Poğaça (savoury pastries)

We have a saying, when in Rome, do as the Romans do. I knew that if I wanted to survive in Turkey I needed to learn the language as soon as possible. I found a beginners course at Bosphorous University. It was not only interesting to learn the language but socially stimulating as I had the wonderful opportunity to meet other people from all over the world like myself, starting a life in Turkey. Some were there on business, some married to Turkish wives or husbands. What ever their reason for joining the language class, we all  understood each others isolation and frustration. I particularly connected with two girls, Judith from South Africa and Sue, from the Bahamas. Together, we ventured through Istanbul finding our way around, practising the Turkish we had learnt. Sue & I especially spent a lot of time together. I can honestly say that I wouldn't have survived with out her. We shared moments of tears  and good times with much laughter. 

I travelled to the university by bus and on many occasions had my breakfast en route. Poğaça (poh-ah-cha) is a popular, fast way of eating breakfast. These savoury plump pastries are both satisfying and tasty, they can be eaten plain or with a cheese filling. They are usually sold on the streets in mobile glass containers with an umbrella erected above. The word Poğaça was always a challenge for me to pronounce and in the beginning I didn't have enough courage to walk up to the man selling them. However, over time I felt more and more confident to speak Turkish and even though I still had that English twang of an accent that wasn't the thing that gave me away as being foreign. It was when I said "Lutfen" (please). Yes, that's when I got the strange look from the Poğaça seller. "Bir tane peynirli lutfen", "one with cheese please" I would ask. Lutfen, is hardly used when asking for something,  I can't help myself, In English we say please and thank you simultaneously. So, when in Rome, I do as the Romans do, but with a please at the end!

I choose to use mahlep in this recipe, I love the aroma and taste of this spice and use it in cakes and biscuits also. It's made from the seeds of a special sour cherry and has a nutty flavour perhaps the equivalent to nutmeg. It is also known as mahlab in other countries. It can be bought in Asian and Turkish shops here.

125g Feta cheese

Parsley (just a handful)

100g soft margarine

75ml oil

75ml milk

1 teaspoon of baking powder

1 teaspoon of mahlep

300g plain flour (sieved)

pinch of salt

1 egg (for glazing only)

Make the filling first by mashing together the feta cheese and parsley in a bowl.

Now for the dough:

In a saucepan, warm the milk slightly.

Then, pour it in to a bowl together with the margarine, oil, baking powder and mahlep. Sieve the flour into the bowl & add the salt.

Knead mixture together until dough is firm and smooth.

This mixture makes approximately 12 so divide the mixture in to 12 equal balls.

Take a ball of dough and flatten with your hands into an oval shape. Dough should be thin, certainly no more than 5mm thick.

Take a small quantity of the cheese mixture and place it in the middle of the oval. Fold the side over and pinch at the edge. You can make circle shapes if easier, just bring the edges up to meet like a little parcel.

Use the yolk of the egg to glaze all around the top of the parcels.

Sprinkle with poppy seeds or sesame seeds if you prefer.

Leave the pastries to rest for at least half an hour before placing in to the oven at 175 and bake until glazing is dark golden brown.

(I baked these today. I think perhaps my pastry was slightly too thick but never the less, they were tasty.)

Enginar (Artichokes)

City life took a lot of getting used to but I found it vibrant and exciting. During the winter months, we lived in Şişli, a very congested area in Istanbul. Our apartment was one of many sandwiched along a street without a pathway. I  regularly gazed out of the window watching pedestrians dodging the traffic as they walked in the road. 
One day, when I stood by the window, a woman in the apartment directly opposite caught my eye. She opened the window and started to climb outside. Whilst balancing on the window ledge she held on to the window frame with one hand. I started to panic, I thought I was going to be a witness to a suicide attempt. Then, she pulled out a cloth and started to clean the window. I couldn't believe my eyes. Cleaning ladies from Turkey must be the bravest and most skilful.
Along with the visual entertainment of our busy street I embraced the sounds that accompanied it. "Enginar (en geh nar), enginarci" a man yelled on a daily basis. Feeling relieved that the man was not in search of a long lost relative called enginar, I learnt that he was selling fresh artichokes.  A basket appeared from no-where tapping against our living room window as it descended. I rushed to see where it was coming from. As I stretched my neck to look above me, I saw a woman leaning out of her window levering  the basket by string very slowly to the street below where the man was standing. He put some artichokes in her basket and  then the woman  pulled  the string back up towards her as the basket banged against our window again . 
When the children were young, I  practised this basket manoeuvre in our home asking the  children to place their toys in the basket whilst I pulled it upstairs to their bedroom. It didn't last very long!

Enginar is a seasonal vegetable in Turkey. It's difficult to find decent fresh ones in England so Amir buys them uncooked and preserved in a jar from the local Turkish supermarket. There are a few different ways of cooking them. This is the traditional Turkish way, eaten as a meze (starter) or a vegetable accompaniment. 

4 large or 8 small uncooked artichoke cups

100g peas

1 large potato 

2 medium carrots

8 onion shallots or 1 onion (optional, I don't use)

half a small squeezed lemon

100ml oil

2 and a half heaped tablespoons of sugar

salt to taste
1 tablespoon of chopped dill

If you are using artichoke cups from a jar, they will need to be drained.

Dice the potato and carrots, slice the onion if you are going to use.

In a saucepan place the oil and diced vegetables and start to simmer for 5 minutes.

Add artichokes and peas. Cover with water and cook for 5-10 mins.

Add lemon, sugar and salt and cook for a further 10 mins.

Add dill.

Simmer in the pan until water has reduced and you are left with just enough sauce for the vegetables to lay on and artichokes should be soft.
Serve chilled or my preference is at room temperature.

The other way of cooking artichokes is classed as the Turkish Jewish way (seferadi). Cooked in a rich lemon sauce.

It is the same as the above minus the extra vegetables. 

Cook the artichoke cups in the oil, water and lemon juice adding the sugar and salt. The liquid will reduce to make a nice tangy sauce.

Before meeting Amir I had never eaten an artichoke. There are many other English people that are not familier with this vegetable and how to cook it. If you buy it fresh from the supermarket I can guide you through how to cook it. You can even eat the stalk and part of the leaves!

Cheese Croquettes

Apart from the fact that they rhyme with minarets, cheese croquettes are both delicious and addictive. They were one of the very first things I ate on the island of Burgaz.
Whilst still living in England, I visited Amir for a two week vacation. My first ever trip to Turkey. I travelled with my very dear house mates and good friends Danny & Vitali. We took Vitali's Aunt & Uncle's boat from Istanbul mainland to Burgaz across the Marmara sea. It was like another world to me, I had never known anyone to own a boat before. I imagined myself like Jackie Onassis with my over sized glamorous sunglasses and wind swept hair, only the reality was that I felt sea sick and my hair was all over the place like a troll.
I remember feeling very nervous as I would be meeting Amir's Mum for the first time. Amir warned me that she didn't speak any English so I prepared myself to just smile constantly at what ever she said hoping that she approved of her son's English girlfriend. With a grin firmly set in place I approached her. Amir introduced me and I shook her hand. Then, she started to speak in English. Amir was in shock, he said to his Mum "I didn't know you could speak English". She laughed and replied "when would I ever get the chance to speak to you in English?". She explained that she used English during her work when she was younger and she amazed herself that she hadn't forgotten her vocabulary. I felt so much more at ease knowing that we could have a conversation, and so, lunch was ordered and I got to know her as much as I could in such a short space of time. 
An array of meze dishes arrived at the table and that's when I indulged in the wonderful melt in your mouth golden croquettes.

250g grated hard cheese

(I use cheddar but any strong flavoured hard cheese is fine)

50g (1 large heaped tablespoon) plain flour

1 egg (egg white only used)

half a teaspoon of bicarbonate of soda

oil for frying

Place the egg white in a bowl and whisk until firm.

Add grated cheese and fold in with a spoon.

Mix in flour and bicarbonate of soda.

Consistency should be firm enough to make small balls.

Place cheese balls in the fridge for as long as possible.

Deep fry and keep balls turning until golden brown and crispy all round.

Tip: Don't over size the balls as they puff, above ingredients should make around 20 balls.

Sarika's Creme Caramel

Every Friday night, Amir and I would have Shabbat dinner with Sarika, Amir's Grandmother. She lived in Nisantasi, a busy shopping area of Istanbul. Traffic is dangerously chaotic and noisy on most evenings but on Fridays especially, the journey that would normally take 15 mins to drive, would sometimes take an hour and a half. 
It was difficult for Amir to come home from work, pick me up and then drive on to his Grandmother's apartment so I used to take the dolmus to his work place to meet him or make my own way to Nisantasi.  The dolmus is a type of minibus, I dreaded the journey. Being a foreigner trying to speak Turkish, I stuck out like a soar thumb.  When the dolmus comes along you sit where ever there is space and then pay whilst the driver is driving (that would be illegal in England!) If you sit at the back , you have to tap the shoulder of the person sitting in front of you, give your fare money to them so they can pass the money down from person to person till it reaches the driver. If you need change, the driver gives it to the person behind him and then the change is passed from person to person all the way back. I hated getting a seat in the middle, I was forever passing other people's money backwards and forwards in the hope that nobody spoke to me. The worst of it is that you have to shout out to the driver when you want the dolmus to stop. There are no designated stops like a bus would have. In the beginning, I was so shy, I knew that when I called for the driver to stop it was guaranteed that everyone would look at the foreigner! I prayed that someone else would shout at the driver to stop near to where I needed to get off so I could just slip out quietly.
Still, I suppose it was a better experience than getting the bus. Like a typical, orderly English person I would queue to get the bus. What an idiot I was....no-one queues for the bus in Istanbul, it's a free for all, you have to push and shove to make your way to the front. Once on the bus you wonder why every one was in such a hurry, you could never get a seat anyway, you had the pleasure of getting to your destination with your nose squashed up against the window, some ones elbow stuck in your ear and I really don't know if I was being paranoid or not but I felt sure that even without speaking the other passengers knew I was foreign. Still, the journey was always worth it. I would have ridden across the desert on a camel to get there.
On arrival at Sarika's apartment, she would always be sitting on her narrow balcony looking out on to the main street waiting for us. She always looked troubled and distant in thought but the moment she saw us her face would light up and her arms would be stretched out ready to receive our hugs. The love between Amir & Sarika was beautiful, always caressing each other, holding hands and kissing each others face. What filled me with warmth the most was when I used to catch Sarika sitting on Amir's lap. Amir teased her all the time by tugging at her ears and rubbing her ear lobes, she used to giggle when he did that.  He would then give her shoulders a deep rub and the giggles turned in to yelps of pain, but in a nice way. 
This is dedicated to Madame Sara Soryano. Known as Sarika.

1 Litre milk

6 eggs

1 glass sugar (approx 300g)

1 lemon rind

2 packets of vanilla sugar (10g)

Heat oven to 180c

You will need an oven proof dish that can also be used on the hob. 

(I use a ceramic dish 7 inches wide x 3 inches deep).

Sprinkle about 2 tbls of sugar in to the dish until the surface at the bottom is completely covered.

Heat very gently until melted and caramalized. Take off the heat to harden.

In a saucepan put the milk and sugar to boil till frothy.

In another bowl put the eggs, vanilla sugar & lemon rind. Whisk until light and bubbly.

Place the saucepan next to the bowl. Very slowly you are going to combine the two liquids as follows:

Take one soup ladle of milk mixture and pour it gradually in to the bowl of eggs. Then, take a ladle full of egg mixture and pour it gradually back in to the saucepan of milk. You will repeat this process  a number of times slowly increasing the amounts of ladles from one to the other until all the liquid ends up in one bowl.

Pour in to your oven proof dish on top of the caramelised sugar.

Place in the oven and cook for approx 45 mins until golden brown. 

Let it completely cool then place in the fridge.

When completely cold, run a knife around the edge and shake the dish from side to side to loosen the edges.

Take your serving plate and put on the top of the dish then turn upside down. The creme caramel should just slide out easily.

Tip: The creme caramel will be surrounded in caramel liquid so choose a serving dish with a slight dip so it doesn't overflow.

With each slice, scoop a spoonful of the caramel liquid on the top.

In loving memory xx

Abudaraho addition

At the time, when writing about abudaraho, I couldn't find the photo of the fish roe to accompany the blog page. Today, I stumbled across it. So, here it is, in all its glory, the masterpieces that hung from my kitchen cupboard for weeks.

Amir tried two different types of fish roe.

I'd also like to take this opportunity to thank Stavros for kindly sending me Abudaraho all the way from Greece (pronounced in Greek as avgotaraho) It really is superb and an absolute treat. Thank you xx

Kabak Dolma (stuffed courgettes)

It wasn't too much of a difficult decision to leave my job and my home in exchange for a life in Istanbul. I had no idea whether the relationship between Amir and I would work but I was ready to make that sacrifice. I loved to travel and immerse myself in culture and adventure. I knew, that if  it was a wrong decision I had made, then like Dorothy from the Wizard of Oz I could  just tap my heels together and go back home. Back then, I took life as it came, travelling down many roads, soaking up life's experiences.
The decision to return back to England after a year and a half in Istanbul however, was far more difficult. Night after night Amir and I would discuss the pros and cons of life in Istanbul compared to life in London. After months of deliberation, we reached our decision. The most difficult part of all was to then tell Amir's Mum that we had decided to make our future life in England. She didn't take the news well at all, streams of tears were shed. She then gave me an ultimatum, "If you are going to take Amir to England with you then you have to learn how to cook Turkish food".
Every Tuesday thereafter, Amir's Mum came to visit me for a cooking lesson whilst Amir was at work. I still have my notebook full of recipes but I will never forget the first Turkish dinner I made for Amir and he will never forget it either, still today he tells the story of my kabak dolma.
I felt very confident to cook this dish for Amir one day whilst he was at work. We had kabak (courgettes) at home and I searched the kitchen for the rest of the ingredients needed. I couldn't find kiyma (minced beef) anywhere. I was still determined to make this dish as a surprise for him for when he returned home from work, so I used my imagination for an alternative. There were sausages in the freezer, I boiled and chopped them up in to tiny little pieces which I thought resembled minced beef rather well. I stuffed the kabak with the sausages and cooked them feeling very pleased with my creation. Amir came home, smelt the cooking and went to the kitchen to look at my kabak dolma. He lifted the lid, looked closer at it and then looked at me and said "Lisa, what is that floating around in the saucepan?" I explained how I used sausages as an alternative to minced beef but I didn't know that the chopped sausage would just disperse out of the courgettes and float around on the surface. So, we sat down for our meal eating hollow courgettes with lumps of chopped sausage on the side!

1 large slice of dried bread

4-6 courgettes

200g minced beef

1 Turkish coffee cup (75g) of rice

2 tablespoons of oil

1 tablespoon tomato puree

sugar

salt

black pepper
Natural yogurt for serving (optional)

Soak bread in a bowl of  cold water whilst you prepare the courgettes.

Wash courgettes, cut off the ends and peel. 

Cut courgettes in half and scoop out most of the middle so there is a hole all the way through (don't throw the middle)

Squeeze out all the excess water from the bread and place in a bowl. 

Add minced beef.

Wash rice and add to the minced beef.

Knead together well, add salt and black pepper.

Grate a few pieces of the scooped out courgette and knead in to the meat mixture.

Stuff the meat mixture in to the hollow courgettes leaving a small gap at each end as the rice will swell.

Place courgettes in to a large shallow pan either upright or laying down depending on how much space you have.

Roll any left over meat in to small balls and place in to the pan.

Place all the left over courgette pieces in to the pan.

Add tomato puree, oil, salt and sugar.
Fill with water so that courgettes are peeking above water level.
Cover pan with lid and cook until soft.
Serve with a dollop of natural yogurt.

In this photo I used only 4 courgettes so there was a lot of meat left over to make meatballs.

Turkish courgettes are different to English ones. They are fatter, sweeter and lighter in colour. They can be bought from any Mediterranean food store if preferred.

TIPS

• When slices of bread become dry and a little old, don't throw away. Keep out to dry, then store them. They can be used in many dishes with minced meat.

• If you peel the courgettes lengths ways like ribbons and keep all the peel separately,it can then be cooked together with some plums in the sauce as above. This side dish is called kaskarikas a Turkish Jewish dish.

• When peeling the courgettes you can make them have a stripey effect by peeling length ways and leaving gaps or using a jagged scrapper.

• Another way of cooking courgette dolma is if you cut the courgettes length ways, scoop out the middle to make a boat like shape, place the meat in the groove, dip in to flour (meat side down) then in to egg. Fry meat side down, then place them in to the pan to add sauce as above.

• You can use other vegetables to stuff, not just courgettes. Try peppers or tomatoes.

• Do not stuff with sausages!

Abudaraho

Pronounced as spelt, this luxury delicacy is referred to as the Mediterranean caviar.  

When I first came across abudaraho I was most intrigued by how it looked. With a waxy outer coating, I had no idea what was concealed inside.

After a long day soaking up the sun, traditionally, all the family would arrange to meet at one of the cafes by the seafront where we would buy pastries from Ergun bakery and drink tea . This was my favourite part of the day, not just because I could indulge myself with cakes and pastries but that time of day, around 6pm, was the perfect time to  watch passers by. Boats are full of people coming home from work and their families gathered by the boat station ready to greet them. Fisherman are busy sorting out their nets, gutting the fish and displaying their catch of the day for sale by the waters edge.

Very often, I would see an old man weaving in and out of the chairs and tables holding his arm in the air selling something. I asked Amir what it was he was selling and he told me it was abudaraho. I remarked that he wasn't getting much business as no-one seemed to want to buy any. Amir explained that it was rather expensive to buy but never the less, he called the man over to our table and asked to look at the portions. Amir inspected the size and weight of them then chose one to take home for the following morning's breakfast.

At the breakfast table we all sat down and I watched Amir skilfully cut very thin slices of abudaraho and place a slice or two on each of our plates. He told me not to eat it plain but that it would taste much better on a slice of  fresh bread with butter. All eyes were on me. The anticipation of whether I would like the taste or not was very intense. Amir's Mum was the first to ask. "Well, Lisa, did you like it?" I think they could tell from my screwed up face that I didn't like it at all. Everyone had their mouth open in shock. Amir said to me "How can you not like it, this is what the wealthy people have for breakfast". Well, after that remark I was absolutely determined to like the thing! Every morning, a little bit more and a little bit more, I became accustomed to the taste.

Here, back in England, Abudaraho is virtually impossible to find so Amir is obliged to make it himself. The fish roe used to make this is from grey mullet, but again, this is very difficult to find in England so Amir uses English cod roe instead. The eggs of the fish are salted, pressed, dried and preserved in beeswax. The only problem with the procedure of making abudaraho is that the fish eggs have to hang up for weeks in order to dry. Amir decided that the best place to hang them would be from the cupboard door in the kitchen. I dreaded anyone coming over to our house as I would have to explain why a sack of fish eggs were hanging in our kitchen and then I would have to apologise for the smell surrounding it. One of my friends said to me that she wouldn't put up with anything like that hanging in her kitchen. I think she was right. Had there been a clause in our marriage vows asking... do you agree to have fish eggs hanging in your kitchen for the rest of your life?  I fear what the answer may have been!

All joking aside, I do enjoy eating it now but I am not sure if it makes me feel like I belong to the wealthy category because I eat it for breakfast. Perhaps just wealthier with the knowledge of Turkish cuisine.

One whole unbroken sack of fish roe

salt

beeswax optional.

Sprinkle salt all over the fish roe.

Leave overnight on a plate in order to soak excess water.

After this, you will notice the water separated from the roe.

Wash and hang to dry.

Melt beeswax and dip.

Tea time by the sea. Dan is sitting on the ground stroking a street dog.

Amir's abudaraho covered in beeswax. Unfortunately, I haven't got a photo of the egg sack hanging in the kitchen!