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 cookie dough and ask whether the texture was right.
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. Unlike the morning baking.
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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?
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Baking is just like your boyfriend going for a boys’ night out. In baking you can only hope you have picked a reliable recipe and measured your ingredients right. Stove top cooking always gives you a chance to open the lead and fix things going wrong. Not the baking: once you send your creation to the oven you can’t control the outcome anymore. Same with the boys’ night out. If you pick the right guy in whom you trust and if you have enough self-confidence you can wish him a great boys’ night out with a light heart.
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Holidays around the world come with a particular smell: smell of rose water in the sweetshops of India around the Diwali, aroma of the roasted lamb for Kurban Bayram in Turkey, scent of the tangerines around New Year in Russia and notes of the warming spices in the gingerbread cookies made for Christmas in Europe and the US. Those smells evoke warm memories and anticipation of a festive tradition. Yet every tradition needs a little revolution now and then. It is just about the time to offer a no-gingerbread-cookies point of view on the coming Christmas.
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