I was going to my friend Marina living in Büyükada, and because we all know that there is no place serving decent dinner on the biggest of the Prince’s Islands we were going to cook. I paged through Jerusalem, Ottolenghi’s cookbook that I use for inspiration more often then I do for the actual cooking. I scanned through the fish section hoping for a recipe that requires minimal preparation and least ingredients since I have already devastated Marina’s kitchen and transported a good part of her exotic for Istanbul kitchen pantry to my house. We have cooked from the book with Marina before, and I hoped to find a winner this time as well. And the winner presented itself soon - sea bass marinaded in harissa, a Tunisian spicy hot pepper paste, and cooked in a Middle-Easter version of the sweet and sour sauce. Yes, please!
Once you have harissa at hand, the rest of the prep and cooking is a breeze: exactly what you need at the minimalistic kitchen of a summer house. And I was sure to find the ingredients for the sauce even at Marina’s thinned out pantry: onion, cumin, honey, red wine (instead of the red wine vinegar) and dry black currents, Turkish dolma essential, and sea salt.
I immediately set out to fix harissa and take the paste to Marina’s later. Harissa is made with roasted red peppers, a deliciousness that is pretty much luxury outside of the late summer-early autumn. That did not scare me as I realized there is a victorious shortcut possible in Turkey: red bell pepper paste! I get mine from a store at the Kadıköy market that sells homemade food and pantry items. Their excellent red bell pepper paste coming from Gaziantep is heavily - thick, only slightly salty and with a well defined kick indicating the addition of some red hot chilli-like peppers. Why on earth I have never thought of turning this red bell pepper paste into a homemade harissa? A few minutes later I left the house with a jar of most fragrant and flavorful paste I have ever made or eaten.
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Büyükada that evening was witnessing the crowds the ice-cream sellers have been missing and the locals have been not. The season has kicked off. I was manoeuvring among the cyclists, young girls wearing artificial flower diadems that have become compulsory take-home souvenirs for any island visitor, waiters welcoming to their tables ambitiously set up on the pavement, ice-cream eating Middle Eastern tourists and accelerating phaetons carrying couples that still cherish a romantic notion of the Princes’ Islands.
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All of them started disappearing as I was walking up to the Aziz Köşk, a large property comprised of the actual köşk - a large wooden mansion at the delicate stage of decay when it is still rather beautiful than horrifying and a multi-level complex of buildings and gardens around it. Quiet streets, families leisurely drinking tea on their terraces, windows wide open and curtains hoovering as if they were seagulls. I opened the gate to the manor that seemed deserted and stepped on the long path leading into the depth of the property. I passed through a gentlemen reading a newspaper and a dozen of flip-flops lined up at the door until I reached Marina’s courtyard with four kids riding bikes.
You need to know cat-loving Marina not to get surprised about half a dozen cats laying around, hoping to sneak into Marina’s house, dosing on the porch and hiding from the children. Marina was on phone so I put the kettle on, opened her cupboard and elicited a jar of loose black tea, picked up a few mint leaves, springs of lemon thyme and rosemary from Marina’s organic herbal basket. I popped all in a mug, poured in the boiling water and covered to let the tea steep. Few minutes later I divided the concentrated herbal brew between two cups, filled both with water and brought one to Marina, still on phone. I took mine and went to sit outside amidst the cats, children and seagulls. I registered how all this fuss would annoy me just 2 years ago when I was still new to the Turkish idea of a calm getaway but now I was really enjoying the atmosphere and the fact I was away from Facebook and Twitter full of not so cheerful updates that started paralyzing me.
After a cup of herbal tea and a handful of mulberries we picked from a generous tree at the manor we cooked the sea bass I picked from a fish monger at the pier in Bostanci. Fish so richly seasoned was a little revolution for our palates accustomed to the Turkish way of eating fish mostly plain. It looked like a start of my long-lasting relationships with harissa.
As we took a first bite, a distinct sound started coming from all the directions. Tencere-tava! Ah, that’s 9 pm! Banging pots at 9 pm to support the peaceful protestors has become a custom at many Istanbul neighborhoods. Istanbul dwellers have brought their luggage and routines from the city. The season has kicked off at the Princes Islands.
Quick Harissa
I wonder if there is any single savory dish that would not benefit from a touch of harissa. Make it as spicy as you like and use to marinate fish or meat, add to menemen, mix with cheese and use as a bread spread, stuff a savory pastry with it or water down and re-purpose as a pizza sauce.
Source: Adapted from Ottolenghi’s Jerusalem
Prep Time: 5 Min
Cook Time: 15 Min
Total Time: 20 Min
Yields: about 1/2 cup
Ingredients
- 1/2 tsp cumin seeds
- 1/2 tsp coriander seeds
- 3 tbsp red bell pepper paste (mix of sweet and hot peppers)
- 1 tbsp high-quality tomato paste
- 1 1/2 tbsp extra virgin olive oil
- 1 medium onion finely diced (2/3 cup)
- 3 clove garlic sliced
- 1/2 tsp ground sumac
- 1/2 tsp fine sea salt
- 1/2 tbsp extra virgin olive oil
Directions
- Warm up a small pan, pour in olive oil and fry onions and garlic for 10-15 min, or until nicely browned and almost caramelized. Meanwhile in a small hot pan roast the cumin and coriander seeds for a few minutes, or until their aroma pops up. Cool down, grind the roasted spices and set aside. Combine the cooked onions and garlic with the rest of the ingredients in a food processor and pulse into a paste. The paste keeps well in an air-tight container in the fridge for 2-3 weeks.
