The other day we all happened to be in town - me and Özgür for our clients and anne for her doctor. Done and starving by the afternoon we thought, “Why not to eat at the Kadıköy market?” This was the first time for me in Istanbul together my mother-in-law and as the Kadıköy market is my territory I was determined to get her the best. Fish at Kadı Nimet Balıkçısı followed by the baklava from Bilgeoğlu and washed down with seriously good Turkish coffee at Fazil Bey. Failure-proof plan. Or so I thought.
April 2012
As the season with the food tours and cooking classes have started in a big way I am less at the farmhouse. No wonder when I am there I appreciate the place more. This week I came for a few days without my laptop and camera left behind in Istanbul. So there was time for studying the blossoming garden, walking with Ömür, chatting with Özgür and foraging the wild herbs.
I spent Saturday rolling paper-thin phyllo dough, or baklava yufka how we call it here in Turkey. Some twenty baby versions of the giant sheets my mother-in-law rolls out. With that long-long thin-thin rolling pin which could as well be an instrument of torture but serves as a kitchen utensil instead.
This is what I call a higher purpose. I am always looking forward to that rare free day in Istanbul when the break between my food tours and cooking classes is to short to go back to the farmhouse. I picture myself experiencing the delicious sheerness of Istanbul, savoring and exploring. Only that I stay in my flat most of the time: experimenting with new recipes and going out only to get a bottle of sun-flower oil from bakal downstairs and latte from Starbucks. Me, a first-rate foodie who is supposed to shop only from Kadikoy market and drink nothing but the Fazil Bey’s roast.
Everything got little twisted as it usually happens with me: I baked the Greek Easter bread known as Paskalya Çöreği in Turkey for my Orthodox Easter this Sunday morning. I know only a few of you would share the Easter sentiment but maybe you can understand how it feels not to be “normal” most of the time. I blame it on being Russian, being a woman, sometimes on both. Sometimes there is nothing left to blame it on so I take the blame.
My Easter is different from yours, I don’t celebrate Christmas but have all those Christmas delights for the New Year. Take whatever place in the world - I am either not from there or I have left it long time ago to identify with it. I am a Russian married to a Turk: but not that kind of Russian and not that kind of Turk you most likely to know about. I gave up trying to resolve my concerns about all that and have learned to embrace and celebrate my abnormal ways. So why not on Orthodox Easter - April, 15 2012?
I love that Turkish breakfast comes in many ways: you can put its basic version on the table within 5 minutes or, as legitimately, spend the whole morning preparing it. I prefer putting together a basic version and then giving it a quick touch of sophistication.
Bottle of Turkish sparkling wine and the occasion of my 30th birthday both had already added a delicious festive note to the regular Turkish breakfast fare but I was looking for more. I took the breakfast staples out of the fridge to see what I can do this time.
My first encounter with nettle soup took place in my childhood when my grandma made it one fine spring. But my grandma (my dad’s mom) was always a bit of an exotic woman to me.
