This Sunday I made a trip to the Inebolu market to procure dairy and jams for my upcoming Black Sea breakfast, and of course I could not ignore the abundance of the seasonal produce on offer. As the way back to Moda was long, I had to plan my shopping really well. But I could not resist two things.
I could not resist the apples. They might be “heirloom apples” for some, for me they are “apples perfumed with the autumnal chills and fires”. Every bite is a memory of my granddad who grew many apples just like those. As the colds were coming he used to store them in a tiny annex of the house where grandma was keeping her freshly cut most beautiful in the world chrysanthemums. The annex had a bed, a large chest of old engineering books, Soviet literature magazines and clips of paintings my aunt used to collect. We played there in summer, and in autumn the annex held the smell of granddad’s apples and grandma’s chrysanthemums. That’s why I could not resist the apples.
And the Black Sea mushrooms .. I also could not leave out the mushrooms .. At the turn of the seasons I am never quite sure what to eat. I know what’s good and what’s in season, but my body is still confused. I start craving fresh juicy tomatoes, whereas it is time to think pumpkin and spinach. And I love my winter veggies very much, but it takes time for my body to switch gears. So I have to start suggesting to my body something seasonal and good .. and why not some wild mushrooms? Like with all the foraged foods there is a bit of hype around these mushrooms here in Istanbul. And what kind of food blogger I am if I don’t cook with such trendy ingredients? That’s how I ended with a kilo of Kanlıca mushrooms and big plans at my counter.
Kanlıca mushrooms might have been oversized chanterelle: their color is salmon, they have a funnel-like caps and also grow in the coniferous forests. But Kanlıca mushrooms are russula, or variety of milk-cups. There is something slightly repulsive about the their look: with age they tend to get green or blue-green spots that resemble mold. Given how paranoiac many people are about poisonous mushrooms, these spots may give wrong impression. I had been watching them from a respecting distance for a few seasons, but it was time to try them: every stall at the Inebolu market was having plenty, and they all were screaming “Try me”!
Back at my kitchen I made kavurma: I sauteed finely diced mushrooms in butter until the mushrooms lost most of their liquid. And then added diced onion and minced garlic. The vibe was not good: I did not like the smell of the cooking mushrooms that reminded me of olive oil soap rather than of something coming from a forest. And to be honest I could not stop recalling how I had the scariest food poisoning after eating a wild plant because I cooked it wrong. Not surprisingly, I did not enjoy my meal of Kanlıca mushrooms.
As I was still as good as new next day I repeated the procedure with less negative thoughts imparted to the dish. I seemed to like it more, but could not get rid of that soapy aftertaste. These celebrated Kanlıca mushrooms were the disappointment of the year! For dinner I made a Mexican fava bean soup: my body was so grateful to the lack of risky experiments and a comforting meal however un-Turkish and un-useful for my blog it was. I did not feel terrific yet, but surely much more comforted.
Help came from the unexpected source. Or maybe very expected but largely overlooked one. A young woman from Moscow who recently took my cooking class and my mom both said responding to the photo of mushrooms I posted in Facebook: “These are ryzhyki, salt them!” Not only they did better job in identifying the mushroom (Kanlıca, russula, or milk-cups have no meaning to me, but ryzhyki?! sure thing!), but also they evoked memories of the crunchy and slightly salty mushrooms, a typical winter Russian “meze”, especially if any drinking is involved. And even if not: a boiled potato and salted mushrooms seasoned with unrefined sunflower oil is my idea of the comfort food.
I find myself resorting to my mom’s expertise in Russian food more and more often. Do you remember these cookies? Do you have a recipe for that cake? How grandma used to make her biscuits? Growing up I did not see mom as a huge culinary authority: she never failed to turn a good wholesome meal, but it was the grandma, the kitchen goddess, whose dumplings or pies were the heights that no other woman in the family could conquer. But then I remember how during the last trip to Russia I stole a bite of chicken my mother fried for Özgür (I don’t eat meat): I could not believe how good and familiar it was. 1000 times better than any other chicken anywhere else! I realized that my mom’s cooking is a reason why I like to eat good food freshly cooked of high-quality ingredients: that’s the only kind of food my mom made available at home.
I called on Sunday, and it was dad’s birthday: mom made pork sausage, cooked chicken, prepared pasta with salmon and even ventured to make tiramisu (!). “Just like grandma: meat, bird, fish and a dessert to round up the meal”, I laughed realizing that my mom was consciously preserving the culinary traditions she herself grew up with. When the time comes for you to cook a big meal you cook exactly how the older women in your family used to do!
After talking with her I felt hopeful again and got back to my mushrooms. Here in Turkey mushrooms are pickled too, but I though I’d go Russian way of salting, in fact very similar to what we call sele in Turkey: you rely on salt and no other liquid but the own juices of whatever you pickle. I soaked the remaining mushrooms in cold water, washed them well, drained, quartered, stuffed in a jar altering with the layers of salt, lemon wedges, black pepper corns and a few bay leaves. Then I put a heavy weight to squeeze the liquid out of the mushrooms and let the liquid mix with the salt, lemon and spices creating a good brine. A few weeks later we will find out if it was worth the trouble. But it felt good to salt the mushrooms knowing that’s what my mother would have done.
