Two weeks ago I did a spring detox. There is a good reason why the 40 days of the Great Fast fall on the spring, time of new beginnings. Maybe because I was born in spring, this is when my year starts. I don’t care for the New Year resolutions, but every spring I take stock of what I am up to; my thoughts take shape, and new directions become clear. Some people undertake a major house cleaning, some remember that bikini season starts in a short while. Me, I make big decisions in spring.
Spring Gratitude Bowl
Moroccan Broad Bean Breakfast Soup (Bessara)
Customers of my cooking classes always tell me they do not need dinner after the lunch we make together. “Hm, they are not exaggerating,” I thought to myself as we could barely walk stuffed to the rim with the delicious Moroccan food we cooked at the Zeynep’s house in Fez. Dinner was out of the question if it was possible at all in the Fez medina presenting edible opportunities at every corner.
All right, maybe just a small dinner. A bowl of soup can do. I remembered how after my morning walk I passed by a tiniest shop with the tall dark wooden doors wide open to let in the line of the men waiting for the bowls of piping hot bessara, Moroccan broad bean soup.
Zapekanka (Russian Cottage Cheese Bake) with Tel Kadaif
I have not seen my friend Yulia for exactly a year, and what a year it was: I got married and she gave birth to the twins Anastasia and Sofia. There was occasional catching up over skype, and I even got to see the girls - yet the proper meeting was overdue.
When we stopped by Yulia’s in Moscow I did not know what to expect. Has my friend changed after her family doubled and she took on much anticipated yet a completely unknown role of a mother? And most importantly: does the change in her life mean I have to change something in mine?
Gözleme with Smoked Eggplant, Goat Cheese and Mint
Watching gözleme, a flat dough parcel, being made from the scratch is not unlike witnessing a miracle. A woman sits on the floor, legs crossed, in front of the low round table that serves her as a minimalistic kitchen counter. She deftly rolls paper-thin dough yufka with oklava, a long thin stick that a novice of Turkish cooking would hardly believe to be a rolling pin. The woman rolls a small ball of dough into a 10-15cm round, then she rolls the dough on the pin and unrolls it leaving the perfectly round sheet of dough slightly larger and thinner as it was just a moment ago. And so she rolls and unrolls, rolls and unrolls until she makes an impossibly thin, round and large sheet of dough.
Çökelek Salatası (Mediterranean Whey Cheese Salad)
When traveling I am always looking forward to my breakfasts. I could never quite buy into the idea of Asian morning meal with a spicy stew kicking off the day. Nor I am a huge fan of the European “coffee and pastry” concept. That’s why Turkey is a safe heaven for me: Turkish breakfast is a full-fledged meal with its own “breakfast only” items. In fact the Turkish breakfast idea is so powerful that you can substitute any meal of a day with breakfast (but not the other way around).
Blini: My (Failed) Attempt at World Domination
I have kept wondering how come that Turkish cuisine has absorbed so much from the countries it borders with in the West, South and East but the influence from its northern neighbors (Ukraine and Russia) has been barely noticeable. I understand it may be harder to import food traditions by sea than it is by land but it did not seem a problem when it came to importing beautiful women from the North to populate the Harem. Besides such random occasions as the Black Sea ravioli - piruhi that look a lot like Ukrainian vareniki you don’t see Ukrainian- Russian food heritage around much. Or so I thought until I made blini..
Stuffed Green Pepper Boats: Why We Go To Restaurants
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”.
