorded in history to brew coffee in England was an international student named Nathaniel Conopios from Crete, who was studying at Balliol College, Oxford. This simple act, which happened in May 1637, was recorded by both scholar John Evelyn and historian Anthony Wood. Although shortly afterwards Conopios was expelled from college, his influence had a lasting effect on Oxford, as it was in Oxford that the first English coffeehouse was opened in 1650 by Jacob, a Lebanese Jew. Even though Jacob moved to London a few years later to repeat his success, he had begun a trend that saw many more coffeehouses open in Oxford during that decade.

John Evelyn, who was at the college at this time, recorded the strange occurance in a diary entry in May 1637: "There came in my time to the College one Nathaniel Conopios, out of Greece, sent into England, from Cyril, the patriarch of Constantinople… He was the first I ever saw drink Caffe, not heard of then in England, nor till many years after made a common entertainment all over the nation."

Around the same time as Conopios, Robert Burton, an Oxford don, made a reference to coffee in his massive, genius Anatomy of Melancholy: "The Turks have a drink called coffa (for they use no wine), so named of a berry black as soot, and as bitter (like that black drink which was in use among the Lacedaemonians, and perhaps the same), which they sip still of, and sup as warm as they can suffer; they spend much time in those coffa-houses, which are somewhat like our alehouses or taverns, and there they sit chatting and drinking to drive away the time..."

Saveur 100 for 2008 | Big Turk

2007-12-31T10:40:00.001-08:00

Big Turk Jellylike, rose-scented turkish delight and chocolate may not seem like natural bedfellows, but the combination proves irresistible in this milk chocolate–covered bar from Canada.

Saveur 100 for 2008 | Sausages That Really Sizzle

2007-12-31T10:38:00.000-08:00

Sausages That Really Sizzle
If you happen to find yourself in Serbia, Croatia, or virtually any other Balkan country and there's a flaming grill nearby, chances are someone is cooking CEVAPCICI. These super smoky, skinless sausages (pronounced che-VAHP-chi-chi)—usually a combination of minced beef, lamb, or pork seasoned with garlic and pepper—have a vibrant flavor and a juicy texture that make them one of the world's great meat dishes. Known by a variety of names, depending on the country you're in, and typically served with flatbread and condiments like roasted-pepper and eggplant sauce (usually called ajvar) and fermented cream, cevapcici likely owe their culinary origins to the Turks (the food is a cousin of the kebab, from which it derives its name). Whatever their provenance, the sooner they catch on here in the States, the better.

Turkish Food Primer from N.Y.Times

2007-12-08T05:06:00.000-08:00

As nomads, the Turks were limited by what the land offered and by what could be prepared over a crude open fire, so it's not a stretch to understand how kebaps and köfte became the centerpieces of Turkish cooking. Turkish food today concentrates on simple combinations, few ingredients, and fresh produce.

With access to vast cupboards stocked with ingredients from the four corners of the empire, the palace chefs developed a more complex cuisine. The majority of these recipes, recorded in Arabic script, were regrettably lost in the language reforms. Some Ottoman favorites have made it to us nevertheless, like the hünkar begendi (the sultan was pleased), imam bayaldihanim göbegi (lady's navel), a syrupy dessert with a thumbprint in the middle. These have become staples in many run-of-the-mill restaurants, but true Ottoman cuisine is difficult to come by. Several restaurants in Istanbul have researched the palace archives to restore some of those lost delicacies to the modern table, providing a rare opportunity to sample the artistry and intricate combinations of exotic flavors in the world's first fusion food. The Turkish kitchen is always stocked with only the freshest vegetables, the most succulent fruits, the creamiest of cheeses and yogurt and the best cuts of meat. But, unless you're a pro like the chefs to the Sultans, whose lives depended on pleasing the palate of their leader, it takes a lot of creativity to turn such seemingly simple ingredients into dishes fit for a king. (the priest fainted; Barbara Cartland might have likened it to a woman's "flower"), and

A typical Turkish meal begins with a selection of mezes, or appetizers. These often become a meal in themselves, accompanied by an ample serving of raki, that when taken together, form a recipe for friendship, laughter, and song. The menu of mezes often includes several types of eggplant, called patlican; ezme, a fiery hot salad of red peppers; sigara böregi, fried cheese "cigars"; and dolmalar, anything from peppers or vine leaves stuffed with rice, pine nuts, cumin, and fresh mint.

The dilemma is whether or not to fill up on these delectables or save room for the kebaps, a national dish whose stature rivals that of pasta in Italy. While izgara means "grilled," the catchall phrase kebap simply put, means "roasted," and denotes an entire class of meats cooked using various methods. Typical kebaps include lamb "shish"; spicy Adana kebap, a spicy narrow sausage made of ground lamb; döner kebap, slices of lamb cooked on a vertical revolving spit; patlican kebap, slices of eggplant and lamb grilled on a skewer; and the artery-clogging Iskender kebap, layers of pide, tomatoes, yogurt, and thinly sliced lamb drenched in melted butter. Turks are equally nationalistic over their köfte, Turkey's answer to the hamburger: flat or round little meatballs served with slices of tomato and whole green chili peppers. But even though signs for kebap houses may mar the view, Turkish citizens are anything but carnivores, preferring instead to fill up on grains and vegetables. Saç kavurmamanti, a meat-filled ravioli, dumpling, or kreplach,Pide is yet another interpretation of pizza made up of fluffy oven-baked bread topped with a variety of ingredients and sliced in strips. Lahmacun is another version of the pizza, only this time the bread is as thin as a crepe and lightly covered with chopped onions, lamb, and tomatoes. Picking up some "street food" can be a great diversion, especially in the shelter of some roadside shack where the corn and gözleme -- a freshly made cheese or potato (or whatever) crepe that is the providence of expert rolling pin-wielding village matrons -- are hot off the grill. represents a class of casseroles sautéed or roasted in an earthenware dish that, with the help of an ample amount of velvety Turkish olive oil, brings to life the flavors of ingredients like potatoes, zucchini, tomatoes, eggplant, and beef chunks. No self-respecting gourmand should leave Turkey without having had a plate of adapted to the local palate by adding a garlic-and-yogurt sauce.

Desserts fall into two categories: baklava and milk-based. Baklava, a type of dessert made of thin layers of pastry dough soaked in syrup, is a sugary sweet bomb best enjoyed around teatime, although several varieties are made so light and fluffy that you'll be tempted to top off dinner with a sampling. The milk-based desserts have no eggs or butter and are a guilt-free pick-me-up in the late afternoon hours, although there's no bad time to treat yourself to some creamy sütlaç (rice pudding). The sprinkling of pistachio bits is a liberal addition to these and many a Turkish dessert, while comfort food includes the irmik helva, a delicious yet simple family tradition of modestly sweet semolina, pine nuts, milk, and butter (okay, I lied about the guilt-free part).

So what's the deal with Turkish delight? Otherwise known as lokum, this sweet candy is made of cornstarch, nuts, syrup, and an endless variety of flavorings to form a skwooshy tidbit whose appeal seems to be more in the gift giving than on its own merit.

A Punishment Worse Than the Crime? -- In Turkey, tripe soup, called Iskembe Çorbasi or Korkoreç, is a widely accepted remedy for a hangover.

You'll Never Count Sheep Again -- Bus drivers in Turkey abide by an unwritten rule never to eat cacik -- a salad of yogurt, cucumber, and garlic, often served as a soup -- while on duty. The dish is believed to be a surefire, and natural, cure for insomnia.

Drinks

Rather than the question, "Would you like something to drink?" Turkish hospitality leaps immediately to the "What?" Tea, called çay (chai) in Turkish, is not so much a national drink as it is a ritual. Boil the water incorrectly and you're in for trouble. Let the tea steep without prior rinsing and you've committed an unforgivable transgression. What's amazing is that so many tea drinkers manage to maintain white teeth, and as you'll see, some don't. Tea is served extremely hot and strong in tiny tulip-shaped glasses, accompanied by exactly two sugar cubes. The size of the glass ensures that the tea gets consumed while hot, and before you slurp your final sip, a new glass will arrive. If you find the tea a bit strong, especially on an empty stomach, request that it be "açik" or "opened," so that the ratio of water to steeped tea is increased.

The coffee culture is a little less prevalent but no less steeped in tradition. Early clerics believed it to be an intoxicant and consequently had it banned. But the kahvehane (coffeehouse) refused to go away, and now the sharing of a cup of coffee is an excuse to prolong a discussion, plan, negotiate, or just plain relax. Turkish coffee is ground to a fine dust, boiled directly in the correct quantity of water, and served as is. Whether you wait for the grinds to settle or down the cup in one shot is entirely an individual choice, although if you leave the muddy residue at the bottom of the cup, you may be able to coax somebody to read your fortune.

There are two national drinks: raki and ayran. Raki is an alcoholic drink distilled from raisins and then redistilled with aniseed. Even when diluted with water, this "lion's milk" still packs a punch, so drink responsibly! Raki is enjoyed everywhere, but is particularly complementary to a meal of mezes.

Ayran is a refreshing beverage made by diluting yogurt with water. Westerners more accustomed to a sweet-tasting yogurt drink may at first be put off by the saltiness of ayran, but when mentally prepared, it's impossible to dismiss the advantages of this concoction, especially after a dehydrating afternoon trudging through shadeless, dusty ruins.

And Not a Starbucks in Sight! -- As a result of the Ottoman's second unsuccessful siege on Vienna, many of the army supplies were left behind in the retreat, including sacks and sacks of coffee beans. Believing them to be sacks of animal waste, the Viennese began to burn the sacks, until a more worldly citizen, aware of the market value of the bean, got a whiff and promptly saved the lot. He later opened up the first coffeehouse in Vienna.

A Restaurant Primer

The idiosyncrasies of a foreign culture can create some frustrating experiences, especially when they get in the way of eating. In Turkey, dining out in often boisterous groups has traditionally been the province of men, and a smoke-filled room that reeks of macho may not be the most relaxing prospect for a meal. A woman dining alone will often be whisked away to an upstairs "family salon," called the aile salonu, where -- what else -- families, and particularly single women, can enjoy a night out in peace and quiet. Take advantage of it, and don't feel discriminated against; it's there for your comfort.

Restaurants are everywhere, and although the name restoran was a European import used for the best establishments, nowadays practically every type of place goes by that name. Cheap, simple, and often charming meals can be had at a family-run place called a lokanta, where the food is often prepared in advance (hazir yemek) and presented in a steam table. A meyhane is a tavern full of those smokin' Turks I mentioned earlier, whereas a birahane is basically a potentially unruly beer hall. Both are said to be inappropriate for ladies; however, recently, some meyhanes have morphed into civilized places for a fun and sophisticated night out.

Now that you've picked the place, it's time to sit down and read the menu, right? Wrong. Not all restaurants automatically provide menus, instead offering whatever's seasonal or the specialty of the house. If you'd feel more comfortable with a menu, don't be shy about asking, and politely say, "Menü var mi?" Mezes (appetizers) are often brought over on a platter, and the protocol is to simply point at the ones you want. Don't feel pressured into accepting every plate the waiter offers (none of it is free) or into ordering a main dish; Turks often make a meal out of an array of mezes. When ordering fish, it's perfectly acceptable to have your selection weighed for cost; if the price is higher than you planned to pay, either choose a less expensive fish or barter for price per weight. Some restaurants do have fixed costs per weight, however.

Mavi Boncuk Recommends | Almost Turkish Recipes

2007-08-29T10:03:00.000-07:00

Burcu's (Bloomington, USA) Turkish Recipe Blog: almost turkish recipes

BBC talks Turkish Delight

2007-06-17T18:16:00.000-07:00

Turkish Delight

Not to be confused with narcotics and belly-dancers, a circular wooden boxful of this jelly-like sweet is as quintessential as a jar of pickled-walnuts and tartan-boxed shortbread in any self-respecting Christmas hamper. Certainly in Western society, it is associated with Christmas (thus snow) and in CS Lewis' Narnia stories, the Snow Queen uses Turkish delight to bewitch Edmund and thence to control him.

In Turkey, Turkish delight continues to be sold as Rahat lokhoum, and indeed the adopted English word 'lokum' meaning Turkish delight is derived therefrom, and thence from a corruption of the Arabic rahat ul hulkum (literally translated as 'soothing to the throat').

What Is It Then?

Fundamentally, Turkish delight (or lokum) is a confectionery concoction of sugar-syrup and gum-arabic, flavoured with nuts, fruits and flowers, which, after due and diligent preparation, is served in pastel-coloured (pink, white and yellow are standard) cubic bite-sized morsels for consumption with cups of strong Turkish coffee.

Traditional flavourings are rose, lemon and vanilla, (evidently to match the standard colours), although 'modern' flavours like crème de menthe, almond and pistachio now exist.

Each morsel is typically coated in a dusting of fine white icing sugar (or at least a blend of sugar and cornstarch), which can give one the impression of eating a lump of stiff glue covered in talcum powder.

Commercial 'western' Turkish delight is typically softer and less chewy than the authentic Turkish confectionery product. Even further from the truth are those slippery condomically-pink 'Turkish delights' that masquerade under a charade of chocolate.

Is It Really Turkish?

Absolutely. In 1776, Anatolian sweetmaker, Hadji Bekir, travelled to Constantinople bringing with him a recipe for rahat lokhoum, in which the traditional sweetening ingredients of honey-syrup and grape-molasses were replaced with the newly available refined sugar. Evidently Hadji Bekir was something of a contemporary Turkish Willy Wonka because soon after establishing himself in Constantinople, rahat lokhoum became wildly popular and Bekir was appointed as chief confectioner to the Sultan himself.

And Then?

Legend has it that adventurer, explorer, writer, scholar, womanising philanderer, and all round man's man, Sir Richard Burton, was responsible for introducing Turkish delight to Europe, supposedly returning with a parcel of rahat lokhoum from an expedition to Constantinople. Somewhat disappointingly however, this is probably more myth than legend ... it reportedly first showed up in Europe at the Vienna Fair in 1837 when Burton would have been only 16 years old. The traveller responsible for taking Turkish delight to Europe remains unknown.

'Lumps of delight' as it became known to the English (Charles Dickens' The Mystery of Edwin Drood (published 1870) refers to a Lumps of delight shop) was renamed 'Turkish delight' during the 19th Century, and commercial manufacture began in earnest in the UK in 1872. Perhaps most famously, Fry's [1] started selling Turkish delight in 1914.

NOTES
[1] Fry's Turkish Delight is a chocolate bar made by Cadbury's, and formerly by J. S. Fry & Sons. It was launched in 1914 and consists of a rose-flavoured Turkish delight surrounded by milk chocolate. It is widely marketed as being 92% fat-free.
The bar remains fairly popular in the UK and Australia, where the chocolate bar remains a staple. In Australia, the range of "Turkish" products released by Cadbury has expanded to include mini Easter eggs, ice-cream, sectioned family block chocolate bars, and small versions used in boxed chocolates

Mavi Boncuk Links
Ali Muhiddin Haci Bekir
The Lion, the Witch & the Turkish Delight

A Confection (BASIC LOKUM)

8 cups sugar
8 cups water
1-1/2 cups cornstarch
3 tablespoons lemon juice
3 or 4 drops of oil of bergamot

Heat the water. Mix cornstarch and sugar together and dissolve in the heated water. Cook on low fire until thickened. Then lower the fire to very low, and stir continuously while cooking for one hour. Ten minutes before it is done add the bergamot and the lemon juice. Pour into a shallow pan and cut into small squares while still warm. Dip into powdered sugar before serving.

You may add pistachio nuts to the mixture when you take it off the fire.

Kipfel /Ay Coregi

2007-04-22T19:48:00.000-07:00

It all started more than four hundred years ago, in 1683, when Ottomans sent 300,000 Turkish soldiers from Constantinople to siege Vienna and doing their best to fend of the encroaching armies of the Duke of Lorraine of France and King John of Poland who aimed to defend their allies in Austria.

As the plot unfolded, the star character taking center stage was one Franz Georg Kolschitzky who, wearing an ornate Turkish uniform, wended his way into the confidence of the Turks and managed to relay enough information to the Duke and the King. The Turks were rumored to leve inordinate amount of supplies: 10,000 oxen, 5,000 camels, 25,000 tents, and a rather large bounty of gold.

Kolschitzky, took another route to claim his role in Viennese history: he recognized that among the supplies the Turks left behind was a considerable amount of coffee beans. He wangled them for himself and with this chest of beans, opened Vienna's first coffeehouse, the Blue Bottle (aka Blue Flask). So popular was his new business, it soon spawned an official guild of coffeemakers (kaffe-sieder) and cafes bursted onto the scene in old-world Vienna, welcoming artists and anarchists, poets, and radicals.

Kipfel and krapfen are two pastries that date from Kolschitzky's era. The kipfel actually began as a politically incorrect piece of pastry. Shaped like the crescent in the Turkish flag, it gave many a Viennese great satisfaction to bite into it with gusto. The krapfen is a jelly doughnut that Kolschitzky commissioned to be designed. Each was eaten with the three types of Viennese coffees of that era: mélange, coffee with milk; braun, a darker brew with less milk; or schwarzer, a strong, very black cup of coffee.

Kipfel pastries are also popular in Hungary and Czechoslovakia, and the following is a typical recipe of this classic.

Kipfel Pastries

Pastry Ingredients:
1/2 cup butter
8 ounces of cottage cheese
1/2 cup heavy cream
1 1/2 cup all-purpose flour

Filling Ingredients:
1 1/2 cup walnuts, chopped fine
1 cup granulated white sugar
1 teaspoon cinnamon

Directions:
In a bowl, mix together the butter and cottage cheese until creamy smooth. Add the heavy cream and blend until well incorporated. Sift the flour then stir that in; a stiff dough will form. Cover and refrigerate overnight.

To prepare for baking, chop the nuts until fine. Mix with the sugar and cinnamon and set aside. Grease a baking sheet lightly.

Divide the dough into thirds and keep one and return the other two to the refrigerator. Roll out the one-third segment on a floured board until it is as thin as you can roll it. Cut the dough into triangles about four inches wide. Place a heaping teaspoon of the nut mixture in the middle of the base of the triangle then start rolling from the bottom and curve slightly into the shape of a crescent. When you are through with this segment of the dough, use the second, then the third until all the crescents are complete. Bake at 400°F. until lightly browned, about 15 minutes. Remove from the pan and allow to cool on a rack.

YIELD: 24

Bursa Lenger Kebab

2007-03-19T14:57:00.000-07:00

It’s not İskender, it’s even better!
The delicious İskender kebab we all know from Bursa has changed its look and its name and is now to be found in Istanbul, and if you are the type to hit the street looking for a different taste you just might encounter it, though first you should arm yourself with information about this old favorite’s new identity.

The newly opened Bursa Lenger Kebab in İstanbul’s Kavacık district is the place to go. Don’t be dissuaded by the name “lenger,” which is a general term applied to a wide variety of kebabs and rice dishes. The important thing here is what sort of flavor the lenger kebab imparts and be warned, if you are heading out to eat lenger kebab you’d better go with an empty stomach; the full plate before you will be a real challenge and one you will be unable to refuse.

Bursa Lenger Kebab opened five months ago, providing an İstanbul site for one of Bursa’s most famous dishes. Bursa’s fresh and natural ingredients are reflected in all this restaurant’s dishes; the delicious smells of butter, the snowy-white beauty of the yogurt. Not surprising then that lenger kebabs have been rapidly winning a place for themselves in the stomachs and hearts of customers all over Istanbul.

Bülent Başarır, a managing director of the restaurant, noted that he and his partners originally set out to become a well-known brand in Istanbul and spoke about the eatery’s local clientele. “Around noon we mostly get people who work in nearby offices. In the evening we get customers from Acarkent, Beykoz Konakları and Hisarevleri. We also do a lot of deliveries to these places,” he explained.

Another partner in the restaurant, Dursun Duran, noted that new additions would be made to the menu by September. “After many requests we are now thinking about including dishes like Bursa’s ‘çiçek köftesi’ (’flower meatball’) and pirzola (lamb chops).” Duran stressed that the restaurant’s köfte (meatball) dishes contain no artificial additives. The management’s careful attitude toward the customers’ health has one slight drawback: the lenger kebab is not cooked over a coal fire, slightly reducing -- though by no means spoiling -- its flavor.

Bursa Lenger Kebab also offers other Turkish favorites such as Inegol köfte, cheese köfte, butchers’ köfte and Bursa’s famous “breaded köfte.” After the main course diners can also satisfy their sweet tooth with choices like Kemalpaşa dessert or even kabak şekeri (candied pumpkin).

With a staff of nine, the traditionally styled venue seats up to 80 and offers a wonderful Bosporus view. Ample parking is available, making the restaurant a perfect place for a business lunch or, on Sundays, brunch. Ultimately, perhaps the best thing about Bursa Lenger Kebab is that it means that finally one need not go all the way to Bursa to enjoy the city’s fine cuisine.

The restaurant is open from 10:00 a.m. to 10:00 p.m. daily.
Bursa Lenger Kebab: Cumhuriyet Cad. No: 131 Çavuşbaşı Yolu
Kavacık-Beykoz-İstanbul T: 0216 680 22 70-71-72

Andrew Dalby

2007-03-16T09:04:00.000-07:00

Andrew Dalby (born Liverpool, 1947) is an English linguist, translator and historian who most often writes about food history.

Dalby worked for fifteen years at Cambridge University Library, eventually specializing in Southern Asia. In 1982 and 1983 he collaborated with Sao Saimong in cataloguing the Scott Collection of manuscripts and documents from Burma (especially the Shan States) and Indochina; he was later to publish a short biography of the colonial civil servant and explorer J. G. Scott, who formed the collection.[1]

At Cambridge Dalby wrote no books, but many articles on multilingual topics linked with the Library and its collections. He afterwards worked in London, starting the library at Regent's College and renovating the one at London House (Goodenough College), also serving as Honorary Librarian of the Institute of Linguists, for whose journal The Linguist he writes a regular column. His Dictionary of Languages was published in 1998. Language In Danger, on the extinction of languages and the threatened monolingual future, followed in 2002.

Meanwhile he began to work on food history, and contributed to Alan Davidson's journal Petits Propos Culinaires; he was eventually one of Davidson's informal helpers on the Oxford Companion to Food. Dalby's first food history book, Siren Feasts, appeared in 1995 and won a Runciman Award; it is also well known in Greece, where it was translated as Seireneia Deipna. At the same time he was working with Sally Grainger on The Classical Cookbook, the first historical cookbook to look beyond Apicius to other ancient Greek and Roman sources in which recipes are found.

Dangerous Tastes, on the history of spices, was the Guild of Food Writers Food Book of the Year for 2001. Work on this also led to Dalby's first article for Gastronomica magazine, in which he traced the disastrous exploration of Gonzalo Pizarro in search of La Canela in eastern Ecuador, showing how the myth of the "Valley of Cinnamon" first arose and identifying the real tree species which was at the root of the legend.[2] Dalby's light-hearted biography of Bacchus includes a retelling, rare in English, of the story of Prosymnus and the price he demanded for guiding Dionysus to Hades. His epilogue to Petronius' Satyrica combines a gastronomic commentary on the "Feast of Trimalchio" with a fictional dénouement inspired by the fate of Petronius himself.[3]

Dalby's latest book, Rediscovering Homer, develops out of two academic papers of the 1990s in which he argued that the Iliad and Odyssey must be seen as belonging to the same world as that of the early Greek lyric poets but to a less aristocratic genre.[4] Returning to these themes, he spotlights the unknown poet who, long after the time of the traditional Homer, at last saw the Iliad and Odyssey recorded in writing. As he teasingly suggests, based on what we can judge of this poet's interests and on the circumstances in which oral poetry has been recorded elsewhere, "it is possible, and even probable, that this poet was a woman".[5]

Works

* 1993: South East Asia: a guide to reference material
* 1995: Siren Feasts: a history of food and gastronomy in Greece
* 1996: The Classical Cookbook
* 1998: Cato: On Farming (translation and commentary)
* 1998: Dictionary of Languages
* 1998: Guide to World Language Dictionaries
* 2000: Empire of Pleasures
* 2000: Dangerous Tastes: the story of spices
* 2002: Language in Danger
* 2003: Flavours of Byzantium
* 2003: Food in the ancient world from A to Z
* 2005: Bacchus: a biography
* 2005: Venus: a biography
* 2006: Rediscovering Homer

Notes

1. "Sir George Scott, 1851-1935: explorer of Burma's eastern borders" in Explorers of South-East Asia ed. V.T. King (Kuala Lumpur: Oxford University Press/Penerbit Fajar Bakti, 1995).
2. "Christopher Columbus, Gonzalo Pizarro, and the search for cinnamon" in Gastronomica vol. 1 no. 2 (2001) pp. 40-49.
3. "The Satyrica concluded" in Gastronomica vol. 5 no. 4 (2005) pp. 65-72.
4. "The Iliad, the Odyssey and their audiences" in Classical quarterly NS vol. 45 no. 2 (1995); "Homer's enemies: lyric and epic in the seventh century" in Archaic Greece: new approaches and new evidence ed. Nick Fisher and Hans van Wees (London: Duckworth, 1998).
5. The idea has been dismissed as "far-fetched" by Anthony Snodgrass on the grounds that a woman would have been "bored out of her mind" when composing the Iliad ( [1]).

Cheers! Turkish Raki

2006-11-22T19:09:00.000-08:00

Cheers! Turkish Raki

ESKILER ALIYORUM
ALIP YILDIZ YAPIYORUM
MUSIKI RUHUN GIDASIDIR
MUSIKIYE BAYILIYORUM
SIIR YAZIYORUM
SIIR YAZIP ESKILER ALIYORUM
ESKILER VERIP MUSIKILER ALIYORUM
BIR DE RAKI SISESNDE BALIK OLSAM.

ORHAN VELI KANIK

From Mavi Boncuk |

Cheers

When one thinks of Turkey or Turks, one is reminded of Raki. Although it is not known where or when this drink was invented, it is certain that the history of raki does not go as far back as wine or beer. There are many proverbs on raki which is the traditional Turkish drink. Raki is made from different fruits in different regions, but grapes, figs and plums are the main ones.

In the near and middle east countries the drink is known by different names such as Araka, Araki, Ariki which obviously come from the same origin. Some claim that it is called Iraqi (from Iraq) because it was first made in this country and spread to other regions. Others say it got its name from the razaki grapes used in producing it. Both theories are acceptable. Another theory is that arak in Arabic means "sweat" and araki " that which makes one sweat." If one drinks too much raki one does sweat and when raki is being distilled it falls drop by drop like sweat, so the name could have come from Arabic. In neighboring countries different kinds of raki have different names. In Greece gum is added to it and the drink is called "Mastika". Duziko which comes from the slavic word "Duz" means raki with aniseed. In Turkey, raki made from grape residue used to be called Düz Raki or Hay Raki. Zahle raki has taken this name because it is made in the city of Zahle in Lebanon. Raki is not a fermentation drink like wine and beer but a distillation drink, so more technical knowledge and equipment are necessary for its production. Encyclopedias write that in "Eastern India a drink produced by distilling fermented sugar cane juice is called "arak" and the same name is given Ceylon and Maleysia to an alcoholic drink made by the distillation of the juice of the palm tree. It is also noted that in Iran the drink made in the same way from grapes and dates is also called arak.

The drink made in Anatolia and known as Turkish raki has a history going back 300 years. The art of distillation which started in the Arab world and spread to the neighboring countries was implemented when people thought of making use of the sugar in the residue of wine processing. With the addition of aniseed, raki took on its Turkish characteristic. The famous Turkish traveler Evliya Çelebi listed the artisans of Istanbul in the first volume of his book on his voyages which he wrote in 1630. Among the artisans he also mentioned the arakmakers. While writing that arak was made from all kinds of plants, he also mentioned the word raki and said that drinking even one drop of this intoxicating drink was sinful. It is known that at that time in Istanbul 300 people in 100 workshop were occupied in the production and sale of this drink. Evliya Çelebi spoke of tavern-keepers as "accursed, ill omened, blame worthy" and said there were taverns all over Istanbul but especially in Samatya, Kumkapi, Balikpazari, Unkapani, Fener, Balat and the two shores of the Bosphorous and added "Galata means Taverns". Evliya Çelebi recorded the small wine shops and the kinds of wine they sold and also mentioned the taverns that sold raki, all kinds of raki, like raki wine, banana raki, mustard raki, linden raki, cinnomon raki, clove raki, pomegranate raki, hay raki aniseed raki.

Club Raki

Club Raki is a Turkish specialty made with raisin neutral spirits and with anis oil added. Distilled and bottled in Istanbul, Turkey, this fine spirit is excellent when served chilled with any meal and goes with every occasion.

Yeni Raki

Yeni Raki is an aniseed flavored spirit drink obtained by distilling Suma (raisin distillate) in traditional copper distilling stills. Suma used in the production of raki is a grape-origin distillate, distilled up to maximum 94.5 % alcohol by volume in order to protect the taste and smell of the grape. Yeni Raki can be taken straight or spring water half and half; but it is always drunk cold (must be served chilled 8-10°C). A smooth and cylindrical glass used in drinking raki is ideal for enjoying magical whitening in the mixture of raki and water. Yeni Raki, can be taken as an aperitif, but it is recommended to drink raki, in line with Turkish drinking tradition, together with original cold and hot dishes and to fill cooled glass with raki by 1/3 and water by 2/3. While sipping this tasteful product, you will find in grape and anise flavor the traces of Anatolian Culture

Istanbul: Fresh as the Morning, or Rooted in Centuries Past

2006-10-14T23:07:00.000-07:00

Tarihi Karakoy Balikcisi is small, but regarded as one of the best fish restaurants in Istanbul.
Photo: Yoray Liberman for The New York Times

Video
Choice Tables

Istanbul: Fresh as the Morning, or Rooted in Centuries Past By HENRY SHUKMAN
Published: October 15, 2006

NAPOLEON said that if the world were a single state then its capital would be Constantinople. Even today, amid the traffic-choked streets of modern Istanbul, among the high-rises, the steep alleys and the glowing ancient churches and mosques, you can still feel exactly what he meant.

The air is thick with centuries of civilization, hallowed by history. Above the Golden Horn, once the wealthiest stretch of water on earth, hovers Hagia Sofia, perhaps the most beautiful church on earth, built in A.D. 537 by the Byzantine emperor Justinian with a dome so broad it was not superseded for a thousand years, until St. Peter’s in Rome. Just a quarter-mile away floats its rival, the Blue Mosque, finished in 1616, after the city had fallen to the Muslim Turks. Islam and Christendom; East and West; Asia and Europe: the clichés are true, they do all meet here, and have brewed up an atmosphere unmatched on the planet.

As you’d expect in the capital of the world, there are restaurants from all over. But I didn’t come to Turkey to eat Chinese, Italian or Russian. Cognoscenti say that Turkish is the best of the eastern Mediterranean cuisines, so I sallied forth in search of the most interesting indigenous kitchens.

As a visitor to Istanbul, you’re sure to be sent to Kumkapi, a district packed with fish restaurants. In fact, it’s nothing but fish restaurants, and by night it’s busy, frantic, overwhelming — a bit like wandering into a cross between a hotel theme-night party and a 70’s disco. Bright lamps, waterfalls of fairy lights, zithers and tambourines raging up and down the little pedestrian streets, amid terrace after terrace of outdoor tables — it gives new meaning to the word garish. Vendors stroll around selling everything you might need: Cohibas, dolls, teddy bears, and I even saw one man with a giant tin sailing ship hoisted on his shoulder.

With the Bosphorus, the Sea of Marmara, the Black Sea and the Aegean all within a morning’s drive, Istanbul is a great city for fish. But more interesting than any place in Kumkapi is Tarihi Karakoy Balikcisi in the Karakoy district.

Finding the restaurant, however, just behind the fish market near the Galata Bridge, is anything but simple. Down an alley lined with hardware stalls, past 200 yards of screws, drills and hinges, all that gives it away is a wood-framed doorway and a little display window with a small sample of the day’s catch. Everything here is of the day. When they run out they close. And it’s lunch-only, consisting of two tiny upstairs rooms and an even tinier one downstairs. You can’t make a reservation, although you can reserve a particular fish if it’s in (“Hold the sole, we’re on our way”). Choices go up on a blackboard.

Its owner, Hakan Ozkaraman, owner also of a ball-bearing store round the corner, is passionate about fish. “I’m amateur — this is the special thing,” he said, raising a finger. “Here, just I am selling fish. Not ambience, not view, not fancy plates — just fish.”

Start with the locally renowned fish soup, a rich chowder with flat-leaf parsley that will allay any immediate pangs of hunger. While our next courses were being prepared we had a plate of raw vegetables and herbs — baby romaine, rocket, carrot, cucumber, sage and mint, all coated in a thin lemon dressing.

Mr. Ozkaraman has identified a particular bay near the Dardanelles (whose location he prefers not to reveal further) where the currents keep the water the cleanest in the eastern Mediterranean, he said. Only small fishing craft work there, and all his fish comes from it. But he was emphatic about the sources of everything on the table: the vinegar from a farm in the hills is so natural it has to be thrown away if not finished within a few weeks. Likewise his olive oil comes from a particular Anatolian farm.

We followed with a kebab of rolled fillets of sole brushed with olive oil — clean and exquisite. A specialty is the sea bass wrapped in parchment, which arrived like a parcel on the table. Inside it, along with the sea bass fillets, were roasted tomato slices with blackened skins that added a richness that one was sternly instructed to mop up with bread at the end. This is the kind of hole in the wall one dreams of finding. No wonder it has been going, though a succession of owners, since 1934.

From the modest to the opulent: Asitane, a white-cloth establishment with a terrace under the almond trees at the back of the Kariye Hotel, offers not just rare Ottoman cuisine, but actual dishes from a feast given in 1539 by Suleiman the Magnificent to celebrate the circumcision of his two sons (which may not sound too appetizing, but the dishes are sumptuous enough for an emperor).

Under the Ottoman Empire the guilds of cooks were fiercely secretive about their culinary tricks. Consequently few recipes survive from the four and a half centuries of Ottoman rule (1453 to 1918). In a district of old houses just off a little square lined with plane trees, next door to one of the finest Byzantine churches, St. Savior in Chora, Asitane has devoted itself to the re-creation of this lost cuisine. Eating here is a live history class.

I began with chilled tamarind juice in a misty glass — sweet with the tang of tamarind, and the color of silt. Then came a mix of starters representing the various colonies of the Ottoman caliphs: Arabic hummus with pine nuts and raisins on a lettuce leaf; tomato with fresh Turkish yogurt; Circassian chicken minced with walnuts; and from Greece, a grape leaf stuffed with rice and sour cherries. Two small dishes in the middle contained olive-and-walnut tapenade, sweet and bitter at once, and a goat cheese so fresh you could catch a whiff of the nanny goat’s hide.

For the main course we had dishes from the actual feast of 1539: ayva dolmasi, melon stuffed with minced lamb, rice, almonds and pistachios, in which chunks of melon added sweetness to the meat; and nisbah, a phyllo basket containing diced lamb and small meatballs stewed in pomegranate syrup. How else to express opulence but by combining? Chicken? Let’s have it with walnuts. Meatballs? We need pomegranates.

This ancient cuisine, though filling, is light in grease and fat, and surprisingly clean. On the other hand, you can see where the pashas got their bellies. Melon wasn’t the only thing stuffed at the table by the end of lunch. The check finally came in a little brass Ottoman casket.

The Turkish-Finnish chef Mehmet Gurs is a star of the moment. With his own TV show and three establishments in his portfolio, he’s something like an Istanbul equivalent of the Naked Chef.

Istanbul has enjoyed a resurgence at the prospect of joining the European Union. Sleek new trams run with great efficiency through the downtown district, Beyoglu, and there’s enough prosperity to support a new level of chic. One restaurant that clearly reflects this is Lokanta, Mr. Gurs’s original retro-minimalist place. You can tell what a chic place it is by the name: “Restaurant.” It also happens to have one of the tallest restaurant lobbies you are likely to encounter (it goes right up to the roof six stories above).

In summer it moves entirely to the rooftop, known as Nu Teras. A light-box of an elevator whisks you up, where the thing that first hits you is the horizon bar — a curving plastic aerie hovering over the rolling city bisected by the Golden Horn. As the sun goes down, the lights begin to stud the gauzy land, and it’s a spectacle as beguiling as the stars overhead. The next thing that hits you is the resident D.J. The music is soft, some kind of Turkish-house-jazz blend, and apparently necessary for the clientele, who are wealthy, youngish and beautiful, and as cosmopolitan as Istanbul. I overheard Turkish, French, German and Arabic. It’s like clubbing for the dining classes, though the food is truly outstanding.

The menu is mostly fusion, but with Turkish notes. We started with shrimp on chili spinach — big, plump, sweet ones set off well by the piquant greens — and a stew of clams with sucuk (Turkish sausage). A nugget of sausage rode on the empty half of each shell, the clam playing off the sucuk’s saltiness with its sweetness — all in an herb broth with toast on the side. Then moans and groans from across the table: the lamb tenderloin had arrived on three small steel skewers, over tabbouleh, a bed of mint and coriander and cracked wheat. My side, the rare north Aegean tuna smothered in a true au poivre sauce worked well: sushi-rare, the fish held its own against the rich, tangy sauce. We finished with a shared hot chocolate soufflé, frothing out of a white espresso cup.

Up on this terrace you could get just a hint of “Lost in Translation” alienation: the airy music, the chic minimalism. It was a bit like a movie — beautiful people, cocktails, the soundtrack, the view, the old mosques glowing like gold crowns among the city’s buildings below. But it seems a friendly measure of civilization to be as concerned with views as Istanbulians are. In summer you can hardly dine except on terraces.

You couldn’t get near Borsa the night we went. Ibrahim Tatlises (Sweet-voice) was performing in the amphitheater across the street and traffic was jammed. We had to make our way on foot the last half-mile to the restaurant’s outdoor terrace. Borsa — which means Stock Exchange — has been going since 1927, and used to be downtown near the Golden Horn and the old stock exchange. Now it has moved to a rather anonymous setting in the ground floor of a conference center. But the food is anything but anonymous. For eight decades this family-run establishment has been renowned for the highest quality Anatolian cuisine.

Anatolia, as one Turk explained to me, is a big word meaning more or less all Turkey that is neither on the sea nor Istanbul. We started with “false” dolmades — not grape but cabbage leaves, stuffed not with meat but rice. These were soon followed by “true” dolmades, with minced lamb, along with a quichelike pie of onion, eggplant and lentils, and some pilchiye — giant beans slow cooked for 10 hours. Light miniloaves of unleavened lavash bread waited in a basket. Then came an ancient Anatolian dish, keshkek, a wonderful mush of wheat and lamb. These were the appetizers: there’s a pleasure in this old Ottoman habit of enjoying several starters communally.

But the high point was unquestionably the sis (or shish) of lamb — cubes close to the size of tennis balls, and tender as the best steak fillet, proving once again as the Middle Ages knew, and the eastern Mediterranean has not forgotten, that there is no better way to cook meat than on a spit over a fire. With a smoky mash of charcoaled eggplant on the side, like the very best food it was both simple and complex, and memorable.

VISITOR INFORMATION

Prices for one without wine or tip:

Tarihi Karakoy Balikcisi, near Tersane Caddesi, Kardesim sok. 30, Karakoy; (90-212) 251-1371. Lunch only; no alcohol; 23 new liras ($15 at 1.53 new liras to the dollar).

Lokanta, Mesrutiyet Caddesi 149/1, Tepebasi; (90-212) 245-6070; 50 new liras. (Lokanta is being renovated and is to reopen on Oct. 25.)

Asitane, Kariye Hotel, Kariye Camii Sokak 18, Edirnekapi; (90-212) 534-8414; 35 new liras.

Borsa, Lutfi Kirdar Kongre Merkezi, Darülbedai Caddesi 6, Harbiye; (90-212) 232-4201; 35 new liras.

A Turkish Chef, Playing Hide-and-Seek

2006-08-24T08:38:00.000-07:00

August 23, 2006 NYTimes
A Turkish Chef, Playing Hide-and-Seek By FRANK BRUNI

THE best dish I had at Sip Sak, an artfully constructed lamb gyro platter, isn’t on the menu. Neither are the terrific stuffed meatballs, versions of kibbe with beef, pine nuts and mint. Or the outstanding lamb sausage. Or, for that matter, the Turkish pizza, which is really Syrian pizza, made with a thin, soft crust that’s folded over toppings of minced lamb and tomato, so the end product looks more like an omelet or even a burrito.

Why so secretive? Sip Sak’s principal owner and chef, Orhan Yegen, said in a recent telephone conversation that these dishes hinge on fresh ingredients that the kitchen might run out of, or on labor-intensive preparations that can’t always be sustained during busy periods. Since he can’t promise them, he said, he doesn’t put them in writing.

I wonder. His explanation doesn’t cover the sausage, made in advance. It doesn’t address why servers don’t bother to mention these dishes, even when they’re available, unless asked about them directly.

No, I think Mr. Yegen likes to be difficult. He’s one of the New York restaurant scene’s greatest and most befuddling characters, and Sip Sak mirrors his personality. It’s a kooky artist’s warped — and sometimes wonderful — canvas.

Never heard of him? I’ll bet you’ve heard of at least one of his restaurants, because he’s caromed through an insane number, seldom staying long. He helped start Turkish Kitchen back in the early 1990’s. He went on to cook at Efendi, Beyoglu, Deniz, Dervish and Divane, among other restaurants, some long gone.

At some of these places, he would immodestly prime diners for rapture, telling them that they were receiving their first true glimpse of Turkish cooking. (He was born and reared in Turkey.) He’s nothing if not grandiloquent, though age has mellowed him. Now 50, he has moments when his voice is inflected with something that sounds suspiciously like self-effacement.

“I used to say I’m the best food you can eat,” he told me. “These days I can’t say that. I’m not able to catch every mistake anymore.”

Sip Sak opened in 2004 but didn’t take on the contours of a conventional full-service restaurant until this year, when Mr. Yegen erected a bar just inside the entrance, where several cases for prepared food had been. The restaurant’s name, which means fast or instant in Turkish, is pronounced “ship shock.”

Past the bar is a deep, unadorned dining room with sunshine-colored walls. And in that dining room, during a typical lunch or dinner, is a crowd that speaks to why this city maintains such a splendid array of restaurants.

These people, it seems, don’t come to Sip Sak out of ethnic allegiance: few of them look Turkish. They don’t come for an electric scene, which doesn’t exist, or the wine list, which is meager. But they know special food at special prices when they taste it, and they reward its providers. The most expensive dish on Sip Sak’s menu is $17.50.

As you would expect, lamb, eggplant and yogurt reign supreme, but they don’t always assume predictable forms. The lamb gyro platter, called iskander, had at its base a layer of sautéed cubes of pita bread, crunchy outside and spongy within. They swam in garlicky yogurt and tomato sauces. On top went the gyro meat: thin, fatty shavings with real lamb flavor and crisp edges.

Mr. Yegen’s yogurt sauces were lighter, more garlicky and less tart than the ones you find elsewhere, and that’s one reason a dish of handmade manti, a sort of Turkish tortellini, was so sublime. But the dumplings themselves made an important contribution. They were delicate and so tiny that the ground beef in their centers came as a surprise.

I’m convinced that Mr. Yegen performs some incantation as he whisks eggplant, olive oil, garlic and lemon into a silky spread that he calls eggplant salad, because while none of the ingredients are unusual, they attained an astonishing richness and smokiness.

That spread was served with triangular wedges of a bread that was like crunchier, fluffier focaccia. It put the usual pita to shame, and it stood ready to convey the restaurant’s excellent tarama, made with cod roe, and its hummus as well.

Between Sip Sak’s peaks lie many valleys. Lamb kebabs were gorgeous on one visit but grainy on another. Patties of ground chicken with red peppers were moist, but a dish of chicken kebabs was arid. Cubes of baked lamb over an eggplant purée were overcooked, as was a whole branzino.

Stumble across enough of this low ground and you’re not so willing to overlook the unimpressive desserts, the unfilled water glasses and the fact that you’re so much better off if you happen to know about the unadvertised dishes before you show up.

A friend had clued my companions and me in, and Mr. Yegen, his graying ponytail hanging low, stopped by to congratulate us on our savvy. He said he wasn’t really interested in less committed eaters.

“It’s why I never advertise,” he said. “I don’t want all kinds of diners. I want one kind of diner.”

That’s a strange business plan. But if you get to know Mr. Yegen just a little, it’s not a surprising one.

SIP SAK

*

928 Second Avenue (49th Street), East Side; (212) 583-1900.

ATMOSPHERE A plain yellow-walled room with dim lighting, decent space between the 65 seats and room for the eccentric owner, Orhan Yegen, to roam.

SOUND LEVEL Very loud when crowded.

RECOMMENDED DISHES Eggplant salad; hummus; tarama; sucuk (lamb sausage); iskander kebab; manti; spicy chicken patties; stuffed meatballs; lahmajun (pizza).

WINE LIST Only 15 wines in all, 5 of them Turkish and most under $40 a bottle.

PRICE RANGE Appetizers and salads, $4.50 to $13.50. Entrees, $9.50 to $17.50. Desserts, $4.

HOURS Noon to midnight daily. Closed on Sundays in August.

RESERVATIONS Accepted only for parties of six or more.

CREDIT CARDS All major cards.

WHEELCHAIR ACCESS Entrance and dining room on street level; accessible restroom.

Salad Days | Fox Farm Side Rider

2006-07-31T19:35:00.000-07:00

I created this salad as a side dish for Sam&Elizabeth FOX when they had their pot luck summer BBQ Party at their Sperryville, Virginia Farm on July 29,2006.

Simple starting points. Think crunchy with powerful taste to partner with BBQ Burgers and sausages. They told me that Pinot Grigio was the wine selected for the event. Good Mediterranean compliment. And...Here is the recipe.

Fox Farm Side Rider

1. In a mixing bowl. Add the following:

5 cloves of pressed garlic
juice of 6 limes
1/4 cup (65 ml.) olive oil
1 serving spoon of pomegranede molasses
1 cup yogurt
2 serving spoons of sesame paste (tahini)
1 cup rougly chopped pecans (walnut is an alternate)
1/2 cup raisins
1/4 cup of pine nuts
One large Julienned red pepper
1 bunch parsley finely chopped
3 ears of corn (microwaved in their husk and cutstripped with a knife)
white pepper to taste (black pepper looks like sand grit)

2. Seperately prepare finely chopped green cabbage.
V cut and take out the stem beforehand for good measure.
Make it even finer with a double mezzaluna. Salt (2 serving spoons) and crush further with hands. Keep it aside for 30 minutes. Salt extracts more water from the cabbage.
Add water to desalinate. Drain and add to the other ingredients.

3. Mix and press into a serving pot.
For an open air BBQ it is a good idea to select a pot with a lid.

We had good time with good friends and they loved this new salad/BBQ side dish.
The rest is history. This is also my entry for...Yemek Cini

Cipura

2006-07-22T17:47:00.000-07:00

Sparus aurata

Body oval, rather deep and compressed. Head profile regularly curved. Eye small. Mouth low, very slightly oblique. Lips thick. Four to 6 canine-like teeth anteriorly in each jaw, followed posteriorly by blunter teeth which become progresively molar-like and are arranged in 2 to 4 rows (teeth in the 2 outer rows stronger). Total gill rakers on first arch short, 11 to 13, 7 or 8 lower and 5 (rarely 4) to 6 upper. Dorsal fin with 11 spines and 13 to 14 soft rays. Anal with 3 spines and 11 or 12 soft rays. Cheeks scaly, preopercle scaleless. Scales along lateral line 73 to 85. Colour silvery grey; a large black blotch at origien of lateral line extending on upper margin of opercle where it is edged below by a reddish area; a golden frontal band between eyes edged by two dark areas (not well defined in young individuals); dark longitudinal lines often present on sides of body; a dark band on dorsal fin; fork and tips of caudal fin edged with black.

ALBANIA : Koce .
ALGERIA : Aura .
DENMARK : Guldbraxen .
EGYPT : Denis .
FINLAND : Kultaotsa-ahven .
FRANCE : Daurade , Dorade , Dorade royal .
GERMANY : Goldbrasse .
ITALY : Orata .
LEBANON : Ajâj .
MALTA : Orata .
MAURITANIA : Daurade royale , N'tad , Zapata morisca .
NETHERLANDS : Goud brasem .
NEW ZEALAND : Snapper , Tamure .
POLAND : Dorada .
PORTUGAL : Dourada , Douradinha , Safata .
ROMANIA : Dorada .
SPAIN : Chaparreta , Daurada , Dorada , Dourada , Orada .
SWEDEN : Guldbrasse .
TUNISIA : Gerraf .
TURKEY : Cipura .
UNITED KINGDOM : Gilt-head .
YUGOSLAVIA : Komarca , Ovrata .
UNITED KINGDOM : Gilthead , Gilthead seabream .
UNITED STATES : Gilt head bream , Gilthead bream .

Turkish Path

2006-07-22T17:39:00.000-07:00

Turkish Path
Food writer Claudia Roden guides Kevin Gould through the maze of busy streets and alleys that make up the fascinating city of Istanbul, taking in bazaars, mosques and mulberry ice cream along the way.

Claudia Roden's Istanbul is a world of fabulous feasts and fond family memories. Beaming with pleasure, she pronounces: "Istanbul has the best food in the Middle East." This from the writer of the definitive Book of Middle Eastern Cuisine, which has, for a generation, transported cooks to the warm, well-spiced world of the mysterious Levant. "It really is a magical city," she sighs, drinking in the sight of medieval bazaars and Ottoman minarets from the bouncy back seat of our yellow taksi. "You feel elated to be here."

The seeds of Claudia's fascination with the city were sown as a child, when she heard stories of her great-grandfather, who lived in Gaziantep, southeastern Turkey. "He was summoned to Istanbul by Abdel Hamid, the last of the Ottoman Sultans," she relates with a hint of pride. "Here, he was appointed Chief Rabbi to the Empire." The family moved to a villa in Ortaköy, a village on the European shore of the Bosphorus, in the lee of Abdel Hamid's gingerbread, rococo Yildiz Palace. "My grandmother was born in Ortaköy, which in those days was a village, far removed from the city's hurly burly." Today, the village has become subsumed into Istanbul, one of the world's largest, most extraordinary cities.

With undisguised delight, Claudia leads us on a tour of her Istanbul, a day which starts with fresh pastries from Güllüoglu. "This is the city's finest bakery," she says, "As you walk in, you bathe in the smells. They make baklava with 40 layers of filo pastry, each so thin as to be almost transparent." Claudia takes a portion with a square of kaymak (clotted buffalo-milk cream). "You die for it," she says smiling, "and you die from it."

Our taksi joins the nose-to-bumper stream of cars and people crossing the Golden Horn into the Old City, an Istanbul of ancient mosques and cascading domed tombs, of grand palaces and humble tumbledown streets. "This city was founded almost 1,700 years ago by Emperor Constantine to rival Holy Rome" she explains. "Since then, it's been the seat of power for both the Byzantine and Ottoman empires." The Old City's hill is crowned by the Blue Mosque, an essay in architectural harmony, decorated within by 21,000 priceless turquoise Iznik tiles. She points across to the 6th-century cathedral of Aya Sofya, and takes in the Topkapi Palace, famous for its intrigues, its harem and its eunuch stranglers. "In Istanbul, tradition is everything, and you really feel the past."

Claudia sweeps us into her favourite köfte salonu, a midday stop for viziers and workers alike. On a marble-topped table at Selim's Sultanahmet Köftecisi, we're served soft patties of minced beef, with a salad of lemon-dressed white bean and carrot on the side. Claudia beams broadly. "The best köfte I've ever eaten. And I've eaten a lot of them."

There's no time to dawdle as we head to the Kapali Carsisi (covered bazaar). "It is a city within a city, with 5,000 shops and bargain hunters from all over the world." Erected by Sultan Fatih Mehmet in 1458, the bazaar's character has barely changed. We are borne on a tide of lingering shoppers and lippy hawkers, of scurrying tea-boys and labouring porters. "Such a pleasurable place to shop," says Claudia. "There is something to suit every mood."

The bazaar ends by the shores of the Golden Horn and the huge studded doors of the Misir Carsisi (spice bazaar). Piles of nuts and herbs, spices, sweetmeats and caviar fill each stall. Claudia is emphatic: "The best food market in the world."

As well as bridging East and West, Istanbul also straddles two continents. "How romantic," she delights, "to pop over to Asia for a late lunch." Our idyllic table at Cengelköy Iskele is right over the water, the Bosphorus Straits, which glint in the sun, while the European side shimmers in the haze. Claudia thinks that Asia seems calmer, less frenetic. "You somehow feel closer to the countryside here."

Feasting on beer-battered anchovies from the Dardanelles and turbot plucked from the waters of the Black Sea, on pungent roka (rocket) salad and potent anis-based raki liqueur, the afternoon would be idled away were it not for the lure of Mado's karadut (black mulberry) ice cream, sold on Istiklal Caddesi in Beyoglu, Istanbul's (rather more charming) version of Oxford Street. Boys on the Clyde-built ferry that glides us back to Europe serve refreshing black tea in tulip-shaped glasses.

Beyoglu offers excellent shopping "for silks and bargain CDs" and numerous meyhane (beer halls). "The tradition is to have an after-work or late-night restorative pitcher of pilsner, or carafe of wine, accompanied by meze such as hot potato krokets stuffed with cheese," says Claudia. Tonight, however, we have a dinner date in Ortaköy.

During the pre-dinner passeggiata, Claudia asks an aged Ortaköy fruiterer with a nose like a pomegranate if he recalls her ancestors, the Al-Fondari family. She's led to the street where her grandmother was born, the house long since demolished, where a resident shares her memories of the school at which Claudia's grandfather was headmaster.

Dinner is at Istanbul's most sumptuous restaurant. Feriye Lokantasi is run by Vedat Basaran, Turkey's leading chef, from waterfront premises. Tonight, he has commanded an Ottoman feast in Claudia's honour. Artichokes are filled with olive pilaf and wrapped in vine leaves; haricot beans are stewed with wild fennel; and sweetbreads and milk lamb tripes are sautéed with orange zest and served with tomato-scented oil. With the floodlit minarets in the distance, and the glittering waters of the Straits reflected in her eyes, Claudia sighs. "I love it here. There are times when you're by the Bosphorus that you feel there's nowhere on earth you'd rather be."

This article was first published on Waitrose.com in August 2002

Çiroz | İstanbul Ansiklopedisi

2005-12-17T11:55:00.000-08:00

Çiroz
İstanbul Ansiklopedisi | Pages 4035-36

Uskumru balığının yumurtasını attıktan sonraki zayıflamış hálindeki adı. Uskumrunun İstanbul sularında av zamanı kasım başından mart sonuna kadardır; nisan başından mayıs sonuna kadar tutulan uskumrular, yumurtasını atmış, çirozlaşmış balıklardır. Çirozun eti yağsız, lezzetsiz olduğu için táze olarak yenilmesine pek rağbet edilmez, tutulan balıklar kendine mahsus usul ile kurutulduktan sonra (bir çeşit pastırması yapıldıktan sonra) yiyecek maddeleri piyasasına verilir. Çirozun kurutulması usulünü Karakin Bey Deveciyan ‘‘Balık ve Balıkçılık’’ isimli muhalled eserinde şöyle anlatıyor:

‘‘Kurutulacak balık çok olur ise kulak ve bağırsakları çekilmeksizin ve balıklar az olduğu zaman kulak ve bağırsakları çekildikden ve kuyruklarından çift çift bağlandıktan sonra büyük fıçılara konulur, beher bin adedi için 15 kilo tuz serpilip 8-10 saat bırakılır. Bu müddet zarfında balıklardan akan su, kan ve tuzdan hásıl olan salamura, balıkların üstüne çıkıp kapatır; bu salamura dökülür, balıklar fıçılardan alınır, kulak ve bağırsakları çekildikden sonra kuyruklarından kınnabla ikişer ikişer bağlanıp 40-50 çift bir dizi yapılır, tuzda kaç saat yatmış ise, o kadar müddet deniz suyunda bırakılır, sonra çıkarılıp sergi tábir olunan iskelelere gerilmiş sicimlere asılır ve kuruyuncaya kadar güneşde bırakılır. Hava müsaid, sıcak olursa beş günde kurur ki, en makbul çiroz bunlardır. kararsız havalarda on beş günde ancak kurur, bu çirozlar muteber değildir. 2-3 gün rutubetli, sisli havaya rastlayan çirozlar bozulur; renkleri solukdur ve piyasada makbul değildir. Balıklar ne kadar taze olursa, kurusu o derece nefis ve kıymetli olup bayat balıklardan yapılan çirozların gözleri kırmızı, rengi solukdur, hiç makbul değildir.

‘‘Seçme, büyük kıt`ada olan çirozlara Kırma Çiroz denilir; balığı da taze ise en makbul çirozdur.
‘‘Kuru çirozlar sepetler içinde istif olarak saklanır, istenilen yere sevk edilir.
‘‘Tuzunu itidal ile almış ve güzelce kurumuş olan çirozlar bir buçuk sene dayanır, nefásetini muhafaza eder.

‘‘Balıklar sergide iken devamlı yağmur yağar ise, balıkları bozmaz, fakat tuzunu alır götürür, o suretle bozulması yolunu açar, yağmurdan sonra balıkları sergiden indirmek tekrar tuzlamak lázımdır; fakat yağmur görmüş çiroz artık diğer çirozlardaki nefaseti muhafaza edemez.’’
Kuru çiroz, içki sofrası mezesidir; bilhassa bira ile yenilir, rakı sofrasına gelir. Umumiyetle iki türlü yenilir; ateşde kebap edilir, kavuzları dövülüp atılır, etleri sıcak sıcak, bir nevi pastırma gibi yenilir. Yáhud kebap ettikten sonra etleri tiftiklenir, bir tabağa konulur, üzerine dere otu serpilip sirke dökülerek ‘‘çiroz salatası’’ yapılır.

Bir çeşit yeniş tarzı daha vardır ki, halk arasında pek yayılmamışdır; bir ziyafet sofrası sürprizi olabilir.

Sofra ihtiyacına göre çirozlar sabahleyin ateşe gösterilip kebap edildikten sonra dövülür, kavuzu atılır, başı atılır, yalnız karnından yarılarak, sırta dokunulmaz, kuyruğa bağlı iki kalem halinde açılır, kılçığı alınıp suya veya sirkeye atılır, birkaç saat yattıktan sonra alınır, yumuşak durması için nemli beze sarılır. İşret sofrasına çıkarılacağı zaman, sırttan bitişik o iki kalemden mürekkeb çiroz galeta ununa ve yumurtaya bulanıp tavaya atılır; kızarınca tavadan alınarak sofraya gelir.

REŞAD EKREM KOÇU
Kaynak: (İstanbul Ansiklopedisi. Sayfa: 4035-36)

Food Steps from Mavi Boncuk

2005-12-16T20:32:00.000-08:00

Mavi Boncuk Blogger was launched on May 03, 2004 by M.A. Munir as a Blog for past and present source material and comments on Turcomania and Ottomania and published many food related items. Tastes of Mavo Boncuk continues this specialty area now. Here is an archive of old articles from Mavi Boncuk.

Food Steps | Adana Kebab
The mysterious origin of narghile
The Glowing Warmth of a Brazier
Food Steps | Moorish culinary contribution
Moorish culinary contribution
Cheers! Turkish Raki
Article | Turkish opium, 1828-1839
From Cappuccino to Croissant
MUSA DAGDEVIREN
Ali Muhiddin Haci Bekir
Coffeehouse Bremen, 1673
Cafe Italia 1654
The History of Turkish coffee
Coffeehouse Le Procope, Paris
Coffeehouse USA
Kaffeehaus in Vienna
Coffeehouse, Oxford, England,
Claudia Roden: The Book of Jewish Food
Filo facts
CHAI KURDI (KURDISH TEA)
Food and Culture
Armenian Food Terminology
Beyond Baklava
The History of Baklava
The Ottoman Spoons

When Milk Sleeps, TURKISH CHEESES

2005-12-16T20:26:00.000-08:00

When Milk Sleeps, TURKISH CHEESES

By Artun Unsal

The traditional pastoral diet based on meat and dairy products
continued to be the backbone of the Turkish cuisine even after Turkish
tribes made the transition from a nomadic to a settled existence as
farmers from the 9th century onwards. Among the Turks of Kashgar, for
instance, animal products were the principal elements of nutrition,
even though they also consumed wheat and flour.

This is reflected in the 11th century Turkish dictionary, Divanu
Lugat-it-Turk, written by Mahmut of Kashgar between 1072 and 1074, in
which he cites the words udma and udhitma for fresh cheese, and
translates the Turkish sentence "Ol udhitma udhitti " as "He made
cheese". The verb udhitmak originated from Uighur Turkish and meant to
put to sleep, to make solid or to leaven, so etymology reveals the
delightful idea of milk solidified into fresh cheese being sleeping
milk .

The modern Turkish word for cheese, peynir, first occurs in the Book of
Dede Korkut, a collection of orally transmitted legends which were
first written down in the 12th and 13th centuries. Evidently this word
first entered the Turkish language following the migration from Central
Asia. The Turkmen tribes knew how to make several different varieties
of cheese and must have adopted this new term for them on their way
westwards through Iran or after their arrival in Anatolia.

Anatolia already had its own cheeses originating in antiquity. Writing
about the northwestern region today encompassing Bolu, Izmit and Iznik,
the famous historian Strabo says, "In the interior of Bithynia above
Tieion is Salona, where alone are the finest pastures for cattle and
where Salonites cheese is made."

In his history of the Ottoman dynasty, Ashikpashazade (1400-1484)
writes that Osman Gazi gave gifts of cheese, dried yogurt, fat and
clotted cream to the Byzantine rulers of Bilecik in return for
protecting the property left behind in their winter settlements by the
Ottoman tribes in their seasonal migrations to the summer pastures with
their herds.

The Code of Law issued in 1502 by Beyazit II gives the names of cheeses
from all over the Ottoman Empire which were sold in the markets of
Istanbul: fresh lor cheese, kaba lor cheese, fresh dil cheese, fresh
cayir cheese, Mudurnu cheese, Shumnu cheese, Karaman cheese, Sofia
cheese, Eshme cheese, Midilli (Mytilene) cheese, teleme cheese, cheese
in brine (white or feta cheese), Limni (Limnos) tulum cheese (cheese
made in a goatskin bag), Izmit tulum cheese, Rumelia tulum cheese,
fresh kashkaval cheese, and Balkan kashkaval cheese.

Today there is a general misconception among Turkish urban dwellers
that Turkey does not possess a wide range of cheeses. This is because
few regional cheeses find their way into city shops. In fact there are
a great many varieties, many little known outside the area where they
are made, a finding which is not surprising in a land which has been
home to many civilisations over thousands of years.

I will begin a brief tour of Turkey's cheeses with cokelek, made from
the whey left over from the cheese making. The people of Anatolia who,
as the expression has it squeeze bread out of a stone , neglect none
of milk's potential and process it in every possible way. Even the
greenish yellow liquid known as whey left over from making cheese or
lor (a soft curd cheese) from the milk is not discarded. When the whey
is boiled up a new curd known as cokelek or cokelik forms.

Apart from the plain cokelek cheese sold in Turkey's large city markets
and shops, there are many interesting regional varieties which are
either eaten fresh or preserved by pressing into goatskin bags or
pottery jars, or alternatively dried in the sun. Some examples of these
are nebolu sut cokele i, Giresun cokelegi which is used as a filling
for the famous Black Sea pide (thinly rolled bread dough with various
fittings on top baked in the oven), Rize's kurci cheese which is eaten
with corn bread for breakfast, Kars cokelek which is used as a filling
for layered pastries and in salads, the jaji cheese of Bitlis, Afyon's
Emirda cokelek which is preserved in lambskins, the Kirk Tokmak
["fourty pestle"] cheese of Milas, and Hatay tulum ["goatskin bag"] cokelek
which is mixed with fresh thyme and black cumin seeds.

A close relative of cokelek is kurut, dried bricks of yogurt made of
low-fat milk or of cokelek made from buttermilk. In some regions kurut
is known as kesh. Since it has a lower fat content it keeps well. Some
of the best known regional varieties are the kurut of Kars and Bitlis,
the surk (dried cokelek) of Hatay, the kesh of Mengen and Giresun, and
the dried cokelek of Aydin.

Lor is a soft fresh cheese, a relative of the somewhat harder textured
Ricotta of Italy and the Greek Myzithra and Anthotiro. It is produced
by dairies making kashar (a hard yellow cheese) from sheep's milk. Lor
with a variety of flavours is also made in rural homes from the whey
left over from cheese making.

Lor is eaten without salt or very slightly salted, so it does not keep
well. It is an ingredient of various savoury dishes, layered borek
pastries and puddings. For breakfast or as a snack fresh lor is
delicious with sugar, honey or jam.

The lor of Kirklareli made from kashar whey is well known to
connoisseurs, and other delicious varieties are the lor of
Mustafakemalpa a (near Bursa), Manyas in Balikesir, and above all of
Savashtepe, all made from Mihalic cheese whey.

There are cheeses common to both sides of the Aegean. For example, the
fresh lor cheese of Ayvalik in Balikesir is left to drain in a basket
mould and eaten fresh, like its counterpart on the island of Mytilene.
The Kirlihanim cheese made from lor in Ayvalik, Foca and Karaburun is
also made in Greece. When mixed with strained yogurt and olive oil it
makes an hors d'oeuvre fit for a pasha. The kopanisti of Ceshme and
Karaburun is another shared element of Aegean cuisine.

Other regional varieties of lor cheese in Turkey are Antalya lor
cheese, Kars kurtlu ["larvaed"] cheese, the kurtlu lor of Yusufeli in
Artvin, the Minzi cheese of Camlihemshin in Rize, Trabzon Minzi cheese
and tel karishik ["string mixed"] cheese, and Rize's ayran ["buttermilk"]
cheese.

By far the most widely consumed type of cheese in Turkey is white
cheese ["feta cheese"], which can be eaten fresh or after maturing in
brine. Teleme is a type of white cheese made almost everywhere in
Turkey by straining the pressed curds, sometimes in a bag hung from the
ceiling. Soft, high fat white cheeses made usually of ewe's milk in the
northwestern regions of Trakya and Marmara are the most highly
esteemed. The high-quality ewe's milk of Ezine, Biga and the area
around Edirne means that their white cheese pickled in brine is superb.
Antalya's white cheese made of a mixture of goat's and cow's milk also
deserves mention.

Cheeses mixed with herbs are a subdivision of the white cheese family,
and traditionally made of ewe's or goat's milk, but in recent years of
a mixture of these with cow's milk. To the white cheese is added 15
percent or less wild herbs. These cheeses have always been well known
in eastern and southeastern Anatolia (Kars, Agri, Diyarbakir, Van,
Siirt, Hakkari, Mush and Bitlis), and are becoming increasingly
familiar in Turkey's major cities.

There are many varieties of these herb cheeses. That made in Van
contains wild garlic, while that of Bitlis contains a local herb known
as sof otu which grows in damp situations. Horse mint (Mentha
longifolio) and Pimpinella rhodentha are other herbs used.

Fresh cheese spoils quickly, which is why preservation processes such
as pickling in brine, pressing into skins, being left to mature under
soil or sand or in caves, or lightly blueing with mould have
developed.

Tulum cheese - cheese preserved in a goatskin (hairy side outwards) -
is widely made everywhere in Turkey apart from Trakya. The finest are
those of Erzincan, Erzurum and the alpine pastures of the Toros
mountains dividing central Anatolia from the Mediterranean coast.

Kashkaval (fresh kashar) and mature kashar are dense textured cheeses
native to Anatolia, which is where the Turks made their acquaintance.
The most famous is the kashar of Trakya, which is moulded into drums 16
cm high and 30 cm in diameter and weighing 11-12 kilos. Other fine
kashars are those of Mush, Bayburt, and Trabzon's Kadirga and Tonya
districts.

Dil ["tongue"], Cerkez ["Circassian"] and Abaza ["Abkhaz"] cheese, tel
(literally string ) cheeses, and orme (braided) cheeses are other
notable varieties which I can do no more than mention here. But I would
like to end with what in my opinion is the king of Turkish cheeses,
mihalic. This cheese is made in the provinces of Balikesir and Bursa of
full-fat, unpasteurised milk from the kivircik sheep. It is white in
colour, characterised by bubble holes 3-4 mm in diameter, and with a
hard irregular rind 2-3 mm thick. It is extremely well flavoured and
keeps well. Hard, mature mihalic cheese is in no way inferior to
Italy's famous Parmesan cheese when grated over pasta dishes.

Diversity of cheese types is influenced by four main factors: cultural
habits and tastes, natural conditions, the species and variety of
animal providing the milk, and production methods. This is equally true
of Turkey, where scores of local cheeses in every region are now
beginning to be discovered, putting the country on the cheese map at
last.

* Prof. Dr. Artun Unsal, lecturer at Galatasaray University.

Behind the mystique of Turkish olive oil

2005-12-16T20:12:00.000-08:00

Behind the mystique of Turkish olive oil by Sam Gugino

Special to MSN

You've probably consumed Turkish olive oil on a number of occasions and don't
even know it. How's that? Turkey is the fourth- or fifth-largest producer of
olive oil in the world, after Spain, Italy, Greece, and sometimes Tunisia,
depending on the harvest. But as with much of the olive oil in Spain and
Tunisia, Turkish olive oil is often sent to Italy to be repackaged and sold as
if it were Italian olive oil.

Then there are brands such as Cavallo d'Oro, which sounds very Italian. But this
is a Turkish oil that was shipped to the United States and given an Italian name
to make it easier to sell. After all, most Americans when faced with a choice
would buy an Italian olive oil ? or one that sounds like an Italian olive oil ?
in a heartbeat over a Turkish olive oil (or Spanish, or Greek or Tunisian oil
for that matter).

On a trip to Turkey in April 2000, I was amazed to find out how many olive oil
containers with labels that look very Italian actually contain Turkish olive
oil. At Taris, the largest olive oil producer in Turkey, there was an entire
room containing cans and bottles with names like Bella, Giorgio, Selesta,
Antonia ? Turkish oils all.

But organizations such as the European Economic Community and the International
Olive Oil Council (of which Italy is a member but Turkey is not) and the World
Customs Organization are changing all that. As a result of their efforts, we are
starting to see the origins of olive oils on cans and bottles, albeit in very
fine print.

But that's only half the battle. The other half is to put Turkish names on
Turkish oils to be sold in the United States. In this regard, Turkey is moving
in the same direction as Spain, though it is several years behind. While still
selling olive oil to Italian and American producers, who will repackage it,
Spain is increasingly keeping its best oils for Spanish labels. At the time of
my trip, I was told that the only Turkish-labeled olive oil in the United States
was made by Taris. Subsequently, I was sent a bottle of Olive Farm olive oil, an
estate-bottled Turkish oil. You can buy it by mail order at 1-888-380-8018.

Behind Extra Virgin Oil

How good is Turkish olive oil? In general, the oils I tasted were quite pleasant
but not exceptional. They are the kind of oils you would use for everyday
cooking, especially since the price is generally reasonable. Ironically, the two
best oils I sampled are not yet available in the United States. One is from one
of the largest producers of table olives in Turkey, Ardes, which sells most of
its olives to Europe, especially Germany. The brand name of the Ardes olive oil
is Zeyno and it is sold only in two company stores, one in the city of Izmir,
the other in Istanbul.

The second oil is made by Dr. Yahya Laleli, who is as passionate about making
olive oil as Robert Mondavi is about making wine. Laleli, who is a physician and
owns a laboratory testing company, has bought small olive presses and other
equipment from Italy. He has also had his oil tested by the Amministrazione
Provinciale di Siena in Tuscany to verify that the oil meets Italian standards
as extra virgin oil.

(Extra virgin oil must have less than 1 percent oleic acid, a monounsaturated
fatty acid that studies show lowers overall blood cholesterol and raises
high-density lipoproteins, or the "good" component of cholesterol. Oils that
have between 1 percent and 3 percent oleic acid are considered to be virgin
oils. Oils previously labeled "pure" and now simply called "olive oil" are
refined oils and contain 1 percent to 1.5 percent oleic acid. Most olive oil
sold in the United States is pure. The rest is extra virgin. Little or no virgin
oil is seen in the United States because virgin oil is typically added back to
the refined "olive oil" to bring its oleic acidity down and to add some of the
flavor that was lost in the refining process.)

Laleli extra virgin olive oil could easily fetch $20 a 750-ml bottle in a
gourmet shop in the United States. The reasons for this quality are not
surprising. Laleli does what quality olive oil producers in Tuscany do. (In
fact, he's had his olives tested and has found they are the same as those used
in Tuscany.) Laleli scrupulously avoids using any damaged olives because even a
few bad olives can spoil the taste of top quality extra virgin oil. He uses cold
pressing, never above 37 degrees Centigrade, because heat (as well as light and
air) are the enemies of olive oil. To retain maximum flavor Laleli doesn't
filter his oil but allows any sediment to gradually settle to the bottom of
storage tanks. The resulting oil is transported by gravity for bottling because
pumping can damage the delicacy of the oil. If Turkish olive oil wants to make
any significant strides in quality, more producers will have to follow Laleli's
lead.

Laleli also makes a delicious garlic oil that is superior to any I've tasted.
The reason is that he presses the garlic with the olives to integrate the taste.
He does the same with mandarin oranges for a lovely oil that would be perfect on
salads. If you're ever in Ankara, the capital of Turkey, look for Laleli's
store, Korfez 'den, which is the only place where his oils are available.

Health Benefits

Most of the Turkish olive oil producers I talked to were quick to point out the
heart-healthy benefits of olive oil. As a physician, Laleli was particularly
conscious of olive oil's health benefits, contained primarily in its antioxidant
properties. To keep his oil's antioxidant properties as high as possible, Laleli
picks his olives early (usually in November) because as olives mature, their
antioxidants go down. He also tries to pick at night, while the olives are cool.
And he processes them immediately, before they are allowed to ferment.

Incidentally, Laleli was at odds with other Turkish olive oil producers on one
major aspect of olive oil's health benefits. It has long been assumed that one
gets the health benefits of olive oil whether the oil is heated for cooking or
used at room temperature, in salads for example. However, Laleli contends that
most of olive oil's antioxidant properties are obtained only when the oil is
used in its raw state. This makes sense, since heat breaks down the flavor of
olive oil as well.

Laleli's facility is located near the town of Taylieli in the area of Ayvalik
along the Aegean, the prime olive oil producing region in Turkey. (Olives and
oil are also produced on the southern coast of Turkey along the Mediterranean.)
Though some 86 varieties of olives are grown in Turkey, the Edremit olive is the
primary one for olive oil.

Sam Gugino writes a food column for Wine Spectator magazine. He is former food
editor of the San Jose Mercury News and has also written for The New York Times,
Cooking Light and other publications.

How to Eat Well in Istanbul by Anya von Bremzen

2005-12-12T22:45:00.000-08:00

How to Eat Well in Istanbul
Turkey's largest city is the ultimate culinary crossroads, a food lover's great adventure
By Anya von Bremzen

Gypsy mackerel and fresh walnuts are in season when I arrive in Istanbul. As my plane rattles along the runway I flash back to the most bewitching meal of my life: breakfast on an Istanbul commuter ferry. A single cucumber and a fistful of olives. Dense, chewy bread rings slathered with salty cheese. Sweet black tea. Perhaps it was the Bosporus breeze, or that fabled skyline doused in pink light. I remember being intoxicated with pleasure-- savoring Byzantium, picnic in hand.

That was more than a decade ago. I've returned several times since, and, I have to confess, it's not the mythical ocher glow of Hagia Sophia, or even the thrill of plucking a perfect kilim from the mercantile bowels of the Covered Bazaar that lures me back. No, it's the Istanbul of that sweet tea, sipped from a tulip glass in the sensuous shade of a çay bahçesi (tea garden); harborside lunches of silvery fish; the infectious aromas of grilling; the ambrosial sweetness of Anatolian melons. It's the dozen-leaf pastries in fragrant syrup-- and the thousand and one secrets of Ottoman seasoning.

Sultan's Pantry
Actually, the Ottoman cult of the kitchen bordered on the absurd. When Sultan Mehmed II, called Fatih (the Conqueror), erected the Topkapi Palace shortly after plundering Christian Constantinople in 1453, he equipped it with a domed kitchen so vast you could mistake it for the imperial mosque. And that from a man famous for dining solo! At the height of the empire, separate battalions of cooks were assigned to kebabs and pilafs, to pancakes, candies, and drinks-- plus a small battery for each of the six varieties of halvah. Sauces were plotted as though they were conquests; janissaries-- the sultan's elite troops-- discussed state matters around a stewpot, or kazgan; and imperial chefs rose to become viziers.

The Ottoman Empire collapsed in 1923. But Turkish dedication to the wealth of its cuisine lives on, in unassuming neighborhood restaurants, epic kebab houses, rickety waterfront fish shacks, and glamorous dining rooms overlooking the Bosporus. To the traveler with an appetite for Mediterranean flavors, Istanbul, where Europe ends and Asia begins, offers a last great adventure.

Bosporus Breezes
Exhausted after a 10-hour flight, I sentence myself to the luxury of the Four Seasons, a former prison recently reborn as an exquisite small hotel just steps from the Hagia Sophia. My friend John is due to arrive later that night.

A sweet voice on the telephone: "Anya, dear! Do you need Bosporus air? My driver can pick you up at seven." It's Engin, a local food critic I met recently in Crete. Throughout our weeklong stay, she will tend to us with unflagging zeal-- Turkish hospitality personified.

Of course I need Bosporus air.

Forty minutes of screeches, hoots, and jolts take me to Bebek-- a genteel neighborhood of tilting wooden villas and fashionable open-air cafés, home to patrician businessmen and foreign diplomats. At the restaurant Yeni Bebek, Engin greets me with gifts and kisses and speeches on Turkish cuisine. We sit on a creaky terrace right on the water, grazing on fried calamari and eggplant dips, and sipping raki, an aniseed-flavored firewater. A stately waiter anoints the grilled fish-- small, delicate gypsy mackerel (technically, baby bonito) and lüfer, a rich bluefish from the Black Sea-- with reverential trickles of olive oil. Engin chuckles. "For centuries we've been cooking with olive oil, but what did it take for us to notice it? A vogue for Italian food!"

A Walk Around Beyoglu
The next morning John and I meet our friend Ferda for a spin around her stomping ground, old Pera, or present-day Beyoglu (pronounced bea-ho-loo). This former European quarter, with its weathered grand hotels and resplendent ex-embassies, gradually took on a sleazy cast. Then in 1990, its main boulevard, Istiklal, was closed to traffic, cleaned up, and transformed into a pulsating thoroughfare. Now you can shop for expensive scarves at Vakko, Istanbul's answer to Barneys; dive into a murky alley for sheep-knuckle soup; collect 19th-century prints from one of many antique shops; then bob to techno at an after-hours club.

The heartbeat of Beyoglu is Balik Pazar, a cacophonous market stuffed with everything edible, and some things that don't quite look it. While the Spice Bazaar in the Old City is pure Ottoman Stamboul, Balik Pazar and the famous Çiçek Pasaji, an arcade fashioned on Parisian models, are relics of turn-of-the-century cosmopolitan Constantinople.

I unleash years of cravings for Istanbul food in Beyoglu's clamorous side streets. At Hüsseyinin we join gaggles of shadowy men for straight-off-the-grill meatballs, or köfte. A search for su börek-- a lasagna-like wonder of dough stacks and salty cheese-- lands us in Lades. With spick-and-span tiles, hunched-up old regulars, and daily specials ordered from bubbling pots in the kitchen, it's an archetypal lokanta, or family-run restaurant. At Babane, a cute new café down the block, a pair of women decked out in folkloric gear squat on raised platforms to knead, roll, and fold dough into gözleme, marvelous turnovers stuffed with spinach, potato, or cheese.

Ferda takes us to her own eggnog-yellow café, Zencefil (ginger), which specializes in vegetables. After spending some years in Montreal, Ferda introduced Istanbul residents to quiche ("First they spat, then they came back for seconds"). We're too full to eat, so we return another day for big bowls of Aegean tomato soup accompanied by herb-flecked bread, black-eyed-pea salad with pomegranate dressing, eggplant börek, and a great baked pear stuffed with a plum. At the next table, lipstick mavens sip ginger lemonade, absorbed in Turkish Marie Claire. It could be London or Paris, but then that's what Beyoglu has always aspired to.

Best Meat
"Five years ago, kebabs were considered plebeian, now they're all the rage," an Istanbul friend insists. I believe it when Engin and her husband, Nuri, invite us to dinner with an airline president, a hotelier, and a shipping-magnate couple with his and hers fleets. The place? Develi, a modest kebab house that threads legendary skewers, in the quaint lower-middle-class neighborhood of Samatya.

Develi has all the charm of a departures lounge in a third-world airport: bright lights, bare walls, commotion. Its five floors are jam-packed with turbaned clerics, clerks in crumpled suits, and endlessly extending families rubbing shoulders with Japanese tourists and platinum-card-holding CEO's.

The mezes (hors d'oeuvres) are wonderful, from tabbouleh-like frig ("made with wheat harvested when it's still milky and dried over charcoal smoke," Engin explains) to a beguiling sweet-and-sour concoction of mashed tomatoes and pomegranate molasses. But it's Develi köfte we're after-- meatballs of lamb painstakingly ground by hand and grilled to succulent perfection. We try pistachio köfte, smoky pillows punctured by nuts; çig köfte, spicy raw lamb wrapped in lettuce; onion köfte; sesame köfte; and ali nazik, köfte sizzled with paprika-hued butter and served on a bed of thick yogurt. Each meatball is a short essay in texture.

I sigh. After this mincemeat epiphany, burgers are ruined forever.

Looking
for Perfect Fish
Eating fish on the Bosporus-- a narrow strait that separates Europe from Asia, connecting the Black Sea to the Sea of Marmara-- is a quintessential Istanbul pleasure, but trying to find the right place can be downright maddening. Restaurant recommendations are as abundant as carpet shops, and they usually go something like this: "Definitely try X. The waiters are sweet, the atmosphere precious; we've eaten there forever. But the food . . . " A shrug. Of course, there is the glamorous Körfez, where honeymooning John F. Kennedy Jr. feted his bride. But bookings are hard to come by, even though locals dismiss it as touristy.

A cheaper and more diverting option is to take a sightseeing ferry from Eminönü, where the Golden Horn begins, to the last stop, Anadolu Kavagi-- a village on Istanbul's Asian side suffused with the smell of frying mussels and grilling fish. We lunch at Yosun, which looks out on a tangle of water taxis, fishermen's dinghies, ferries, and yachts festooned with wriggling garlands of mischievous boys. The fish is simple and fresh, and nothing special, so we keep looking.

We finally catch up with our gilled Holy Grail-- a perfect sea bass, moist, charred, and pearlescent-- at Feriye, a smart waterside restaurant in the arty neighborhood of Ortaköy. Even with its view of the ornate Ortaköy mosque, Feriye feels like a Santa Monica brasserie. But it won't for much longer. Vedat Basaran, the ambitious impresario behind Istanbul's current Ottoman revival, plans to convert the restaurant (his 29th) into a temple of imperial gastronomy. To prove the gravity of his intentions, he tips a dusty pile of cookbooks onto our table. "Rare editions . . . in Arabic, English, Old Ottoman . . ." We sneeze, grin respectfully, then tuck back into our fish.

High Life with a View
If one could eat views, Istanbul-- with its dialogue of shore and strait, its magical skyline boosted by rocketlike minarets, its nighttime glimmer of water traffic-- would offer the world's most sumptuous banquet. But even in a city where panoramic restaurants are as ubiquitous as kebab dives, Ulus 29 redefines tip-top dining.

The restaurant is announced by a steep driveway lined with luxury German sedans. This glassed-in semicircular space offers a wide-angle view of the two Bosporus bridges. Ulus is buzzing with first dates, company banquets, diplomatic dinners-- and that's on a weeknight. But then, the proprietor, Metin Fadillioglu, is the grand vizier of Istanbul high life.

The setting, designed by his wife, Zeynep, deftly reprises this Eurasian city: lush, mismatched upholstery and crisp white linens; nooks and crannies garnished with Orientalist Neoclassical objets; mosque lanterns cheek by jowl with trendy lamps from London. Zeynep's eye for detail runs in the family: her cousin is London-based fashion designer Rifat Ozbek.

"Panoramic dining experience" is, of course, a code phrase for lousy food. I hold my breath as we order. Whew . . . our choices don't embarrass the view.

Thoroughly modern meze By Anya von Bremzen

2005-12-12T22:36:00.000-08:00

Thoroughly modern meze
By Anya von Bremzen, Special to The Times

ISTANBUL -- By 11 p.m., the street theater on Nevizade Street, a narrow lane lined with outdoor restaurants around Istanbul's fish market, works up to a kind of Felliniesque mayhem. Flower sellers push big thorny roses at passersby's noses, while a Gypsy quartet cranks background music for a parade of street peddlers.

Amid this carnival, waiters unload trays of small dishes on tables and refill glasses with raki, Turkey's favorite anise-based liquor. Our own table, at an old Armenian restaurant called Boncuk, is mosaicked with plates of dips, crisp fish croquettes redolent of allspice and cinnamon, a chickpea pâté layered with dried currants and pine nuts, and a majestic börek, a pastry oozing a tangy filling of cheese and pastirma, or spiced cured beef.

These are meze, Turkey's signature little dishes and the Middle East's answer to Spanish tapas, Venetian baccari or Mexican antojitos.

On our own shores, meze offer yet another twist on the small-plates trend. Entertaining at home? Meze could have been invented for Southern California, where, much like in Istanbul, they can be languidly savored al fresco on the patio. Less fussy than hors d'oeuvres, a welcome break from Italian antipasti, infinitely more varied than hummus and baba ghanouj, a few meze together make an exciting light feast.

Meze — the name is derived from the Persian word maza, or flavor — seem to flourish in Istanbul as an edible life force: from a plethora of eggplant preparations to a veritable encyclopedia of dolma, or stuffed vegetables; from multitudes of böreks, savory pastries, to a vast roster of salads and dips. They can be cold or hot, light or substantial, as humble as a wedge of salty white cheese or as chichi as the langoustine salads dished out at the glamorous fish restaurants along the Bosphorus shores. Though most travelers to Turkey encounter meze at restaurants, they taste even better when prepared at home. "Meze is all about socializing — nibbling, drinking, laughing," says Gökçan Adar, an Istanbul food writer. One breezy night, under a sour cherry tree in his overgrown garden, he treats us to a 19-dish meze marathon.

Spontaneity is essential

Typical of modern-day Istanbul, where the cuisine evolves with lightning speed, his spread is both creative and classic: braised eggplant topped with a flourish of walnut and sun-dried tomato paste, langoustines with their roe resting atop lemony wild greens, fritters of just-picked zucchini flowers on a vibrant red pepper purée. This could almost be Catalonia — or California. Not to be outdone, my friend Engin Akin, a food writer and radio host legendary in Istanbul for her swank soirees, throws a bash on the lawn of her home overlooking the Bosphorus. Ever willing to experiment, Akin deep-fries paper-thin leaves of yufka (a phyllo-like dough) and serves the crisps with shavings of Turkish cured mullet roe similar to bottarga. She fashions nifty bruschetta from the ubiquitous fava bean pâté, topping the toasts with fried almonds.

Grazing gets more cosmopolitan still when Akin and I move on to Bodrum, a jet-set resort on the Aegean. Here, at a cocktail party at the white-washed villa of a shipping tycoon, white-gloved waiters pass such dainties as miniature French fry "kebabs," Gruyère köfte (meatballs), and spicy sucuk (soujuk) sausage wrapped in phyllo.

In Turkey, meze are intimately linked with the city's history as a cosmopolitan port and to drinking establishments called meyhane.

What — drinking in a Muslim culture, with its Koranic prohibitions on alcohol? Well … sure.

Even before Kemal Atatürk secularized Turkey in the 1920s, restrictions on alcohol were sporadic, a whim of one sultan or another. Selling alcohol was taboo, though, entrusted to Istanbul's numerous non-Muslim minorities: Greeks, Armenians and Jews. It was they who established the original meyhane, raucous dives packed with foreign sailors, where meze was an excuse for another round of raki. Dating back to early Ottoman times or even further, meyhane continue to thrive.

To learn more, I rendezvous with Akin and Deniz Gursoy, an author of books on raki and meze, at Safa, the city's oldest meyhane. With whirling fans, burnished mirrors and pictures of Atatürk striking Hollywood poses, the place feels like a souvenir from another era. When Safa opened some 125 ago, Gursoy explains, meze came free with consumption, consisting of basics like anchovies, pickled cabbage, a tiny börek and a bowl of leblebi, or dried chickpeas. Today, the repertoire seems inexhaustible.

Akin explains that flavors Westerners usually associate with Middle Eastern cuisines — bulgur, pomegranate molasses, lavish spicing, hummus, kebabs — are rather new to Istanbul, a consequence of the enormous influx of immigrants from eastern Turkey.

Other classic meze we sample reflect the city's historical layers of cultures. Delicious fried liver nuggets, with wisps of raw onion and a dusting of sumac, hail from the Balkans. The plaki is Greek, Gursoy notes, referring to a classic cold preparation in which beans or fish are simmered in tomato sauce sweetened with onions and cinnamon. Jews might have contributed zeytinyagli, an iconic cold meze of vegetables, such as artichokes or leeks, braised slowly in water and olive oil with a little sugar until they melt in the mouth.

And though raki still reigns, these days, younger Turks are just as likely to sip a locally made Cabernet or a dry Muscat with their meze.

It is actually on Istanbul's Asian side, at a humble joint called Çiya, that I discover the city's most exciting small dishes. Little surprise, because chef-owner Musa Dageviren hails from Gaziantep, a city near the Syrian border renowned for Turkey's finest cuisine.

Each of his dishes vibrates with flavor: A simple tomato and parsley salad comes alive with a sprinkling of pungent orange-hued powder made from dried curd cheese. Grape leaves are filled with dried onions, bulgur and pomegranate syrup. Boiled wheat berries and home-pickled green tomatoes sport a creamy cloak of dense, tart yogurt.

"Gaziantep doesn't have a meze tradition per se," Dageviren explains, "but small dishes are normally served at kebab houses. At home, cooks often fashion light cold meals from leftovers."

Lacking white-gloved waiters or a grandma from Gaziantep, a meze spread is still easy to improvise. The rich thick Turkish yogurt alone — which can be replicated in the United States by draining good-quality yogurt in a cheesecloth-lined sieve — provides a dozen simple ideas. Stir in some crushed garlic, minced herbs and grated cucumbers and spread it on pita. Or fold it into shredded beets, sautéed zucchini or the chopped smoky flesh of an eggplant that has been grilled whole over charcoal (and why not sprinkle some toasted almond on top?). Alternatively, a dollop of yogurt can top fried eggplant or zucchini slices.

Bulgur also makes a fine meze, say as a salad tossed with chickpeas, tomatoes, parsley and mint and drizzled with pomegranate molasses and olive oil. The mandatory raki accompaniment of feta and honeydew melon becomes elegant when cut into cubes and threaded on long wooden skewers. Not to forget olives, pistachios, good, creamy feta and roasted chickpeas. And unless you have a bottle of raki that's been burning a hole in your liquor cabinet, try Greek ouzo, Pernod, a fruity, light red wine (slightly chilled) or a crisp, delicate white (no oaky Chardonnay, please).

The Lion, the Witch & the Turkish Delight

2005-12-05T10:20:00.000-08:00

The Lion, the Witch & the Turkish Delight

It was invented 300 years ago to soothe a sultan's troubled harem. Today, sales are soaring. The reason? Its key role in the forthcoming film of the CS Lewis novel
By Jonathan Brown

The Independant 05 December 2005

Abdul Hamid might not have been much of a military leader - his reluctant forays into battle with the Russians nearly cost the Ottomans their empire. But he did know a thing or two about women. If legend is to be believed, the 27th sultan's understanding of the needs of his closest female companions left the world an all-together more congenial legacy than his bellicose relatives; one that has seen his fame live way beyond imperial decline.

Faced with the sticky problem of how to keep happy the four wives and hundreds of mistresses maintained behind the elegant façade of the Topkapi Palace, Hamid hit on a sweet solution.
The Sultan summoned to his court the greatest confectioners in the empire and ordered them to find a dessert that would quell the rumblings of discontent within his harem. And so, it is claimed, the sweet we know today as Turkish delight was born.

Three centuries later, the confection that solved Abdul Hamid's domestic troubles, continues to tantalise the popular taste buds. Moreover, the starring role it plays in what promises to be the box office movie smash hit this Christmas has seen its popularity once again soar.

According to Britain's supermarkets, the appearance of Turkish delight in part one of Disney's adaptation of CS Lewis's The Chronicle's of Narnia: The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe has seen Fry's 21st century version of the historic sweet disappear like magic from the shelves.
Tesco has reported a 200 per cent increase in sales while Sainsbury's is also experiencing the "Narnia-effect".

In the film, Tilda Swinton, who plays the dreadlocked, albino Snow Queen, turns war-time evacuee Edmund Pevensie against his siblings and the honest folk of Narnia through the simple inducement of a plentiful supply of the sticky stuff.

CS Lewis observes in the novel that Edmund "thought only of trying to shovel down as much Turkish delight as he could, and the more he ate, the more he wanted."

Moving from fantasy back to legend, Ali Muhiddin Hadji Bekir, the confectioner who hit on the formula that got the women off Abdul Hamid's back, would no doubt have been delighted.

His recipe, barely related to Fry's chocolate smeared, chemical-pink confection of today, lives on. Hadji Bekir's genius it is said, was to produce a soft and chewy candy - in welcome contrast to the tooth-cracking hard offerings of the day. The confectioner is said to have perfected his creation by combining ingredients at his disposal at his home in the Anatolian mountain town of Kastamonu. These were water, sugar, cornflour, lemon cream of tartar and rosewater.

Hadji Bekir's recipe was simple. He heated the water, lemon and sugar, which he then added to a second pan containing flour, water and the tartar. Simmered for an hour, he sprinkled on the rosewater before allowing his mixture to cool. Dusted with powdered sugar and chopped into bite size chunks, the alchemy was complete. Of course - the legend continues - Hadji Bekir didn't call his creation Turkish delight - that came centuries later, the result of a piece of rather ingenious Victorian marketing.

Locally, this speciality became known as Rahat lokhoum - a corruption of the Arabic rahat ul hulkum, which translates as "soothing to the throat". In English the word was simplified to "lokum".
It became a daily staple at the sumptuous feasts held at the Ottoman court and Hadji Bekir's fortunes rose dramatically as a consequence.

He was granted the title of chief confectioner to the palace and established a small shop at Bahcekapi in 1777. It thrived under the management of his sons, being handed down generation to generation, and the family still maintains a small shop in Istanbul, close to the Yeni Cami (New Mosque). It remains a popular stop on gastronomic tours of the Turkish capital.

The recipe spread through the Near and Middle East, what is modern day Greece and the Balkans. In Constantinople, fashionable ladies swapped offerings of it in lace handkerchiefs. It became love tokens between courting couples and the accompaniment of choice to a cup of strong Turkish coffee.

But Tim Richardson, author of Sweets: A History of Candy, is sceptical about the veracity of the legend. His love affair with confection was prompted in part by his grandfather's frequent missions to the Middle East as a buyer of Turkish delight (it was a passion not extinguished by his dentist father.) Mr Richardson believes that Hadji Bekir's story lives on, fuelled partly because of its romantic appeal and partly due to the commercial interests that continue to promote it.
"I'm sure it is a much older sweet. There is evidence of gummy, syrupy sweets dating back to the 9th century," he says. The Persians developed a sweet, the "no rooz", meaning new year. It, too, was made from sugar and starch, and cut into chunks. It was displayed on necklaces and eaten during special celebrations. The recipe is repeated on manuscripts pre-dating Hadji Bekir by half-a-millennia.

The Turks' claim to have invented lokum is even less readily accepted by their neighbours, especially the Greeks. Cypriot grocers in London will sell it only as Greek delight. It is a similar story for other sweets of the region. The invention of baklava, a layered filo pastry confection stuffed with nuts or other flavourings, is contested between Greeks, Armenians and Turks. Halva, which began life in India, was adjusted to local tastes as it journeyed west towards Europe. Exactly who makes the original and the best version is a hotly contested matter to this day.

What is known is that sugar played a central part in the Arabic pharmacy - it is a legacy that lingers in European civilisation to this day. Lozenges are derived from the Arabic word for a diamond-shaped fondant, lollipops and chocolate are sold side-by-side in modern day chemists. The appropriate treatment for a sore throat is, of course, a cough sweet.

But society's relationship with sugar and spice and all things nice has become increasingly complex over the years. The powerful effect it exerts on the human psyche, particularly that of children, was not lost on CS Lewis and has been revisited throughout modern literature. "To adults, sweets are a symbol of a lost innocence," says Tim Richardson. "Lewis substitutes them for the apple in the Adam and Eve story when the Snow Queen uses Turkish delight to tempt Edmund. The innocence of childhood is being damaged here."

Other authors have employed similar devices. From the Brothers Grimm and their gingerbread houses, to Roald Dahl in Willy Wonka and Ian Fleming's Chitty Chitty Bang Bang in which the scary child-catcher uses sweets to ensnare unsuspecting minors. "They are children's weak spot. Much is still made of child molesters using sweets to tempt their prey," says Mr Richardson.

While modern-day adults and doctors might demonise sweets, children, he says, continue to love them. "They are an incredibly emotional thing for them. They are one of the few things you can buy on your own as a child and consume. They are the way we learn about money, sharing and unfortunately stealing. How many people can hand on heart say they have never stolen a sweet? Children lust after them."

While much recent debate has centred on the Narnia film's treatment of the deeply devout CS Lewis's Christian allegory for evangelical US cinema audiences, Mr Richardson believes there may be another hidden meaning behind the use of Turkish delight to trap Edmund. "It is just possible that Lewis looked on the sweet as something not very Christian. Did he choose it to represent something that harks back to the Crusades?"

The collision of cultures has proved an important marketing device for Fry's which first launched its Turkish bar in 1914 - nearly half a century after its chocolate cream. Under the slogan "full of Eastern Promise", Cadbury's describes the bar as a "mystical, exotic treat that lets you escape from the everyday". The company has deliberately exploited the sex appeal of the Orient - from the windswept desert tent to the galloping Arab stallion, in order to appeal to both men and women consumers. Such allure was even felt by that least sexual of writers Charles Dickens who used the sweet to introduce an air of saucy exoticism into The Mystery of Edwin Drood. In it, Rosa Bud performs an erotic glove striptease as she eats Turkish delight - then known simply as "lumps of delight" - coquettishly licking away the white powder from her outstretched finger.

Turkish delight first arrived in Europe half a century before Dickens was writing Edwin Drood - not in the travelling trunk of the intrepid explorer Sir Richard Burton as the modern British legend would have it - but in the sample case of an unknown commercial traveller. It became Napoleon's favourite sweet and was much admired by Sir Winston Churchill. Pablo Picasso used it as an aide to his concentration. Thanks to Disney, the Western love affair with the East's favourite sweet looks as promising as ever.

Topik (layered garbanzo bean pâté )

2005-12-01T07:53:00.000-08:00

Topik is an Armenian dish traditionally eaten during the seven weeks of Lent when meat and dairy are forbidden. Nowadays it is more widely known as many restaurants in Turkey serve it as a meze.
Mavi Boncuk

Topik (layered garbanzo bean pâté )

Total time: 1½ hours, plus chilling time
Servings: Makes 9 squares
2/3cups dried Zante currants
1/4cup mild olive oil
4 cups chopped white onions (medium dice)
1 teaspoon cinnamon, plus more for sprinkling the pâté
3/4 teaspoon ground allspice
1/2 cup toasted pine nuts
3 cups canned garbanzo beans, well drained, liquid reserved
3 tablespoons tahini paste, room temperature, well stirred
2 tablespoons fresh lemon juice
2 medium-sized yellow-fleshed potatoes, peeled and boiledSalt

1. Place the currants in a medium bowl, add boiling water to a level one-half inch above the currants and let them stand for 30 minutes. Drain and reserve the soaking liquid.

2. In a large skillet, heat the oil over medium-high heat. Add onions and cook, stirring, until they begin to soften, about 7 minutes. Reduce heat to medium-low and continue cooking, stirring occasionally, until onions are soft and very lightly browned, about 15 to 20 minutes, adding 2 to 3 tablespoons of the currant soaking liquid when onions begin to look dry.

3. Add the currants and another 2 to 3 tablespoons of their soaking liquid and cook for 5 more minutes, stirring. Stir in the cinnamon and allspice and cook for 2 more minutes. Remove from heat and let the mixture cool to room temperature. Stir in the pine nuts.

4. In a food processor, purée the garbanzo beans in 2 batches with the tahini, lemon juice and 4 to 5 tablespoons of the bean liquid until very smooth. Scrape the mixture into a large bowl.
5. Mash the potatoes until smooth with a potato masher or pass through a ricer. Stir the mashed potatoes into the puréed mixture and mix thoroughly. Season with salt.

6. Line an 8-inch square baking pan with plastic wrap, leaving 4 to 5 inches of overhang on all sides. Wet your hands with cold water and use them to spread half of the garbanzo mixture evenly on the bottom. Spread the onion mixture evenly on top; it will be a rather thick layer. With wet hands, spread the other half of the garbanzo mixture on top of that. Fold in the overhang to enclose the pâté. Weight the pâté with a small cast-iron skillet, a plate topped with two 16-ounce cans or something of similar weight, and refrigerate for 2 to 3 hours.

7. To serve, bring the pâté to room temperature, invert it onto a serving plate and remove the plastic wrap. Sprinkle the top lightly with cinnamon (you can do this decoratively through a doily). Cut into squares.

Each serving: 306 calories; 9 grams protein; 41 grams carbohydrates; 7 grams fiber; 14 grams fat; 2 grams saturated fat; 0 cholesterol; 246 mg. sodium.

SYRUPED QUINCE WITH CREAM

2005-11-29T14:46:00.000-08:00

The quince has a seductive history. Ancient Greek gourmets knew them as apples of Cydonia – after the superior variety they developed from Kydonia in Crete – witness the “golden apple” (almost certainly a quince) Paris presented to Aphrodite, the goddess of love, that led to the downfall of Troy.

SYRUPED QUINCE WITH CREAM (Kremalı Ayva Tatlısı)
Three quinces are cut into four pieces and each boiled in half a litre of boiling water and taken out with a strainer. Sufficient sugar is added to the same water and a little of a lemonis juice is squeezed into it. Quinces are thrown back into the water again together with their seeds packed into a small square of cheesecloth. When cooked to a reasonable softness, they are transferred into a service plate and cream is put into their seedbeds.

The Original Mediterranean Cuisine

2005-11-27T20:57:00.000-08:00

The Original Mediterranean Cuisine |Medieval recipes for today by Barbara Santich

$9.95 PB 240 PP 1862543313 Food and Wine APN 9781862543317 Wakefield Press

In Sicily you can eat a puree of broad beans which is essentially the same as would have been eaten centuries ago. In Barcelona you might sample a dish of fried fish in a vinegary sauce, which goes back to the time of Apicus and the Roman empire. This is the original Mediterranean cuisine. In this book culinary historian Barbara Santich describes how it evolved and offers a selection of recipes from medieval Italian and Catalan manuscripts.

The Origins and Antecedents of
Italian Renaissance Cuisine
by Minowara Kiritsubo
The trumpets sound, the guests take their places and the feast begins. As it is spring, the host has chosen an area of his house for the feast that opens onto his gardens, allowing the fragrance of the flowers to perfume the air. This is augmented by the fresh willow branches which have been strewn about on the floor. The diners are seated along a narrow trestle table which has been covered with a white cloth and a decorative center runner of a handsome brocaded fabric. As the host is quite wealthy, the diners are seated on chairs rather than the stools or benches found in most homes. Each has been provided with a napkin, although a supplementary tablecloth can also be used for wiping hands or mouths. Bread has been placed on the table, as have silver salt cellars so that the guests may season their food to their own individual tastes. They have also been provided with a dish of glazed majolica emblazoned with the host’s coat of arms. Wine will be served from earthenware pitchers, which keep the beverage cool, into glass goblets. Additionally the table setting would include knives and spoons. For this particular feast, the host has also provided that new invention, the fork, which he has recently acquired from a supplier in southern Italy.

The balance and content of dishes served in each course are different from those to which we have become accustomed and would reflect the wealth and position of the host. If this were a simple, everyday meal, it might consist of a one-pot dish of meat and vegetables and a roast. As this is a very special occasion, the menu is quite extravagant. One source, the Cuoco Napolitano, describes a feast consisting of 23 courses!1 The first courses consist of appetizers of various types, designed to whet the appetites of the diners for the courses to follow. Boiled meat courses precede roasted meats, smaller roasts preceding larger ones. In other words, the order in which the dishes are served follows a well-defined code, progressing to a high point of the fanciest and most impressive of the roasts, a whole roasted peacock, complete in its feathers, with various accompaniments. The end of the feast is heralded by the appearance of sweet dishes such as fruits cooked in honey and wine, preserves of various types and "tortes."2

The cuisine of Renaissance Italy developed over many centuries and drew upon many different influences. The first, and most obvious, of these was that of ancient Rome. Anyone who has investigated the history of food and its preparation, even in a cursory manner, has encountered the works of Marcus Gavius Apicius, a Roman who dabbled in cooking, specializing in the grandiose and unusual. He delighted in preparing elaborate feasts for his friends from the upper social echelons, and his exploits are generally legendary. It is said that he once bid an exorbitant sum for a giant mullet, but was outbid by another who was willing to pay 5000 sesterces for the fish, a sum unheard of at the time.3 His creations utilized ingredients that were both rare and costly, and very complex in nature, often featuring sauces that contained numerous herbs, spices and condiments such as wine and liquamen. He collected his recipes along with his favorites from his friends' kitchens into a work called De re Coquinaria, which gives us a really good idea of the cuisine of the upper classes. The following recipe for roast boar is an example (Apicius 333):

"Prepare a heated sauce for roasted boar thus: Pepper, fried cumin, celery seed, mint, thyme, savory, safflower, roasted pine nuts or roasted almonds, honey, wine, an acetabulum of garum, and a bit of oil."4
You will note that this recipe is only for the sauce and gives no instruction for actually preparing the roast. It was assumed that the cook using the recipe already knew how to do this. Other Roman writers also provided a glimpse of what their cuisine was like. References may be found in the work, Appendix Vergiliana, which contains a poem about a farmer, describing his diet.5 The foods mentioned here are peasant foods, and therefore much simpler than the extravagant feast dishes of Apicius. However, it is surprising that many of these dishes have survived all sorts of mayhem to be part of our modern cuisine. Consider the following description for a cheese spread (Appendix Vergiliana, Moretum):6

Four garlic cloves, celery, rue, coriander, salt grains, and cheese.
A delicious spread can be made by simply blending these ingredients, using ricotta cheese. For modern taste, I recommend cutting back on the amount of garlic as this tends to be VERY strong.

Another very well-known Roman, Cato the Censor, wrote a treatise, de Agricultura, which contained a number of classic dishes, again from the simpler peasant diet.7 Included in his work is a recipe for an early version of a cheese cake (Cato 84):

Make a savillum thus: Mix 1/2 libra of flour and 2 1/2 librae of cheese, as is done for libum. Add 1/4 libra of honey and 1 egg. Grease an earthenware bowl with oil. When you have mixed the ingredients well, pour into the bowl and cover the bowl with an earthenware testo. See that you cook it well in the middle where it is highest. When it is cooked, remove the bowl, spread with honey, sprinkle with poppy, put it back underneath the testo for a moment, and then remove. Serve it thus with a plate and spoon.8
After the fall of Rome, many of the manuscripts containing information about Roman cuisine were lost, as was the case with other writings as well, though much of the Graeco-Roman culture, including many recipes, continued to be used in Constantinople. People in western Europe at this time were more concerned with mere survival than elaborate ways to prepare their food. Some remnants of the Roman ways were preserved in southern France and Spain, as well as Italy, mainly because they shared not only a common climate and a common language base, Latin, but access to trade via the old Roman roads, as well as the sea lanes between major ports. This would serve as the foundation for the trade routes to the East.

Beginning in the 11th century, however, a new interest in cookery began to evolve, spawned by new ideas and products from the Middle East which were brought back by the Crusaders. As Italy was the path of choice for many returning from the Crusades, the first and strongest influences were felt there. During the 13th century, southern Europe developed a class system that was not based solely on the feudal system. Often merchants and professional people were as wealthy if not more so than the nobility. In some cases, a wealthy merchant might purchase lands and titles from an impoverished noble. Because wealth was not tied solely to the land, payment for services and goods was made in money rather than by barter. All of this led to a greater variety of choices available. The wealthy individual could show off his often newly-acquired wealth through his home, furnishings, clothing and cuisine. This was true not only of the newly rich, but of hereditary Great Lords as well. Scully, in his The Art of Cookery in the Middle Ages, points out that a substantial portion of the financial resources of great households was invested in culinary endeavors.9

The quality and quantity of foods which the individual served to guests demonstrated the wealth and status of the host. This would include not only the kinds of meats and other foods served, but how they were seasoned, presented and what condiments and sauces were served with them. The upper echelons of society dined on capon, pheasant, kid and lamb, whereas the lower classes had to make do with salt pork and beef. Generally, most of the records from this time are of the extravagant feasts served by the wealthy. We do not have much to base our knowledge of the food consumed by the lower classes.

One influence on the revival of interest in cookery came from the Arab cultures which somewhat surrounded southern Europe, from Tyre and Alexandria in the east to Cordoba in the west. There were a number of Arabic tracts on cooking, the most familiar of which is the translation we call The Baghdad Cookery Book. These books were written by people from all facets of society, including poets, scholars and court officials. Scholars in Europe began to recognize the importance of Arabic writings, but concentrated mainly on those related to medicine and health. Even these books contained references to foods, including which ones were appropriate to certain climates, etc. Often these references would give rise to an interpretation as a recipe. So, while there were few actual Arabic recipes that found their way into the kitchens of Western Europe, adaptations of some references in other treatises inspired the creation of new dishes.

One possible reason for this interest in the medical tracts of Arabic scholars was a concern with eating foods which would engender good health. There had been, from the time of the Greeks, a concept that all things were made up of a combination of two pairs of elements: warm and cold, wet and dry. These were present in humans as blood, choler, phlegm and melancholy. In a healthy individual, these elements should be balanced. It was believed that a food possessing a unbalanced amount of one of these elements could be made more efficacious by preparing it in a manner designed to restore the balance. For example, a lamprey was considered to be cold and wet, in an extreme degree. Therefore, the recommended manner of preparation began with the way in which the lamprey was killed. It was a long-established practice to drown the lamprey in wine (thought to be warm and dry) so that the fluid would impregnate all of the lamprey’s flesh and therefore render it healthful.10

Frequently, physicians would, in their medical treatises, include instructions for the preparation of food, as they considered that it had a great influence on the overall health of the individual. An example of this would be the Regimen sanitatis of Maino de’ Maineri, a health handbook composed for his patron, the Bishop of Arras, in the 1330’s. So much of the book was dedicated to the analysis of foodstuffs that a part of the book has since been published as A Medieval Sauce Book!11 One has only to read the recipes contained in De honesta voluptate by Platina (Bartolomeo Sacchi di Cremona) to see how important the properties of foods and their influence on health was to both those who prepared and those who consumed the cuisine of the period. An example of this is from the very familiar recipe for “Armored Turnips” (Rapum Armatum).

Those who have a fortified gullet are pleased to call turnips armored when they have rolled in cheese, covered, as it were, with breastplate and cuirass, as if their descent into the lower regions would not seem safe without arms. But what good does this protection do the turnips, since it turns against them to their total ruin, since the very strong gluttons in the cookshops of athletes prefer their enemy armored and eat them, defenseless as they are ... This dish is quickly cooked and should be eaten quickly, too. But since it is ruinous, it should be served to Domitianus, who is very greedy.12
Merchants returning from the spice markets had tried Arabic dishes and sought to recreate them when they returned home. Some of the new ideas that found their way into European cooking included the use of nuts to thicken sauces, the use of sugar and citrus fruits to enhance the Graeco-Roman idea of sweet-sour dishes, and sugar as an ingredient for desserts, including marzipan. An example would be the little Sugar Pies from Mestre Roberto, in his Libre del Coch:

Take a pound of almonds and blanch them. And grind them without adding either water or stock, so that they become very oily, and the oilier they are, the better. And take one and a half pounds of white sugar, well pounded, and mix it with the almonds. And when these are mixed, if it is a bit stiff, add a little rosewater. And season it with a little ginger to your taste. Then take pastry made with flour and eggs and sweet oil and fill the pastry with the sugar and the almonds. Then take oil and put it on the fire in a frying pan. And when it boils, put in the little pies and cook them until they take on the color of gold. And when you take them from the fire, pour over melted honey. And then sprinkle them with sugar and powdered cinnamon.13
During the later Middle Ages, there were a number of collections of recipes written. These have survived over time mainly because they were kept in the libraries of the well-to-do. In fact, there is an on-going dispute over whether cooks actually used these recipes or whether they were kept so that meals could be planned and supplies ordered. The main argument against this is that the author often addressed remarks directly to the cook: "If you want to make ... ", "Make sure that ... ", and the ever-present, "... and serve it forth." In fact, the word "recipe" itself comes from the beginning of many Latin recipes, and means "take."

There seem to be four collections from the Mediterranean area which have survived to the present, along with various smaller collections which are in libraries and have yet to be translated/published. The earliest of these is a Catalan collection called Libre del Sent Sovi, the earliest extant manuscript of which dates to 1324, though it is unlikely that this is the first edition. These recipes had a great influence on Mediterranean cooking in general, the most direct of which being on the great cook, Mestre Robert, who wrote the Libre del Coch, the first published version of which appeared in 1520, though it is certain that they were compiled at an earlier date. Mestre Robert was cook to Fernando, King of Naples. As Naples was under Catalan control in the latter part of the fifteenth century, most of these recipes are Catalan in origin. However, many of his recipes do have Italian antecedents.14

Another great cook, Maestro Martino, compiled another cookbook, Libro de Arte Coquinaria, in the mid fifteenth century. Maestro Martino described himself as cook to "Reverendissimo Monsignor Camorlengo." This, according to most authorities, is the most complete of the medieval manuscripts, especially among those from Italy. This work has yet to be translated into English. However, one Bartolomeo Sacchi di Cremona, also known as Platina, produced a cookery book, De honesta voluptate (Of Honest Indulgence), which became the first widely published collection. Platina did not just publish recipes, as noted earlier, but tried to make his book a design for living. Most of his recipes (240 of 250) were directly adapted from Maestro Martino, the remainder having come from Apicius (see above). This is entirely plausible as there were copies of Apician manuscripts in existence at the time. Platina’s book was published in Italy possibly as early as 1472 (one citation shows a version printed in Rome at that time). The manuscript itself, according to Santich, is dated 1468. This was, in all likelihood, the first of the internationally published cookbooks.15 In Savoring the Past, we are told that it was translated into French as Platine en francoys by Desdier Christol, prior of St. Maurice, the site of France’s most important medical school. It was printed in Lyons in 1505.16 There are also translations in German and in English. One book, Epulario, or The Italian Feast, contains recipes which are so similar to those in De honesta voluptate that, at the very least, they had a common source. Compare the following:

Stuffed Eggs
(Platina)
Cook fresh eggs for a long time so that they are hard. Then take the egg from the shell and split it through the middle, so as not to lose any of the white. After you have taken out the yolk, grind up part of it with good cheese, aged as well as fresh, and raisins; save the other part to color the dish. Likewise add a little finely chopped parsley, marjoram and mint. There are those who put in two or more egg whites, along with some spices. With this mixture, fill the whites of the eggs, and when they are stuffed, fry them over a gentle flame, in oil. When they are fried, make a sauce from the rest of the yolks and raisins ground together, and when you have moistened them in verjuice and must, add ginger, clove, and cinnamon and pour over the eggs and let them boil a little together.17

To dresse and fill Egges
(Epulario or, The Italian Feast)
Seeth new Egs in water untill they be hard, then peele them and cut them in the middle, and take out the yolks, and doe not break the white, and stampe some part of those yolks with a few currans, Parsley, Margerum and Mint, chopped very small, with two or three whites of Egs, with what spice you thinke good. And when they are mixed together colour it with Saffron, and fill the Egges therewith, and frie them in oyle; and with a few of those yolkes which remain unstamped with a few Currans, and stampe them well together, and thereto Sugar, Cloues, and good store of Sinamon, let this sauce boyle a little, and when you will send the Egges to the Table, put this sauce upon them.18
The publisher of Epulario has not provided any information about the origin of the manuscript. The only documentation is provided on the title page, where it states that it was translated out of the Italian into English and printed in London in 1598. Santich does not mention an English translation, but if it was translated into both French and German, it seems logical that there would have been and English translation as well. If you compare the two recipes above, the first from Platina and the second from Epulario, allowing for differences in expression, they are almost identical. Epulario does not contain all of the recipes from Platina’s collection, but rather a subset of them, many of which have been adapted and/or rephrased for the English audience. This author does not have any proof or documentation to prove that Epulario is a translation of Platina, but ample evidence exists to indicate that, at the very least, they share a common antecedent.

In this study we have traced the development of Italian Renaissance cuisine from its various sources, including recipes from Imperial Rome, from both the upper class and the peasantry, to the various collections of recipes that give a glimpse into the cuisine of southern Europe. Many of these writings contain not only recipes but information about the environment in which the food was cooked and served and the effect that particular dishes would have on the health and well-being of the diner. This concern, along with the strictures of the Church regarding feast and lean days were the main forces governing the diet of the latter Middle Ages.

Note from author, June, 2000: Further discussions with other cooks, etc., have led me to believe that Epulario, rather than being a translation of parts of Platina, is probably rather a translation of some of Maestro Martino’s recipes instead.

Bibliography
Epulario, or The Italian Feast, London: "Printed by A.I. for William Barley, and are to bee sold at his shop in Gratio Street neere Ieaderi-hall." 1598. Reprinted by Falconwood Press, New York: 1990.

Giacosa, Ilaria Gozzini, A Taste of Ancient Rome. Translated by Anna Herklotz. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1992.

Platina: Bartolomeo Sacci di Cremona, known as Platina. On Honest Indulgence. "Printed in Venice with the Work and Care of Father Laurentius of Aquila and Also Sibyllius Umber for the Distinguished Duke Peter Mocenicus. On the Ides of June, 1475." Reprinted by Falconwood Press, New York: 1989. (There is no information as to who did the translation, as the original manuscript was in classical Latin).

Santich, Barbara. The Original Mediterranean Cuisine. Totnes, Devon, England: Prospect Books, 1995.

Scully, Terrence. The Art of Cookery in the Middle Ages. Woodbridge, Suffolk, England: The Boydell Press, 1995.

Wheaton, Barbara Ketcham. Savoring the Past. Pennsylvania: The University of Pennsylvania Press, 1983.

Footnotes:
Barbara Santich, The Original Mediterranean Cuisine. Totnes, Devon, England: Prospect Books, 1995, p. 37.

Ibid.

Ilaria Gozzini Giacosa, A Taste of Ancient Rome. Translated by Anna Herklotz. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1992, p. 7.

Ibid., p. 110.

Ibid., p. 54.

Ibid.

Ibid., p. 6.

Ibid., p. 163.

Terrence Scully, The Art of Cookery in the Middle Ages. Woodbridge, Suffolk, England: The Boydell Press, 1995, p. 245.

Ibid., p. 44.

Ibid., p. 43.

Platina: Bartolomeo Sacci di Cremona, known as Platina. On Honest Indulgence. New York: Falconwood Press, New York: 1989. (There is no information as to who did the translation, as the original manuscript was in classical Latin), p. 72.

Santich, p. 157.

Ibid., pp. 41-42.

Ibid., p. 43.

Wheaton, Barbara Ketcham. Savoring the Past. Pennsylvania: The University of Pennsylvania Press, 1983, p. 34.

Platina, p. ?? (nb: I no longer have the version of Platina that I used for this article. However, in the Milham translation, the recipe can be found on page 405. It’s from Book IX, #28.)

Epulario, or The Italian Feast, New York: Falconwood Press, 1990, p. 65.

TURKISH CHEESE

2005-11-27T00:18:00.000-08:00

THE INDISPENSABLE INGREDIENT OF TURKISH TABLES: CHEESE

The history of cheese probably goes as far back as that of milk. Cheese holds a special place not only in Turkish cuisines, but also in the cuisines of the world. According to many views, cheese originated in Mesopotamia, in other words in some parts of Anatolia. The type of cheese is determined by the production stage. Factors such as the quality of the milk used, the protein and fat content, the amount of bacteria that it contains, the conditions of the factory, temperature and humidity levels, the quality and the production techniques used for the additives influence the variety and the taste of cheese.

According to the Turkish Food Regulation, cheese is “a dairy product with particular taste, aroma and consistency, produced by coagulating raw milk, UHT milk or milk cooked at 72 degrees for two minutes with cheese yeast or a harmless acid, and leaving to maturation for a particular period.” In order for milk to turn into cheese, first it needs to coagulate and there are mainly two methods used to achieve this. The first involves leaving milk as it is; in which case it will go sour and coagulate. The second method involves adding yeast to milk, and leaving it to coagulate. As a result of this coagulation, the liquid called “whey” is released. The fresh cheese produced through this process is called “teleme.” The Teleme is left to maturate for particular durations, and through various methods it then becomes ready to be consumed as cheese. Turkish culinary culture features about 20 cheese varieties in about five groups; kasar, tulum, mihaliç, lor, and the white cheese group which is the most important.

White cheese, commonly known as Feta cheese in the West, is mainly produced in the Marmara Region, is consumed in abundance. It can be produced out of sheep or cow milk, but the production techniques may change according to region. White cheese needs 90 days to mature in salt water. High fat content white cheese is soft and smooth whereas low fat versions are harder. It is an essential part of Turkish breakfast and used in börek.

The Tulum variety of cheese is produced by breaking up the teleme, salting it and letting it sit in special bags. Lamb’s milk and a certain ratio of goat milk is used for producing the tulum cheese, does not contain any air pockets, and is left for maturation for at least three months. This yellowish cheese, which is produced especially in the northeastern Anatolian and Aegean regions, tends to be more expensive than other varieties of cheese. However the tulum cheese of the Aegean Region is kept is salty water, which accounts for its different taste.

Kasar cheese is prepared in cylindrical molds and it is dark yellow in color. Generally it is produced with lamb’s milk. In Turkey, kasar is generally produced Middle Anatolian and Thrace regions. To produce one kilogram of good quality kasar cheese, at least ten kilograms of milk are required. After the teleme is put in perforated buckets, it is immersed in hot water at 73 to 75 degrees, and then it is knead and cooked. It needs to sit in round shaped containers for at least a month. The wonderful kasar cheese is consumed by itself or added to dishes.

Mihaliç cheese is mostly produced around Bursa and Balikesir and it involves letting the teleme sit in salted water. The only feature that distinguishes it from kasar is that it is prepared through immersion in hot water at 40 to 45 degrees. Because of this, it is harder than kasar, white in color, and contains little holes. It can be consumed with foods that require melted cheese or eaten by itself.

Lor cheese is created with the whey released during the production of kasar and mihaliç. The extra whey is boiled, and the resulting coagulated matter is broken up into tiny pieces. Lor is an unsalted and inexpensive type of cheese generally consumed as bread spread with the addition of walnuts, tomato paste and various condiments. Alternatively, it is used as börek filling.

Other than these major varieties, there are many other types of Turkish cheese; the Otlu cheeses (Eastern Anatolia) are produced by adding cumin, mint, bay leaves, dill, oregano, saffron, fennel or lavender to the white cheese and burying it underground for at least two months. Örgü cheese (Southeastern Anatolia) gets its name because it is prepared in braided hair form, and it is suitable for frying. In addition to Dil (Marmara Region), Civil (Eastern Anatolia), Çamur (vicinity of Izmir), Çerkes (Black Sea Region), Golot (Eastern Black Sea Region), Sikma (Southeastern Anatolia Region), Carra (vicinity of Hatay), Abaza (Middle Anatolia Region), Yörük (vicinity of Denizli), there are many other types of cheese which get their names from the containers used for maturation; çömlek, küp, çanak, and testi, etc.

Kirli Hanim produced around Ayvalik features white cheese filtered in reed baskets, salted and left to mature in a cool place, and it appeals to gourmet taste. Künefe Cheese is produced in the vicinity of Hatay, singularly for use with the dessert dish Künefe and semolina sweets. One of the most special varieties of cheese produced in Turkey is Kars Gravyeri, which has holes and needs to be left for maturation for at least ten months before it can be ready for consumption.

The cheeses which peynirl outside of the main varieties get their particular characteristics from the geographical conditions of the region. In inland regions, where difficult winter conditions prevail, cheese are tend to be saltier and harder. On the other hand, in coastal regions, lighter varieties of cheese are preferred.

Reference: Yesim Gokce (Bilkent University)/Turkish Cultural Foundation

Teleme

2005-11-27T00:11:00.000-08:00

Always known as Teleme in Turkey
Mavi Boncuk |
A Western classic and a California exclusive, teleme is a creamy white cheese made from whole milk. Once ranked as the best-sell ing specialty cheese in California, it slipped from attention in the late '60s, when some early producers stopped making it.

The invention of teleme is credited to a Greek cheese maker in Pleasanton, California. Shortly thereafter, production was begun by others, including one California family of Italian heritage, the Pelusos. First made in San Francisco's North Beach district in the 1920's, teleme is a close cousin of Taleggio, a whole milk cheese traditionally from the Taleggio Valley in Lombardo, Italy. Some describe it as a creamy Monterey Jack. The Pelusos began commercial distribution in 1925 and, three generations later, still supply Westerners with this distinctive cheese. Authoritative classifications group teleme with feta. But it's much more like Italy's stracchino in taste and texture. Both cheeses have a mild but refreshingly smooth-tart flavor (without feta's saltiness). Teleme, however, is smoother and creamier throughout; when beated, it melts into a delicate sauce a property of which these recipes take advantage. The process of making teleme and feta starts the same way, but feta turns out firm and crumbly; teleme goes the opposite direction, in an operation that's more difficult to control. Not surprisingly, it was an unexpected development in a batch of feta that created teleme.

Teleme is made in 10- to 12-pound blocks. The cheese is ready to eat in about 10 days but can age up to two months. As it ages, it develops more complex flavor and creamier texture.

Beyaz Peynir

2005-11-26T23:54:00.000-08:00

Traditional, unpasteurized, vegetarian, fresh cheese made from sheep's milk. Pure white and rindless, the cheese has a grainy appearance. It is usually sold in blocks or slices. It is used in salads, pastries and many local dishes. Beyaz Peynir is the most popular Turkish cheese. Vegetable rennet is used to clot the milk. The curds are pressed for a few hours, then roughly chopped and strained, sometimes in attractive wooden or woven moulds. After draining, the cheese is cut into slices before being salted and covered with brine. It is usually stored in brine for more than six months. This cheese resembles feta. It is soaked in cold water or milk before use, to remove the excess salt.

Country:Turkey
Milk:ewe milk
Texture:semi-soft
Fat content:45 %

Wait until you try Turkey's luscious haydari dip. It blends homemade yogurt (labneh) or Beyaz peynir with dill and garlic, to which you can add walnuts, the health food of the moment and a part of the Caucasus longevity diet.

Piyaz | Haricot Bean Salad

2005-11-07T14:47:00.000-08:00

Piyaz (haricot bean salad) by Zeyda Üstün

Soak 250 gr kuru fasulye (white beans-haricot beans-navy beans) overnight. The next morning drain off the water and put the beans in a pan of boiling water, at which 2 dessertspoonful of sodium bicarbonate was added, and let boil for 4-5 minutes and drain again.

Put the beans in a pan and cover over the top with fresh water and cook. When done, spare ½ glass of the water and drain the remaining water. Add salt, some lemon juice, and vinegar to ½ glass of water and pour it over the beans and stir. Cover the pan and cool. Add olive oil after an hour.

Dress with green onions (or dry onions), chopped parsley, olive, and tomatoes and especially with boiled eggs. Serve cool.

Un Helvası | Flour Helva

2005-11-06T16:34:00.000-08:00

Un Helvası (Flour Helva)

2 glasses flour
3 glasses water
2.5 glasses of sugar
1 T. spoon pine nuts
125 gr. Margarine un

Stir the flour and the pine nuts with a wooden spoon until the color of the nuts turns into a light brown at a very low heat.. Slowly pour the water, sugar and melted margarine mixture 25-35 minutes later. Stir this heavy mixture 5-10 more minutes and then turn off the stove. When warm take portions with a table spoon which you dip into water from time to time to avoid sticking and lay them to a dish after giving shape. The characteristic of Un helvasi is its spoon like shape.

Irmik Helvasi |SEMOLINA SAFFRON AND PISTACHIO HELVA

2005-11-06T16:29:00.000-08:00

SEMOLINA SAFFRON AND PISTACHIO HELVA (IRMIK HELVASI)

Serving Size : 6 Preparation Time :0:00
Amount Measure Ingredient -- Preparation Method
-------- ------------ --------------------------------
1/2 ts Saffron threads
2 tb Hot milk
1/3 c Shelled unsalted pistachios
9 tb Unsalted butter
1 c + 2 to 4 tb sugar
2 c Milk
1 c Semolina

Soak the saffron in the hot milk for at least 30 minutes. Heat a heavy
frying pan and toast the pistachios with 1 tablespoon of the butter for 2
minutes, until they are lightly toasted but still green. Remove as much
skin as you can from them and set aside.

Dissolve the sugar in the milk over low heat and keep the mixture hot. Melt
the remaining butter in a heavy saucepan, add the semolina, and cook,
stirring, over low heat for about 8 to 10 minutes.

Stir the saffron milk into the hot sugared milk and add to the semolina,
and cook, stirring vigorously. Remove the helva from the fire, cover, and
allow to stand in a warm spot for 15 minutes. Fold in the pistachios and
serve warm or at room temperature in bowls.

From: CLASSICAL TURKISH COOKING - Traditional Turkish Food for the
American Kitchen by Ayla Algar, Harper Collins Publ., New York. 1991. ISBN
0-06-016317-8 Shared by: Karin Brewer, Cooking Echo, 4/93

Pide | Turkish Bayram Bread

2005-10-22T06:51:00.000-07:00

When Hasan al-Basri was asked whether sadaqa was better than recitation of the Qur'an, he related the tradition: "A piece of bread and a handful of dates given in alms is more beneficial than reciting the Qur'an a thousand times."
Rumi
Pide Turkish Bayram Bread
Not to be confused with the pocket bread, pide is a sweet round loaf fragrant with sesame and fennel.

Total time 5 hours
Dough preparation 1/2 hour
Rising 2-1/2 hours
Baking 1 hour
Cooling 1+ hours

1 cup warm water, at skin temperature
2 tsp. yeast
3 tbsp. sugar
4 tbsp. butter
3/4 cup milk
4-3/4 cups all purpose flour
1 tbsp. salt Topping:
1 egg
1 tbsp. milk
3 tbsp. sesame seeds
1-1/2 tsp. fennel seeds

Sprinkle the yeast over the warm water in a small bowl. Melt the butter in a small saucepan over low heat, then stir in the milk and sugar and warm to skin temperature.

Combine the flour and salt in a large mixing bowl. Make a well in the center, then pour in all of the liquid ingredients. Stir until the mixture forms a dough that pulls away from the sides of the bowl. Turn out the dough onto a lightly floured surface and knead for 10 minutes or more, until the dough is smooth and resilient. Clean out the mixing bowl, butter it lightly, and return the dough to the bowl. Cover and let rise for 1-1/2 hours.

Punch down the dough, knead it briefly, then form it into a tight ball. Place the ball in the center of a lightly buttered 12" round baking dish, then flatten the dough until it covers all but 1" around the edge of the dish. Cover with a clean damp towel and let rise again for another hour.

Preheat the oven to 375?F.

Beat together the egg and milk, then gently brush it over the surface of the dough, the sides as well as the top. (Save any excess egg wash for another project.) Evenly sprinkle the sesame and fennel seeds over the dough, and pat them down gently with dry hands so that they will adhere to the egg wash. (Be careful not to deflate the dough. Using a sharp knife or razor blade, make several shallow cuts in a pleasing pattern over the surface of the bread.

Bake the loaf for 40 minutes, or until it turns a golden brown. Transfer to a wire rack to cool completely before serving.

from Serving the Guest: A Sufi Cookbook
Copyright © 1999, 2000 Kathleen Seidel

Three Kunefe Versions

2005-10-17T14:54:00.000-07:00

BURMA KÜNEFE 1 kg künefe 500 gr tuzsuz peynir 300 gr tereyağı 3 yumurta 1 avuç un Şurubu: 1 kg şeker üstünü örtecek kadar su Bir tepside künefe yağla karıştırılır. Altı eşit parçaya ayrılır. Küçük parmak kalınlığında açılır. İçine peynir konup poğaça gibi kapatılır. Diğer tarafta unla yumurtalar çırpılır, hazırlanmış peynirli künefeler bu bulamaca batırılarak yağda kızartılıp ılık şuruba atılır.

KAYMAKLI KÜNEFE 1 kg künefe 800 gr kaymak 300 gr tereyağı Şurubu: 1 kg toz şeker 1 kaşık limon suyu 3 bardak su 50 cm. çapında ince kenarlı bir tepside ortası açılıp tereyağı konulur. Hafif ateşte, yağ künefeye yedirilerek elle iyice kırılır. Ateşten indirilen künefe ikiye ayrılır. Yağlanmış tepsiye, künefenin yarısı, yarım cm kalınlığında sıkıca bastırılarak yerleştirilir. İnce ateşte çevire çevire altı pembeleşinceye kadar kızartılır. Üstüne kaymak döşenerek (kenarlara taşmamalı) bir tarafa bırakılır. Diğer yarı; başka bir tepsiye basılarak altı kızartılır ve üçüncü bir tepsiye çevrilerek, pişmemiş tarafı kaymağın yüzüne kızarmış tarafı da en üste gelecek şekilde kaymaklı tepsinin üstüne aktarılır. Hazırlanan şurup ılıtılarak sıcak künefenin üstüne dökülür. 8 cm’lik kareler şeklinde kesilerek ılık servis yapılır.

PEYNiRLi KÜNEFE 1 kg künefe 800 gr tuzsuz beyaz peynir 300 gr tereyağı Şurubu: 1 kg şeker Şeker üstünü kapatacak miktarda suyla kaynatılarak ağdalı bir şurup elde edilir. Ateşten indirmeden önce biraz limon suyu damlatılır. İnce kenarlı 60 cm çapında bir tepside künefenin ortası açılıp tereyağı konulur. Hafif ateşte yağ künefeye yedirilip elle iyice tiftiklenir. Ateşten indirilen künefe ikiye ayrılır. Aynı tepsiye biraz tereyağı sürülüp ayrılan künefenin yarısı yarım cm. incelikte yayılıp sıkıca bastırılır. Üstüne ufalanmış tuzsuz taze peynir kenarlara taşmayacak biçimde yerleştirilir. Künefenin diğer yarısı peynirin üstünü kapatacak şekilde yarım cm incelikte, düzgün bir biçimde yayılıp, sıkıştırılarak kuvvetli ateşin üstünde hafif hafif döndürülerek altı pembeleşinceye kadar kızartılır. Ayrı yağlanmış bir tepsiye alt üst edilir. Diğer tarafı da kızartılıp pembeleştikten sonra bir tarafa alınır. Üzerine hazırlanan sıcak şurup dökülür. Sıcak servis yapılır.

PEYNIRLI KUNEFE

2005-10-17T14:30:00.000-07:00

PEYNIRLI KUNEFE
(SWEET SHREDDED PASTRY WITH CHEESE)

Sugar 2 1/4 cups 450 g
Water 1 1/2 cups 350 g
Lemon 2 teaspoons 10 g
Kadayif (shredded pastry) 500 g
Butter or margarine 1 cup 200 g
White cheese (un-salted) 1 2/3 cups 375 g

Combine sugar and water in a saucepan. Stir over low heat until sugar is dissolved. Boil gently for 5 minutes. Add lemon juice; stir. Boil for 1 minute. Set aside. Combine kadaylf shreds and melted butter in a pan. Break kadaylf shreds in butter blending well with tips of fingers. Divide into half. Spread one half in a slightly greased baking pan 25x25 cm (9x9 inch). Press with fingers slightly. Spread cheese over kadaylf shreds. Repeat the same with the remaining half, pressing firmly this time. Bake in a moderate oven for 30 minutes or until golden brown. Remove from oven. Let stand for 2 minutes. Pour warm syrup over. Cover and let stand until syrup is absorbed. Cut into 5-6 cm (2-2 1/2 inch) pieces. Arrange on a serving plate. Serve warm.
12 servings

Nutrition Value (Approx. per serving):
Energy ........: 516 cal Sodium ..........: 72 mg
Protein .......: 10.0 g Vitamin A .......: 334 iu
Fat ...........: 22.4 g Thiamin (Bl) ....: 0.04 mg
Carbohydrate ..: 68.8 g Riboflavin (B2)..: 0.03 mg
Calcium .......: 117 mg Niacin ..........: 0.71 mg
Iron ..........: 0.58 mg Vitamin C .......: - mg
Phosphorus ....: 158 mg
Zinc ..........: 1 mg Cholesterol .....: 7 mg

Regional characteristics:
This form of kadayif is usually served warm following a full meal. Cottage, Ricotta or cream cheese can be substituted for cheese.

Regional Cooking (Hatay)

2005-10-17T14:27:00.000-07:00

Kunefe

Hataylılar, kendilerine özgü yemeklerin üzerinde Antep ve Adana etiketi görmekten şikayetçi. Sac oruğu, firikli aş ya da turplu taratoru tanıtmak için adım atmış değiller; ama herkesi o çok meşhur künefenin izini sürmeye çağırıyorlar.

Hatay’da biber mevsimi gelip geçti. Çok değil, bir ay önce balkonların ahşap parmaklıkları kırmızı gerdanlıklarla süslüydü. Kadınlar, avlularda imece usulüyle ipe geçirdikleri biberlerin kışın ne güzel dolma olacağını konuşuyordu. Biberlerin bir kısmı İstanbul’daki akrabalara yollanmış olmalı, bir kısmı da Uzun Çarşı’da biber sıcaklarını kaçıran tedbirsiz kadınları bekliyor. Dolmadan başka közlemesi ve turşusu da yapılan kırmızı biber Hatay mutfağının vazgeçilmezlerinden. Ancak güneyin bu zengin mutfağını, Anadolu’nun diğer illerinden ayıran adı ve tadı farklı öyle lezzetler var ki, kırmızı biber küçük bir renkten ibaret kalır.

Sofra adabına uygun davranıp yemek öncesi getirilen; ama doyuruculuğuyla çoğu zaman sıcak yemeğe ihtiyaç hissettirmeyen salatalarla girelim söze; taze nane dalları, tereyağlı ve fıstıklı humus, dövülmüş kekikten oluşan zahter, cevizli biber, turplu tarator, küflü çökelek, patlıcanlı yoğurtlama, sarmaiçi... Küflü çökelek çok tüketilen; ama zor yapılan bir katık. Tarçın, yeni bahar, kimyon, sarımsak, zahter, toz biber, tuz ve zeytinyağı ilâvesiyle yoğrulan çökelek, topaklar halinde küflenmeye bırakılıyor.

Hatay mutfağının meşhurlarından biri de 300 yıldan beri keçi sütüyle yapılan tuzlu yoğurt. Haziran ayından sonra göçerlerin gelmesi ile geniş kazanlarda tuzla pişirilen yoğurtlar gece soğutulduktan sonra kavanozlara basılıp ağzı önce asma yaprağı sonra iç yağıyla korumaya alınıyor ve kilere kaldırılıyor. Kavanoz açıldığında ağzında kuruyan iç yağı atılıyor ve ilk yoğurtla katıklı ekmek yapılıyor. Sonrasında ise, kırmızı biber, nane ve zeytinyağı ilavesiyle kahvaltıda tüketildiği gibi, kumbursiye, yoğurt aşı gibi çorbaların yapımında, kabak, ıspanak, bakla gibi sebze yemeklerinde kullanılıyor.

Dörtyüze yakın yemek çeşidi barındıran Hatay mutfağında başrol oyuncusu her zaman tahin; ama pilav ve dolma çeşitleri özellikle de içli köfte yabana atılacak gibi değil. Biberli kimyonlu bulgur pilavı, baklalı bulgur pilavı, mercimekli bulgur pilavı, pirzolalı yaprak sarma, firikli aş, kuru dolma, analı kızlı, biberli ekmek, sac oruğu, Arap kebabı ve çiğ köftenin sofraya sultanlar gibi kurulduğu Hatay mutfağı ‘ağır’ ama besin değeri yüksek yemeklerden oluşuyor. Bol çeşit, damak zevki, besleyicilik ve lezzet esası üzerine kurulan bu kendine özgü mutfakta tasarruftan da ödün verilmediğini söylemek gerek.

Künefe akşam serinliğinde yenir

Peynir günü peynirli ekmek, tuzlu yoğurt günü kaymaklı künefe pişen evlerde, tuzlu yoğurt bulaşığı kapların çalkalanmasından elde edilen suyla tarhana aşı, sünük peynirden arta kalan peynirli suyla kâke yapılır ve yağ bulaşığı kaplarda bulgur aşı pişirilir. Hatay mutfağını yaşatan kadınların maharetinden söz etmeye gerek yok; ancak kasapları ve fırıncıları unutmak ayıp olur. Evde, ıspanak, tuzlu yoğurt, kıyılmış soğan, çökelek, toz biber ve zeytinyağından hazırlanan ‘iç’ten katıklı ekmek yapmak ancak mahir fırıncıların harcıdır. Antakya kasapları ise, etin satın alındığı, pişirildiği ve hemen oracıkta kebap olarak tüketildiği enteresan mekânlardan...

Tatlılar bahsini reçellerle açıp ardından künefeye geçmeli. Antakya’da sadece meyvelerin değil sebzelerin de reçeli yapılıyor. Hemen her yörede bilinen çilek, kayısı, vişne, erik ve incir reçellerinden başka ceviz, kabak, patlıcan ve turunç da hem tatlı hem de reçel olarak kahvaltıları zenginleştiriyor. Ev reçelinden para kazanmak henüz o kadar yaygın değil; ama eski Antakya evlerinden birinde reçel kaynatan Maria Saati’nin ünü bu hızla yayılmaya devam ederse o büyük tencereler her evde kaynamaya başlayacak. Mahallenin çocukları, avluda reçel kavanozlarıyla objektife gülümseyen Maria’ya sesleniyor: “Maria Tezye, yine çekim mi var?”

İstanbul, Ankara ve İzmir’den gelen turist grupları beraberlerinde sadece reçel değil, nar ekşisi, dut şurubu, yaprak sarması ve içli köfte de götürüyor. Antakya’nın en özgün tatlılarından künefe ise Köprübaşı’nda yeniyor. Öğlen sıcağında kimsecikler ortada görünmüyor; ama akşam serinliğinde, yemeği yiyen aileler dışarıdaki masalarda yerlerini alıyor. Künefe hareketliliği gece yarısına kadar devam ediyor. Ferah Künefe’nin hem sahibi hem de ustası Zeki Cüzdan, babasından aldığı mesleği, dükkânda arı gibi çalışan oğluna devretmeyi planlıyor. Ona göre bu işin sırrı, halis niyet ve müşteriye hizmette. Zeki Usta her işte olduğu gibi künefede de sahtekârlık yapıldığını söylüyor. Bu tatlı için özel hazırlanan tuzsuz peynir yerine suda bekletilen tuzlu peynir kullananlar mesleğin yüz karaları. Bu arada canı künefe çekenlerin ille de Antakya’ya gitmesi gerekmiyor. Zeki Usta, hesap numarasına para yatıran herkese ister kargoyla ister otobüsle künefe gönderiyor. Ortadoğu ülkelerinde hayli yaygın olan meyve sularının Antakya’daki tek temsilcisi Ali Haydaroğlu. Yirmi yıldır meyvecilik yapan Haydaroğlu, bir Dubai ziyaretinden meyve suyu sıkma makineleriyle dönmüş. Şimdi tek amacı, Antakyalıları taze meyve suyuna alıştırmak. Hemen söylemeli ki böyle bir alışkanlık kazanmak için Haydaroğlu’nun hazırladığı bir bardak kokteyli içmek yeterli olacaktır. O tek bardağın içinde süt, elma, kavun, şeftali, armut, üzüm, vişne, muz ve bal olduğunu söylersek durum anlaşılmış olur. Köprübaşı Hürriyet Caddesi’ndeki 2 metrekarelik dükkânın devamlı müşterileri arasında doktorlar var.

HATAY MUTFAĞI NİYE YOK SAYILDI?

Mutfak konusunda Hataylılara bir dokunun bin ah işitin. Kendilerine özgü birçok yemeğin yakın şehirlere mal edilmesine içerleyen akademisyenler, düzenledikleri ‘Hatay Mutfağı Sempozyumu’nda, tanıtım eksikliğinden yakınıyorlar. Hatay’la ilgili kitaplar yazan Mehmet Tekin, Hatay mutfağının Antep ve Adana mutfağının gölgesinde kalmasını şöyle açıklıyor: “Hatay, Türkiye’den 20 yıl ayrı kalmış, bu süre içinde mutfak konusunda güney illerimizi Adana, Antep ve Urfa’nın kebapları, yemek çeşitleri ve tatlıları temsil etmiştir. Vatana katılmayı bekleyen Antakya ve havalisinin adı, mukaddes bir yurt parçası, bir sembol olarak ikinci planda kalmıştır.” Araştırmacı Tekin, Hatay mutfağının ne kadar köklü olduğunu, çok eski yıllarda şehri ziyaret eden şair ve yazarların eserlerine dönerek ispatlıyor. 1899-1967 yılları arasında yaşayan Cemil İpek’in ‘Yemek Mevlidi’ Hatay’a özgü 13 çeşit yemekten bahsediyor. 1930’lu yıllarda Antakya’yı ziyaret eden Pierre Bazantay da ‘Antakya Zanaatları Üzerine Anket’ adlı kitabında, yemeklerden başka o yıllarda yörede pişirilen altı çeşit ekmeği anlatıyor. Tekin, tost ve hamburgerle beslenen gençleri uyarmayı da ihmal etmiyor: Antakyalı olmak istiyorsanız şehrin mutfağından beslenin.

The Tastes and Smells of Byzantium

2005-07-29T18:48:00.000-07:00

Monday, March 03, 2003
Food

The Tastes and Smells of Byzantium By Andrew Dalby
Sovereign over all others
Byzantium in its heyday was one of the wonders of the world. Here is a Crusader of the year 1204, recalling his first glimpse of the medieval metropolis from across the Sea of Marmara:

Those who had never seen Constantinople before were enthralled, unable to believe that such a great city could exist in the world. They gazed at its high walls, the tall towers with which it was fortified all around, its great houses, its tall churches more numerous than anyone would believe who did not see them for himself; they contemplated the length and breadth of the city that is sovereign over all others. Brave as they might be, every man shivered at the sight.
— Geoffroi de Villehardouin, The Capture of Constantinople, section 128

Eighteen hundred years earlier, about 660 BCE, a Greek colony had been established at this magnificent site; known as Byzantion, it was already famous in legend. The Argonauts had passed this way, in one of the best-known of Greek mythological tales, on their way to the land of the Golden Fleece; they had navigated the Bosporus and dodged the Symplegades or “Clashing Rocks.” In historical times, Byzantion became rich on its trade routes and tuna or bonito fisheries. It had so much to offer that Constantine I, the first Christian emperor of Rome, selected it in 330 CE as his new eastern capital, the second Rome. He renamed it Constantinople, and, as such, the venerable city was destined for a millennium of worldwide fame as capital of the later Roman or “Byzantine” empire.

Simple tastes and exotic aromas
But what were the tastes and smells of medieval Byzantium? We know some of those tastes because they are still popular today. Let us begin with Justin I, father of the great Justinian, founder of a new dynasty. He emerges into history as a young peasant, one of three friends from Illyria who set out to walk to the capital to join the army: “They covered the whole distance to Byzantium on foot, and when they arrived they had nothing at all in their knapsacks except what was left of the twice-baked bread that they had packed at home” (Procopius, Secret History, section 6.2). That “twice-baked bread” was paximadi: thick slices of barley bread, baked until it is bone-dry and almost bone-hard, still the basis of many a simple Greek meal. Lightweight, long-lasting, and nourishing, those paximadia were ideal supplies for three poor medieval hikers.

We can still enjoy capers as a starter, as Byzantines did, with a sauce of oil and vinegar or (as they preferred) vinegar sweetened with honey. We can also still eat dried figs and walnuts before a meal, as Byzantine physicians recommended — whether or not we take this snack as an antidote against possible poisoned dishes to follow. We can consider the dietary instructions of the imperial physician, Simeon Seth, in Properties of Foods (p. 125) — “Botargo is to be avoided totally!” — and, like many of his contemporaries, reject his advice. Botargo, incidentally, is salted gray mullet roe: it remains a costly delicacy, and my advice is to go for it!

We can re-imagine the taste of the kolymbades, green olives swimming in brine, which so many Byzantines enjoyed. When taking a sip of ouzo, we are happy to recall that the people of Byzantium were advised by Hierophilus and other physicians to drink anise wine (the true ancestor of ouzo) in April and an anise-flavored aperitif in June. If we take a spoon sweet, it is pleasant to remember that, a thousand years ago, at least two Byzantine authors enjoyed to dia kitriou, “the citron conserve,” made with citron peel, honey, and carefully chosen spices.

We can easily picture ourselves shopping in the markets of Byzantium for fine raisins from Chios, Vlach mountain cheese, sweet Cretan wine, and malmsey wine from Monemvasia (both of which fetched high prices all over Europe). We can almost hear the salesman hawking his xinogalo through the streets, “Eparete droubaniston oxygala, gynaikes!” (“Buy your buttermilk from the churn, ladies!” Prodromic Poems, number 4, line 112) We can imagine selecting from the butcher’s counter “two three-year hens freshly killed and sleek: the butcher had loosened the fat of their bellies and tucked their legs into it” (Timarion, section 46). We can almost recall an encounter with Saint Simeon “the Fool,” wandering through the streets with a string of sausages around his neck like a garland of flowers and a pot of mustard in his left hand to dip each sausage before he ate it.

We know some of the exotic aromas of Byzantium because we can still sense them among the spice stores of modern Istanbul and Athens. Many were already familiar under the Roman empire: saffron, black pepper, cinnamon, ginger, and cloves. Even musk had reached Europe by late Roman times: “It is a scent for lovers and hedonists,” said the Christian translator, Saint Jerome, disapprovingly. We must, however, appeal to two Byzantine authors to pin down for us, for the first time, the origin of this wonderful perfume. “The best musk comes from a city east of Afghanistan called Toubata,” writes Simeon Seth (Properties of Foods, p. 66). He was right: musk does come from Tibet (which, however, is not a city). How was it found? The Byzantine trader, Cosmas Indicopleustes, gives the answer pictorially, in the manuscript of his strange memoir entitled Christian Topography, with a pen-and-ink sketch of a huntsman aiming an arrow at a fleeing musk deer.

Other aromas did not apparently reach Europe until early medieval times: ambergris from the shores of the Indian Ocean, camphor from Borneo, jasmine from Iran, nutmeg from the Banda islands in eastern Indonesia. The Byzantines were the very first Westerners to encounter these heady aromas, and they are still familiar to us today, if not in food, then at least in perfumes and cosmetics. Others known to Byzantine physicians and perfumers — like cubebs, galanga, storax, and zedoary — are now almost forgotten after their medieval heyday.

Imperial blends
Did Byzantium care about its foods and aromas? We can begin to answer this question by pointing to the Prodromic Poems, which claim to be the work of a poor, hungry, greedy, scholarly monk. Whoever really wrote these lively diatribes was a lover of fine food:

First come the baked fish, the little pisi in their stew. Second, the saucy dish, a hake weighed down with savory sauce. Third, the sweet-and-sour, the saffron dish, with spikenard, valerian, cloves, cinnamon, and baby mushrooms, and vinegar and unsmoked honey, and in the middle of it a big golden gurnard and a gray mullet, three hands’ breadths, with the roe, fresh from Region harbor, and a fine, well grown, first quality bream — O let me munch on the bits in the bowl, let me sup at their sauces, let me make off with four cups of the Chian wine, let me find a sufficiency, let me be satisfied! Fourth the grill and fifth the fry-up…a flounder, nicely grilled on its own, with fish sauce, sprinkled from top to tail with caraway; and a steak from a big sea bass. (Number 3, lines 147-163)
Now look over the head of the Prodromic poet at the imperial throne that he sometimes dared to address. There is evidence that flavors and aromas preoccupied even the emperors themselves. The Book of Ceremonies, compiled at the command of emperor Constantine Porphyrogenitus, lists a whole range of items to be stocked in the imperial apartments: “ointments, various incenses, fumigations: mastic, frankincense, sugar, saffron, musk, ambergris, aloes and dry aloeswood, true cinnamon of first and second grades, cassia and other aromatics” (p. 468).

The patriarchs were anxious to distance the spice trade (and other trades) from the great church of Saint Sophia. “One must not establish a shop within the sacred precincts or display foodstuffs or conduct other sales,” they instructed; “note that this Canon relates to those who trade in the perfume shops and barbers’ shops around the most holy Great Church, and even more so inside it. These deserve severe punishment,” they impotently repeated (Canons of the Council at Trullo, section 76). The emperors, by contrast, were apparently glad of the proximity of the perfumers, directing that their stalls be placed in a row between the miliarion (milestone) and the revered icon of Christ that stood above the Bronze Arcade, so that the perfumes might waft upward to the icon and at the same time fill the vestibule of the royal palace.

If I’m not mistaken, Byzantium can show us not only the first imperial perfumer in the world, but also one of the first imperial cooks. I mean both those phrases literally. The perfumer was Zoe, the eleventh-century empress who was an enthusiast for “the most Indian” of substances (a curious phrase, but that is how Michael Psellus puts it in his court memoirs) and for spicy aromatic woods like sandalwood and aloeswood. “Her only hobby,” Psellus adds, “was to blend perfumes and to make aromas. Her private apartment was just another of those workshops off the marketplace complete with perfumers and distillers: she had braziers set up all round it, and her maids were employed in weighing, blending and the rest of it.” And the imperial cook? That was Zoe’s predecessor, Constantine VIII, who “had a strong stomach and a constitution well able to withstand anything he ate. He was a highly skilled mixer of sauces, seasoning his dishes with colors and flavors so as to arouse the appetite of all types of eaters. He was ruled by food and sex,” Psellus concludes (Chronographia, Book 6, sections 62-64, and Book 2, section 7). As he well knew, it had been a commonplace among ancient philosophers that these two sensual indulgences always go together.

Even more engaging than either of these two hobbyists was the emperor who cared about Byzantium’s street food: the great but unlucky Manuel (1143-1180), whose diplomacy and dynastic alliances spread the empire’s influence far and wide, but whose military disaster at Myriokephalon signaled the loss of Anatolia to the Ottomans. Returning from Blakhernai one evening, Manuel noticed the old women selling street food (“enodios edode” is the fine classical phrase coined for the occasion by his historian, Nicetas Choniates). Manuel “suddenly felt like a bowl of hot soup and a bite of cabbage. Anzas, one of his entourage, advised that they had better wait and control their hunger: there would be plenty of proper food when they returned to the Great Palace. Manuel said sharply that he would do exactly as he pleased. He went straight up to the market woman’s bowl, full of the soup that he fancied. He drank it down greedily and had several mouthfuls of greens on the side. Then he took out a bronze stater and handed it to one of his people. ‘Change this for me,’ he said. ‘Give the lady her two oboloi, and don’t forget to give me back the other two!’” (Chronicle, p. 57)

Reading about Byzantine foods and flavors
If you read Greek, there’s plenty to read. The late Christos Motsias’s Ti etrogan oi vyzantinoi is still available from Ekdoseis Kaktos. In 1994, a lecture by Johannes Koder was translated into Greek under the title, O kipouros kai i kathimerini kouzina sto Vyzantio, and published by the Goulandris-Horn Foundation in its series, Opseis tis vyzantinis koinonias. Of course, there is still the massive work by Phaidon Koukoules, Vyzantinon vios kai politismos, published in several volumes between 1947 and 1955.

If you only read English, there is less to suggest. You will find only 15 pages about Byzantine food in my Siren Feasts; I’m the first to admit that’s not enough. My book on the subject, Flavours of Byzantium, will be published later this year, however (Prospect Books is already taking orders at www.prospectbooks.co.uk). It includes direct translations from Greek of all the dietary writings associated with Hierophilus and of many other texts, and offers a glossary and phrasebook of Byzantine food. Meanwhile, you can write to Henry Marks (1270 Montecello Drive, Eugene, OR 97404) for a copy of his recent self-published collection, Byzantine Cuisine. It includes full English translations of the Prodromic Poems and On the Properties of Foods, and of one version of Hierophilus’ Dietary Year. Unfortunately, Marks does not know Greek and has worked from intermediate translations, resulting in some unnecessary errors; the best part of his book is the 100 recreated Byzantine recipes.

Andrew Dalby is the author of Siren Feasts: A History of Food and Gastronomy in Greece and Dangerous Tastes: The Story of Spices; his Flavours of Byzantium will be published later this year.

Tastes of Mavi Boncuk

The Heat of the Matter

The Heat of the Matter | Originally Published May 2009

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Kadıköy: a gourmet’s one-stop shop

Atina Bali | Honey of Athens

The History of Coffee by Mark Pendergast

Saveur 100 for 2008 | Big Turk

Saveur 100 for 2008 | Sausages That Really Sizzle

Turkish Food Primer from N.Y.Times

Mavi Boncuk Recommends | Almost Turkish Recipes

BBC talks Turkish Delight

Kipfel /Ay Coregi

Bursa Lenger Kebab

Andrew Dalby

Cheers! Turkish Raki

Istanbul: Fresh as the Morning, or Rooted in Centuries Past

A Turkish Chef, Playing Hide-and-Seek

Salad Days | Fox Farm Side Rider

Cipura

Turkish Path

Çiroz | İstanbul Ansiklopedisi

Food Steps from Mavi Boncuk

When Milk Sleeps, TURKISH CHEESES

Behind the mystique of Turkish olive oil

How to Eat Well in Istanbul by Anya von Bremzen

Thoroughly modern meze By Anya von Bremzen

The Lion, the Witch & the Turkish Delight

Topik (layered garbanzo bean pâté )

SYRUPED QUINCE WITH CREAM

The Original Mediterranean Cuisine

TURKISH CHEESE

Teleme

Beyaz Peynir

Piyaz | Haricot Bean Salad

Un Helvası | Flour Helva

Irmik Helvasi |SEMOLINA SAFFRON AND PISTACHIO HELVA

Pide | Turkish Bayram Bread

Three Kunefe Versions

PEYNIRLI KUNEFE

Regional Cooking (Hatay)

The Tastes and Smells of Byzantium