I am surprised I have not written much about managing leftovers and food waste yet. This is something I am dealing with every day. Where you see food I see potential for leftovers and waste. 2 kg zucchini at our restaurant kitchen misplaced and accidentally frozen and now way to soft for anything. Filled up but never finished plates coming back during our weekend brunch buffet. Too much food left and no one around to finish it after my Istanbul cooking classes. I hate throwing away food and what to do with the food waste and leftovers for me is a question of ethics, of economic sense but even more so - of respect to all the people whose sweat and love the food is seasoned with.
Turkish Recipes
Thank you for the encouraging response to the Turkish Baking Quest that kicked off last Wednesday. And yes, it was Paskalya Çoreği flavored with mahlep that could be found in many Istanbul pastry shops year round but specifically around the Easter. Thanks for those who have taken part! Here comes one more Wednesday, more baking and yes, a chance to win a set of 5 fantastic Turkish baking ingredients.
Today I would like to dream. About how Turkish baking could be. With a bit of butter lavishness. And more experimental use of the local ingredients. Like persimmons..
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It is still rather warm in Istanbul. 22C by day. It has snowed somewhere. Or so I hear from my sister who’s very close to the Russian-Finnish border these days. I am not sure what’s the snow outlook for Istanbul this year. But I know it will get colder here in a few weeks too. And I will start baking.
This baking season I have decided to go beyond selfish cravings for moist chocolate cakes and upside down cakes. Who needs another recipe for those really? Instead I am going to introduce you to more of Turkish baking - from Istanbul pastry shops, from regular Turkish homes, from my frivolous baking dreams. Join my Turkish baking quest and win a set of fantastic cooking condiments you can bake with (and not only!) from Istanbul!
Tarhana, sourdough turned into an “instant” soup has boggled my mind since the very first time I saw it. Mother of my then Turkish boyfriend bought some from a store of home-made foods during our visit to Beypazarı, a little town with its center set up to give dwellers of the nearby places (such as Ankara where we came from) a feel of visiting an idyllic village where locals have nothing else to do but interacting with the visitors and feeding them with assorted fruits of their varied labors. Home made jams, dried vegetables, longest and thinnest stuffed wine leaves I have ever seen, double-baked Beypazarı kurusu - Turkish take on biscotti, dry type of baklava, homemade dried pasta and then tarhana.
We bought some of those delights including a bag of fine coral color grains which - as I was explained - was kind of a dry tomato soup and was meant to travel with me to Moscow. With the recipe from one of those websites that adapt Turkish recipes for foreigners so thoroughly that most the of time I don’t recognize the original any more I got the directions which I followed. I combined water and that ground tomato soup and was stirring it and stirring as it simmered. Eventually I served a rather uninspiring muddy soup.
Little I knew about the real tarhana and a proper way to cook it. Things clearned when I met my prospective mother-in-law who became my guide into the depths of Turkish home cooking including its heights such as making tarhana. Tarhana is often translated as “sour dough soup” which kind of gives you a hint of the process - the dough is left to ferment for a while. But then how the dought is made, what goes inside and what happens after were a miracle to me. Until a rather epic process of the making was staged at our countryside kitchen in Sapanca.
This fall in Istanbul we are crazy about bonito (palamut). As other migratory fish (moving from colder Black Sea to the warmer Sea of Marmara- inevitably through the Bosphorus) is has always been one the most favorite fishes eaten in Istanbul. In fact so favorite and so important that bonito was depicted on some Byzantine coins. And this year sounds very much like those prehistoric times when abundant fish in Istanbul could be caught by hands or baskets.
The other day I had a glimpse of what it feels to be a chef (as opposed to a cook). We had a family of regulars over at our countryside restaurant. They are an Istanbul couple whose weekend house is conveniently located near to our place in Sapanca. And they are parents to a little blue-eyed girl, a dream of any Turkish mother or grandmother (ask my mother-in-law). Placing their order they inquired whether I can make “my pasta”.
The whole week I am playing a kitchen patroness. Because I am replacing one. Anne has got her cancer treatment and at a rehabilitation right now. She would not be able to go outside for a few weeks. When leaving she said, “Now, you are on duty“. And so I am. I thought it would be straightforward but more often than not I wish she was nearby so I could show her my cookies dough and ask whether the texture was right. And so on.
But I am nailing it down. Last night I realized that 80% of over the dozen courses we served for dinner were made by me. I guess if the customers of Zeliş Çifliği had realized that this young foreign woman feeding them many would have been shocked. Because Turkish food is such a sacred domain and outsiders have no clue. Anyway, making food was a breeze. Until came the morning baking.
