A Turkey Post Without a Bird

Anik See's evocative collection of travel essays, "A Taste for Adventure: A Culinary Odyssey Around the World" is the present selection for the Cook the Books Club, the bimonthly online book club where participating foodies read, review and cook from the featured book. I am the current hostess for this round centered on See's wonderful book, and was delighted to recommend the book to others.

"A Taste for Adventure" is lyrically written about the author's slow bicycle journeys through a number of exotic destinations in Asia, South America and the Middle East. Often See was alone, but on several of her sojourns she was accompanied by her boyfriend Doug, and in most every destination, she and he were welcomed to feasts, personalized tours, loaded down with local delicacies and pulled into kitchens and bedrooms for respite.



I enjoyed reading and then rereading the many bookmarked passages in See's book as her writing so vividly gave me a chance to tour remote corners of Patagonia, Georgia, Armenia, Malaysia, Iran and Argentina and several other delicious-sounding, breathtaking countries. She has a gift for making this Western-centric reader appreciate the shift when arriving in a foreign land and making sense of things. Here's her arresting, philosophical take on Thailand:

"Southeast Asia has a way of redefining things. The common misconception is that it makes you appreciate the "privilege" of being born into a western country and its potential for affluence. In fact, what Southeast Asia does is reveal the excesses of the West, of how we westerners have lost sight of the importance of simpler things in the quest for money and "meaningful" careers (as opposed to a meaningful existence), the need for a house or two or three, a car or two or three, and material possessions. Southeast Asia has a way of forcing you to define what is absolutely necessary for your survival and uncover the happiness that lies within a possessionless existence" (pp. 50-51 in my softcover copy).

The challenge for my Cook the Books post ended up trying to narrow down the particular geographic locale that I would research further. I was partial to See's description of Georgia, and the "fierce pride", contradictions of romanticism and economic desperation, high spirits, romance and chivalry and chauvinism all entwined. See was wisely accompanied by Doug on this route, which begins as they wheel their bikes out of the customs checkpoint and are embraced, kissed and laden with apples, jam and vodka by a complete stranger. At every Georgian pitstop the pair are forcefully bestowed with eggplants, exuberant greetings, more vodka, joyful, hours-long impromptu feasts, tearful departures, homemade wine, watermelons, and many, many more glasses of homemade wine.

Ultimately, I decided to dip an exploratory cooking spoon into the cuisine of Turkey, described so tantalizingly in See's book as "multidimensional, coy and luring, steamy, seductive, like nothing I have ever tasted and certainly like nothing I had ever expected" (p 96). I found some excellent introductions to Turkish cuisine at this website and then visited quite a while over at Binnur's Turkish Cookbook, where I decided to try my hand at Guvecte Mantarli Pilav, a toothsome mushroom and rice pilaf topped with a snowy cap of cooked grated potato and egg yolks. The two starches might seem a bit much combined together, but this made a great main dish supper for our family, who tucked into it before I was able to snap the requisite food porn photo. Darn!



This was a great recipe, thank you Binnur! I made it with sliced baby portabella mushrooms and it was hearty and homey on a cold January evening. Even my dill-phobic daughters scarfed it up with gusto and I would recommend it to anyone interested in an introductory recipe to help explore Turkish cooking. It was an accessible-sounding casserole, sort of a riff on vegetarian shepherd's pie, but the spice and flavor combinations were just different enough to make it an exotic dish for our table.

Be sure to check back in at Cook the Books after our January 22 deadline to see the roundup of blog posts, book reviews and book-inspired recipes for our "Taste of Adventure". Until then...

Stuffed Grape Leaves with Zucchini and Cilantro

Earlier this summer I put up six quarts of preserved grape leaves from some wild vines around our pool fence and we've made two batches of dill and mint-scented stuffed grape leaves. With an abundance of zucchini now shooting from our four plants on a daily basis (when will I learn to only plant one or two summer squashes?) I try to cook up my zukes each night and stash some away in the freezer, but we always seem to have a bit of leftover sauteed zucchini hanging around in the fridge.

We tried a new zucchini variety this year, Bush Baby, which grows a shorter, rounder squash, with lovely dark and light green stripes. They are not very seedy and have a nutty flavor. Like all zucchinis, of course, they are reproductive champs, so I have been trying to pick them every day and cook some up in various ways for our summer suppers. The leftover cooked zucchini usually gets tucked into the freezer, but the other night I thought about chopping some up into some other leftovers: cooked rice and tomato sauce and making stuffed vine leaves. Untraditional they were, but TASTY! The fresh cilantro adds a nice green zing as a change from the traditional mint and dill.



Once you have access to brined grape leaves, making dolmades is a breeze. The time-consuming part is the grape leaf harvest and selecting the perfect-sized leaves and leaves without Japanese beetle chomps. After washing the leaves, rolling them into bundles and brining them up took only short while. But if you have them brined up or purchase grape leaves already preserved, all you need to do is basically whip up a rice salad, stuff your grape leaves and bake them.

Here's what I did:

Stuffed Grape Leaves with Zucchini and Cilantro

1 cup tomato sauce (I had leftover homemade with lots of garlic and basil)
3 cups leftover cooked rice
1 cup sauteed zucchini (I had sauteed it with garlic, olive oil and fresh basil), coarsely chopped
3 Tbsp. finely chopped cilantro
36 preserved grape leaves in brine
Olive oil
Juice of 1/2 lemon

Drain leaves and unfurl. Pat dry and reserve.

Pour half of tomato sauce to cover bottom of a 1 quart baking dish. Place remaining tomato sauce in a mixing bowl with rice, chopped zucchini and cilantro. Don't add any salt and pepper as the salt from the brined grape leaves will seep in to season the filling during baking.

Place one teaspoon of this rice filling in the center of each grape leaf. Fold sides in first, then roll up and place, seam-side down, in saucy baking dish. I found that 36 stuffed grape rolls covered the bottom of my baking dish, but you may haved different results with differently-shaped baking dishes and differently-sized grape leaves. Any leftover rice stuffing can be seasoned with a little brine from the grape leaf jar and eaten as a refreshing rice salad later.

Drizzle a little olive oil over the top and cover with foil. Bake in preheated 350 degree F oven for 30 minutes.

Let cool 5 minutes. Then drizzle lemon juice over top and serve. Also great cold!

Mangia!

Makes 36 stuffed grape leaves.
A refreshing dinner on a hot and steamy summer's eve.



I am sending a platter of these delicious stuffed grape leaves over to Weekend Herb Blogging, a weekly food blogging event headquartered at Cook (Almost) Anything At Least Once. WHB is focused on the Vegetable Kingdom and posts which show how to grow and eat vegetables, fruits and herbs. This week, Weekend Herb Blogging is being hosted by A Food Lover's Journey. Stop by and check out the WHB roundup after the August 16 deadline. And start thinking about a great vegetable, herb or fruit recipe for the week of August 24-30, when I'll be your WHB host.

A Love Affair with the Black-Eyed Peas

Not those Black Eyed Peas, though their music is quite sprightly, but these loverly legumes. It is time for another round of My Legume Love Affair (MLLA), the blog event that celebrates legumes and beany dishes of all kinds, and which is the brainchild of Susan the Well Seasoned Cook. This month's MLLA event is being hosted way up north by Laurie of Mediterranean Cooking in Alaska.



I had some dried black eyed-peas that I wanted to cook up and perfume with some preserved lemon that I had made a couple of months back during my exploration of Middle Eastern cooking inspired by Diana Abu-Jaber's memoir "The Language of Baklava". This great book was the second book pick for the Cook the Books club (now we're all reading Tony Bourdain's "Kitchen Confidential", so that should inspire me to cook up something in the French bistro manner. Or take up chain smoking. Hopefully the former).

Back to preserved lemons.

I had checked out Claudia Roden's great "The New Book of Middle Eastern Food" and immediately peppered it with an armful of bookmarks to note all the recipes I wanted to try. One thing that intrigued me was preserved lemons, which are a fragrant ingredient in many Arab dishes. I remember poring through my mom's old copy of the gigantic "Larousse Gastronomique" when I was just a budding teen foodie and being particularly fascinated by one of the first entries, "Lemon Achar", which was a way of preserving lemons with salt. I never did get through my intention to read that whole thousand page volume, but I did come back to the Lemon Achar entry a many times. It seemed so exotic and tasty to read about.

Back to the preserved lemons again.

I followed Roden's recipe for making these citrusy goodies, which involved slicing them down to their nubs, but not quite, and then boiling them a bit, removing the pulp, salting them and packing them into sterlized jars under a lot of olive oil. I had to return her book to the library, so I can't quote her exact recipe, but I did find some other Preserved Lemon recipes on the Internet here (including Roden's 1970 recipe version) and here which sound equally good, though they don't involve boiling and must be a good bit saltier.

I waited a month to let my lemons ripen and then tried a bit. It's very soft and citrusy, without the harsh bite that the white pith often leaves. A delicate taste indeed and one which inspired me to use it in this Middle Eastern-inspired salad:



Black-Eyed Pea Salad with Preserved Lemon

1 lb. dried black-eyed peas, soaked overnight in cold water

2 medium yellow onions, peeled and roughly chopped
2 bay leaves

Juice of one lemon (1/4 cup juice)
1/2 olive oil
1 Tbsp. snipped fresh dill (I had some frozen dill in the freezer)
Salt and pepper to taste

1/2 of a preserved lemon, finely chopped


Soak dried peas overnight. Drain and add fresh water to cover in a medium pot. Add onions and bay leaves. Bring to a boil. Lower heat and simmer, covered, until peas are tender but not mushy, about 20-25 minutes. Drain. Remove bay leaves.

Mix lemon juice, olive oil and dill. Season with salt and pepper to taste. Gently toss peas with this dressing. Garnish with bits of preserved lemon.

This salad could be served warm or chilled, though Dan and I preferred it at room temperature, so we took it out of the refrigerator about a half hour before serving. This Black-Eyed Pea Salad is lovely served with a green salad and a side of grilled fish.

Makes 8 side dish servings.

Laurie will no doubt have an Alaskan-sized roundup of leguminous dishes to feature after the March 31st deadline, so we can all look forward to that. Love your legumes!

Cook the Books Club: The Language of Baklava

The Language of Baklava. And Muhammara. And Rosewater. And Lemony, Garlicky Hummus. It's all found in the second book pick from the new foodie book club, Cook the Books. Our current host, Deb of Kahakai Kitchen, picked this marvelous memoir by Diana Abu-Jaber, about her childhood growing up in icy Syracuse, New York in an extended Arab family, headed by her father Bud (Ghassan) and his gaggle of brothers.

I inhaled this book, and plan on rereading it soon, both to consult it for the recipes and to relive some of the poignantly funny scenes that the ever-observant young Diana noted between her lively dad and her various relatives, teachers, and neighbors. You can read my fuller review of this wonderful book ("The Language of Baklava: A Memoir, by Diana Abu-Jaber, NY:Pantheon, 2005) on my book blog, The Book Trout, here.

Each chapter in the book is followed by a wonderful Arab recipe and this inspired me to seek out Claudia Roden's great cookbook "The New Book of Middle Eastern Food" from my local library so I could learn more about this cuisine and try out some new dishes. I lingered over this 500+ page cookbook and decided to make the following feast:

A pot of Mint Tea
Magical Muhummara
Labneh Balls
Stuffed Grape Leaves and Oil-Cured Olives over Lettuce
Sesame-Rosemary Crackers
Steamed Rice
Fava Beans

The Mint Tea was brewed by steeping dried mint from my summer garden, the Fava Beans and Stuffed Grape Leaves came from cans from the "Gourmet" section of the grocery store, but I found a bit of kitchen time to whip up another batch of very tasty Sesame-Rosemary Crackers that I experimented with earlier.



The Magical Muhammara recipe is a real winner and it is straight from the pages of "The Language of Baklava". If you don't have a copy of this wonderful book (and if you are a foodie or bibliomane, you should!), then you can go to the Saveur website to get Abu-Jaber's savory recipe for this spicy, complex-flavored dip made from toasted walnuts, pomegranate juice, roasted red peppers and other delights. I've made it twice now, and my husband has wolfed it down appreciatively. We're planning to bring it to some great cook/friends this weekend during the Superbowl festivities (Go Steelers!) and I have no doubt it will be a hit. It's easy to make (and easy to make gluten-free with GF crumbs) and tastes exotic and decadently good. Magical even.



The Labneh Balls were somewhat of a Crispy Cook experiment. Roden's cookbook notes that labneh, or yogurt cheese, can be rolled into balls and rolled in spices and drizzled with olive oil for a delightful appetizer. I had made yogurt cheese, or labneh, before, which is also easy. You just need time to let plain yogurt, mixed with a little salt, drain at least overnight to remove the moisture and make the yogurt into a creamy, spreadable cheese. Because I have some frisky, dairy-loving cats around, I made my labneh in the refrigerator, with a coffee filter-lined sieve poised over a bowl. This recipe gives more specifics, but I basically just rolled the finished labneh in chopped Italian parsley, toasted sesame seeds and smoked paprika, and then drizzled it with some extra-virgin olive oil. The labneh balls went well with the homemade crackers, too.



We feasted well that evening and plan to keep all these wonderful foods in our Crispy Cook repertoire (although the fava beans tasted a bit, well, dusty. Perhaps fresh favas are more sumptuous). I can recommend "The Language of Baklava" to anyone who enjoys an interesting biography, book about food or humorous writing. Ms. Abu-Jaber has promised to stop by and review all the Cook the Books posts after Deb posts the roundup (after the Feb. 15 deadline) so be sure to check back then to see what we all cooked up.