What makes food special is not only the food itself.
We seldom realize that what lets us form irreplaceable memories about food, and experience a sensation that most of the time defies the power of descriptive language, is actually the PEOPLE we share the food with and THE PLACE where that sharing happens.
Lots have been written about this, but one thing is clear:
The context around your meal is half the meal itself.
In the Summer of 2009, I went back to Istanbul again to visit family, eat, eat, and eat some more.
My brother and I stopped by my granduncle Yilmaz's house. He is an accomplished and respected violin player, with great knowledge of Turkish classical music, and of course a gourmand of the old days.
Our cousin Sehnaz also stopped by. This place is familiar: they have been living at this place for over twenty years, and every time we visit, the feeling is more than just familiar; it is a part of who we are, with every moment predictable, yet enjoyable.
Our aunt Sena starts our (what she calls) impromptu dinner with "Su Boregi," layers upon layer of hand rolled thin sheets of dough boiled in water, and then put together layer upon layer with liberal amounts of butter, eggwash, traditional turkish white cheese (beyaz peynir), and parsley, all then baked in a large pan until golden brown.
Cacik is also served - a sort of a thick yogurt soup made with shredded cucumbers, mint, bit of chopped dill, and lots of drizzled olive oil. Cacik, Tzatziki, tzadziki, tsatsiki, or ttalattouri, whatever you want to call it depending on your location, this is one of the best things you can eat on a hot summer day.
"Kisir" makes an appearance. Thin cut bulgur wheat, cooked, then mixed with scallions, (sometimes thinly cut red onions), parsley, red hot pepper flakes, tomato paste, cumin, and most importantly pomegranate molasses. An effort to establish a nationally accepted recipe for Kisir (like any other multi-regionally-shared-dish) can start civil wars, so I will disclaim that this is my aunt's version and no one else's!
Next she brings out Zeytinyagli Dolma, green peppers stuffed with rice flavored with cinnamon, black pepper and currants, and capped with chunks of tomatoes to seal in the filling, then cooked on low heat. I like to eat them cold, straight our of the fridge. Good olive oil is a must.
Then, aunt Sena shows up with a big pot, puts a big plate on it, and turns it upside down. This is what comes out.
Sena, a master in Arab influenced cooking, reveals her braised, cotton-soft chunks of fatty lamb bits with fried eggplant, almonds and pine nuts cooked with a rice pilav flavored with caramelized onions and butter. This 'heavy-hitter' has so many layers of flavor, with the gamey lamb to the smoky eggplant to the sweet bit of caramelized onions.. This dish probably requires timing skills of a most advanced cook, with all of the ingredients having to be perfectly cooked, and work together. Sena is a true master in the kitchen, and her familial background show up in every dish that she makes for us..
We try every single dish, and I can't even go on to show the desert and fruit plate we had afterwards with Turkish coffee. Still conscious after all the drooling? Read on.
One of our 'traditional' family dinners at my grandmother's house. The table, the lighting, the furniture, the silverware, everything, and i mean EVERYTHING is not only familiar, but also comforting in a way that says "You are home. You will have a good meal." The sweet smell of day-long cooking permeates every room in the house.
We start with an incredible red lentil soup. The butter and onion based soup is also enriched with a little bit of garlic for flavor, and just the tiniest bit of cornmeal for texture. Topped with chili infused melted butter and croutons made from yesterday's stale bread, this is an experience in itself.
Fava beans cooked in olive oil and topped with dill...
And lima beans cook with tomatoes, Barbunya Fasulyesi, onions and carrots topped with parsley continue the meal...
This being the month of Ramadan at the time, the traditional 'Ramazan Pidesi' replaces the regular loaf of bread in most Turkish homes. It's slightly sweeter, airier, and has a nice wood-oven-baked smokiness.
As a side salad we had a traditional purslane green salad, which is simply purslane green leafs dressed with olive oil and thick strained yogurt. This is a dish that I loved and hated over many years, and I am still undecided about it. You definitely have to be in the mood for it.
And the plate is completed by "Kadinbudu Kofte," a very special meat patty made with beef, lamb, and rice, and then coated with eggwash and pan fried in hot oil. Very few things give me the comfort that Kadinbudu does, down to the slight crunch the fried egg gives out at the moment of the 'first dig.'
Two days later I flew to southern Turkish 'resort-town,' Bodrum. My friend Erinç...
...and I stopped at our regular restaurant right at the heart of the most touristic town square - Nazilli Pidecisi. The location is so familiar to us after having come here for the past ten years of our lives at least once a year (almost), the 'rinky-dink' feel of the place only add to our collective self-assurance that it has not changed a bit; decor, food, or otherwise. You literally sit in the middle of the square, with by-passers enviously gazing over your food.
Pide is a variation on a wood-oven baked open faced bread usually stuffed with lamb meat, cheese and more popularly in the Aegian / Mediterranean regions, with braised local greens, and then finished with a raw cracked egg on top (which then cooks with the heat of the Pide as it's being brought to your table.)
This is the version with the spiced lamb meat, with the yogurt drink "Ayran," not unlike the Indian salty lassie, served in hand-hammered copper cups.
The meal is finished with one of the best things i've ever eaten. (no kidding.) It's a freshly baked, thin pie smeared thick with a tahini paste and sugar, which is then topped with chopped walnut and hazelnuts. The gooey, melting tahini permeates into the crunch of the crust down below, and the caramelized sugar puts this 'thing' into a whole new league where only the most visceral, primal, and unpretentious of foods can compete in. Molecular gastronomy? Raw movement? Pan-american interpretations of French classics? GET OUTTA HERE!
Coming up next post in Vol.2: Some incredible regional cooking in southwestern Turkey shared with friends in the middle of the sea!
Meanwhile, any comments are welcome!
