What to do with 19 eggplants

When Harris Farm decides cashing in on Christmas is over- you know you're onto a good thing.  $6.99 for a box of 19 massive eggplant tells me one thing, Christmas has no time for the spongy, oil soaking vegetable.  Well how wrong father Christmas was when compiling his lavish menu, because as far as I'm concerned all my Christmas's and Easters have come at once- all in the shape of giant purple eggs.  

The only issue here is, what do you do with 19 Christmas-neglected eggplants?  Well, i figure the best way to understand Turkish cooking is to understand the eggplant.  What size is your eggplant?  Is it stuff-able?  Is it long and narrow, does it have the whole-roasting qualities?  or is it small and well rounded; good for stuffing it with a compote of goodies? Or is it obese, like its overdosed on hormones; perfect for smoking it on open flames to make into a delectable eggplant puree?  

Well mine were two thirds obese and one third chubby babies.  So on a tiring Tuesday i started with the easiest, most obvious option- Turkish style Moussaka (while the Greeks I'm sure would debate such a thing exists).  Salted and rested the thick slices of eggplant were fried on the BBQ and layered between and mince mixture of lamb, pepper paste, tomato, pine nuts, parsley, wine and a few dried spices.  A white sauce mixed with Parmesan (not quite the Turkish touch i was looking for but it was in the fridge) topped the dish with a sprinkling of bread crumbs.  Now, what would induce a Moussaka-makers death, i put it in the freezer for a lazy day.  

With a couple of the fatter ones, we roasted them into oblivion on the flame of the BBQ and made an Eggplant puree to bed our plain-Jane lamb sausages defrosted from the night before.  The trick among tricks with creating a smokey eggplant flavor is all in the roasting.  By doing it on an open flame you get that rich smokey flavor through the almost melted texture of the eggplant.  When the skin is crackling, looking a little grotesque and eggplant juice squeals out the sides- you know you're onto a good thing. When cool enough,  peal off the skin and drop the frail juicy eggplant into a dish.  All that's need here is some decent olive oil, fresh garlic (only a touch), lemon juice and salt.  If you're feelin fancy chop up some parsley to mix through.  We made ours into more of a mash than a puree, it held up the sausages on an over indulged pedestal and with caramelised onion on top it was enough to make Betty Crocker go 'oooo'.  

Stay tuned for the fate of 5 unsuspecting, plump baby eggplants.....  

An Edible Relaunch

The blog that kept me going through the most tantalising yet tumultuous two years of my life is back.  This time, the trying Turk is in Sydney and comes armed with more Turkishness than ever before.  Can one be a Turk by marriage? Or is one married by Turkishness?  Either way, I now find myself trying to hold onto every little ounce of Turkishness that enters my life.  

When in Istanbul, i would stammer home off the bustling Bosphorus shores of Kadikoy noticing the waft of Hamsi that bounced from fisherman's stores and lambs heads that glared up at me from their suspicious display cabinets.  Most days i reveled in the luscious traditions of Turkish food, but every now and again I craved the most buttered of butter chicken, the crackling that lined the pork roast or just your good old bowl of spaghetti bolognese.   

Now, almost two years since leaving Ms Istanbul behind, I cast my mind back to her decadent undertaking of my innocent, culture-less self.  

5 things Ms Istanbul has taught a trying Turk.

1. How to transform eggplant into countless varieties of heaven.

2. Why waxing your eyebrows is a good thing.

3. The art of drinking raki (ouzo) like a man.

4. The wearing of winter boots like a woman should.

5. How to decline you're third helping of kofte (meatballs)- refuse the offer three times until they trust you've had enough. 

With all five lessons just about mastered, i still have a long way to go.  I figure, the best way to lure elements of life in Turkey into my humble Sydney home is through the tried and tested ways of Turkish culinary culture.   Mixed with a few sideline ambitions, tales of a trying Turk will always wind itself back to the essence of 'Tasting Turkey'.

Stay tuned....

Closing Time

Well its merry Muslim Christmas time again. As my young years fly by faster and faster one after the other, i rarely stop to think about the circumstances that have led me to this time and place.

Looking back 5 years, to the historic pre Utku era, i would have never imagined a life in Istanbul with a Turkish man, making sounds from my mouth that are supposed to be Turkish words. Like, who spiked my apple juice with the unexpected?

While this year and a half has seen enough cultural and personal whirlwinds to write a decent drama novel, the essence of my time here is skin deep, it has been transfused into me, injected into my soul. Living in Istanbul is like living with you're fiery, old grandmother who knows and feels more than your whole family combined. She is unsympathetic and non forgiving yet wake the next day and she showers you with loving energy and charisma. She enlightens you with her historic experience and customs, she lends your ear to fables told through generations. Yet, it isn't what you hear, see and smell from her, its the way she shakes you to feel through her every move. You suddenly live your life with feelings never felt before. In an uncontrolled environment, you are forced to grasp a handle on all things real and not to let go, especially in times of dark desperation. Only after realising what you really want can you let go in order to pursue the more controlled destination.

So, i have let go. I have chosen the more familiar ground, where surf meets turf. Its time to head south and plant the seeds, grow the trees and heat the oven or whatever the phrase is. I wont even try to shake Istanbul from my stubborn back. No doubt my future Sydney sleeps hold treacherous dreams of sounds, smells and images through the winding streets of Beyğolu, but a little melancholy never hurt anyone.

You have me firm in you're grip Istanbul, loosen it please, it will make it easier for both of us.

Cutlure In a Box (winter nights and Turkish film)

I never really thought of myself as a home body. From memory i was a mover and shaker, ready to take on the town painting it red with wickedness. Those were the days of roof top dancing to the darbuka, midye tava and beer on the sidewalk and long strolls through Balat and Fener. Those were the pre rainy season days.

These days my apartment, heated at a temperature resembling the Sahara dessert and my local DVD store have a even 50:50 slice of my free time and I'm not ashamed to say so. But before you judge my hibernating tendencies with ‘seez the day’ snobbery, ill tell you that from the couch there is a crash course in Turkish culture that the guide books don't tell you about. The best part being, your baklava behind doesn’t have to move and inch.

As a foreigner in Turkey, watching a Turkish film is like watching my mother put on her makeup as a child. What you see in the reflection is vibrantly familiar yet you can’t quite relate to it the way you want to, you just yearn to one day experience it first hand yourself. Yeşilcam melodramas, modern art house films, and Sultan fairy tales have provided me with transient Turkish makeovers, applying coat after coat of color to my cultural inquisition.

Turkish cinema has had an interesting ride through the 21st century. Up until 1896, films were a private luxury for the sultans court. Soon after, in a Galata square beer house, films first started to be screened for the Turkish public. However an actual Turkish production wasn't to be made for another 18years when in 1914 the Turkish army funded its reserve officer to make the documentary ‘The Demolition of The Russian Monument at St Stephen’. Fortunatly, the only way possible was up and in the 1940s film producers organised companies and in turn companies started to produce some notable work with their first festival winner ‘Unutulan Sır’ (forgotten secret). The 50s then brought shape to the industry with its budding directors such as Lutfi Akad, Atıf Yilmaz and Metin Erksan leading us into the goldern years of Turkish cinema of Yeşilcam. Described as the ‘Turkish Hollywood’ Yeşilcam, the result of the 1960s socialist desire for cheap collective entertainment, graced Turkish popular culture for a fleeting 10years between 1965-1975. Its downfall came after an economic crisis and the extension of television, yet those melodramatic years are still very much alive in Turkish home film collections today. Leading us to the present; the social and economic changes bred some internationally acclaimed films depicting the social issues of the time such as ‘Yol’ and Lütfi Akads ‘Gelin’. These days Turkish film is becoming more and more present on the international stage with a number of International film festivals being held in Istanbul and Ankara. Turkey with its natural and historic riches, and Istanbul with its spectacular aesthetics and winding Beyğolu streets makes for incredible cinematography, but its seems as though directors have only recently started to hone in on the visual and cultural. While a variety of dramatic and comedic films are out there, critics blame the lack of success of art house films to funding cuts and the intellectual minority. But ask around and spend an hour in your DVD store and you'll find a wild range of psycho thrillers, minimalist pieces, romantic comedies and classic dramas, here a few to start you off.

Selvi Boylum Al Yazmalım (My little red scarf, 1978) by festival award winner Atıf Yılmaz is a post Yeşilcam classic that flutters the hearts of any Turk with appreciation for archetypal melodrama. If not for its ‘city boy meets country girl’ theme then its for Türkan Şoray’s melancholic seduction or Cahit Berkay’s music that exceeds the average dramatic edge. Ask a local about it, and a sweet reminiscent smile appears on their face. Despite laughing when i should have been crying, my laughter was strung with appreciation, especially for Türkan Şoray’s narration of “What is love? Is is passion, or is it kindness?” because apparently you couldn't have both back then a source tells me. This is perhaps the most adored of its kind, and a must see but you better put the feminist in you on mute.

Yol ( The Way ,1982) By Yılmaz Gunay is a poignant, important classic; reflecting the social issues of the time. The screen play was written while Yılmaz Gunay was in jail and portrays an unrelenting image of Turkish authorities through the lives of five inmates struggling to make sense of their circumstances during a week’s leave from prison. Dedicated to the Kurdish struggle, it aroused controversy and was banned in Turkey for several years. Today, ‘Yol’ is one of the most significant films in Turkish history that sheds light on the bleak social issues of it’s period.

Uzak (Distant, 2003) by Nuri Bilge Ceylan is a minimalist, visually stunning art film that has impressed the international stage at the Canne and Chicago film festivals. Ceylan, a distinguished photographer has produced a number of impressive low budget films. The lonely lives of two men from the same village yet worlds apart living together in Istanbul is set under a microscope of long naturalistic scenes with minimal dialogue. Alienated from society, and ‘distant’ from their ideals we as viewers are on the provinces of their minimal interaction and cringing solitude. Ceylan’s spectacular yet simplistic shots around Istanbul and the country side balance these bouts of big city loneliness with beauty. ‘Highly recommended’ doesn't cover it, I'm insisting... see it.




Mustafa Hakkında Herşey (Everything about Mustafa, 2004) by Çarğan Irmak is a psychological thriller that displays some great talent. We watch, Mustafa (Fikret Kuşkan) a successful business man, collapse after his seemingly great life is torn apart by an accident. The accident unfolds more than a tragic loss, and casts him in a spiral of revenge and uncertainty that appears fatal for a certain taxi driver. Although thrilling in the best of senses, it delves into the subplot sensitively, revealing the not so successful sides to Mustafa’s life that he seems blind to. Great performances and a tight production make this one a good Friday night flick with a block of rich dark chocolate

Fishermen's Friends

Utku's desire to go fishing resulted in 3 hours of arm extension exercises, a lesson in hooks and a possy of dedicated nine year old fisherboy's who ended up taking over his rod. But guess who caught the only fish of the day.... your's truly of course.

A Hunt For The Perfect Olive

A date with breakfast centers around my olive preparation. The week’s olives are place in a deep ramekin saturated with olive oil, sprinkled with oregano, chili flakes and the juice of half a lemon. A breakfast without olives is like a kebab without the meat, it just doesn’t happen.

This mornings olive preparation gets me thinking about this small oval entity of favorable flavor. I study their glossy gourmet image, wondering if their appeal could really get any better. How good can an olive get? Do I have ‘my’ olive that I shelter myself with it’s familiarity? Am I open and understanding to new and different olives in my life? What if there is a better olive for me? Would I feel comfortable being a serial ‘olivizer’, changing my olive type from week to week, or constantly seeking that perfect olive but never succeeding because I just don’t know what I want out of an olive?

I steer my mental energies back to the less dramatic, more impersonal question of: What makes the perfect olive? Figuring that one can’t claim theirs as being the best without extensive experience, I set out on a hunt for the perfect olive.

First stop Kadiköy, olive central. Off the ferry and up the hill into Kadiköy’s bustling market place, Balık Pazarı, I collide with a number of Şarküteriler (Deli’s), tightly positioned amongst the clamorous competition of vocal advertisements between the fish and vegetable sellers. Here, my little olive heart flutters and my piped pupils bulge at the site of glistening mountains of small salty heaven.

Ecevitler 2 breaks me into optimism with its gentle beckoning owner, Nural, reaching out his miniature olive shovel for my tasting pleasure. An Ecevitler Zeytin rolls on my tongue and I gently chew its salty plump meat off its tiny pip and focus on the task ahead of me. There are at least 10 different olives at this particular Şarküteriler and every one of them needs to be tried, tasted and tested before I move on to exhibit B. Pallet ready and pen in hand I work my way through the list, beginning with the black. The Sele olives are the most common, generally small, wrinkle skinned olives that grace almost every breakfast table. These are hand picked, salted and kept in Sele bags with oregano and bay leaves. Once fully seasoned, the salt is taken away and sold without being washed. Nural’s sele olive is Az Tuzlu Yağlı Zeytin (with oil and a little salt) a small but tender oily number that would suit any humble breakfast plate.

Moving onto his more specialised olives, Nural continues to explain that most of the world’s table olives are produced in Gemlik, a Marmara sea town close to Bursa. The region and climate is perfect for growing thin-skinned, small piped meaty olives. He proudly offer’s me a Süper Lüx Gemlik Zeytin, crimson, plump and slightly peppery it somehow doesn’t quite live up to it’s Süper lüx price tag, the Lüx Gemlik not fairing so well either with its slightly off taste, while the Gemlik Kıvırcık excretes a not too salty, fleshy, almost rosy undertone of flavor that melts in my mouth. Lesson 1: don’t be fooled by ‘Lüx’ labels.

Onto ‘greener’ pastures, I study the Duble Naturel Çizik (double natural), Özel Natural Çizik (special natural), and the Normal Çizik (um... normal). Çizik (to dash) refers to the slight cut given to green olives, releasing its bitterness before the salting process. Quietly curious about the difference between ‘naturals’ I wonder if there is a ‘super natural’ flavor I am yet to experience.... All preserved in lemon juice and oil their flesh has a crisp texture with the citrus influence adding an extra zesty tang. Like the label states, the Özel Natural Çizik despite its larger pip has, again, a subtle rosy undertone revealing how ‘special’ is really is. Then of course, you have the Biberli (with pepper/capsicum), an all time favorite that replaces the pip with a slither of pepper allowing it to slide down effortlessly sparing oneself of the not so favorable pip spit.

As I move on to the surrounding Şarküteriler a few more specialties stick out among the standard selection; I found the Bodrum Çizik a green olive with a purple tinge that is saltier than most of its fellow Çizik’s, hailing from the Aegean coast of Bodrum and Izmir. Further down the market are some gourmet green’s such as the Domat Çizik, a corpulent olive drenched in lemon oil and the Ayvalık Domat Kırma Zeytin another beefy green preserved in herbal lemon dressing, a rather gourmet touch I thought. Finally, in between a toothless fish seller and tonsil inflated fruit seller I discovered the smallest Sele olive known to mankind, the Kuru Sele Zeytin with its dryness not undermining its salty, full flavor.

Although Kadiköy has the tightest handle on all things olive, I kept with the theme of being open about my hunt and made the journey the Eminönü, home of all things spicy. Just to the left of Mısır Çarşısı (spice bazaar) is a stretch of specialized deli stores. All have their specialty, be it, pastırma, cheese or nuts and of course olives. Screaming out at me, amoungst these Turkish delights was Tat Gıda ve Şarküteri, here olives are sold in cheap abundance by zeytin gözlu (olive eyed) sellers. The insane variety included obese purple Kalamata’s that resembled over grown thumbs, which unfortunately only appetised my eyes rather than my pallet with its strange fishy essence. The Bademli olive’s tantalized with their crunchy texture and slither of sweetness in the center, while the Süper Umurbey Zeytin sent it’s blessing with its moist flesh falling off it’s petite pips. But the most unique of the olive family had been tampered with, the Portakallı Zeytin a green and pitted olive with a slice of orange wedged in its center. These, I’m guessing, would only be fit for those chocolate orange eaters, you either love it or you don’t.

So, after enough taste bud abuse from a severe salt overdose I decided it was time for a verdict. From trying at least 30 olives, the criteria was clear: Plump and moist, thin-skinned, slightly sweet and gently dented with a soft texture. The Ecevitler’s Gemlik Kıvırcık with its rosy aroma and fleshy, soft meat out did its black competitors and in green land the Ayvalık Domat Kırma Zeytin brought it home with its herbal halation and lemon zest. Countless olives tried their best at impressing my pallet, the one thing that came clear to me is however; never judge an olive by its image

So long summer

The hot steamy days that are spent jammed on a packed bus are thankfully ending. For one month of the year Istanbul transforms into one big outdoor Hamam (a traditional Turkish bath). Only there are no big bold women bending you over on the street to give you a serious scrub down and massage. The intense humidity only creates a lovely grease slicked skin mirror effect, where you may find a lovely lass touching up her lipstick in your forid reflection. Generally, these are the days when you best leave your vanity card at home and just roll with it.

The one thing i will miss about Istanbul's August is those long and lovely summer nights. Sitting outside till the wee hours, chugging down beer or sipping on a Gin and Tonic and watching the hustle and bustle of this wild and wonderful place. Either on a roof top terrace listening to the crowds below, feeling the rhythm either from the street or the darbuka (a small drum you'r spirit is ignited and the urge to move your hips in line with the beat is unavoidable.

Now, with cooler days and almost cold nights our little worried winter hearts mourn. Although we embrace the cold change, we know a six month spell of dark days and rainy rows are closer than we'd like. Nevertheless, nights of cooking and snuggling are not to be feared, as we know that every soul needs a hibernation period of some sort, particularly in this city.