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Thoroughly modern meze
By Anya von Bremzen, Special to The Times
Los Angeles Times
June 9 2004
Istanbul
By 11 p.m., the street theater on Nevizade Street, a narrow lane
lined with outdoor restaurants around Istanbul's fish market, works
up to a kind of Felliniesque mayhem. Flower sellers push big thorny
roses at passersby's noses, while a Gypsy quartet cranks background
music for a parade of street peddlers.
Amid this carnival, waiters unload trays of small dishes on tables
and refill glasses with raki, Turkey's favorite anise-based liquor.
Our own table, at an old Armenian restaurant called Boncuk, is
mosaicked with plates of dips, crisp fish croquettes redolent of
allspice and cinnamon, a chickpea pâté layered with dried currants
and pine nuts, and a majestic börek, a pastry oozing a tangy filling
of cheese and pastirma, or spiced cured beef.
These are meze, Turkey's signature little dishes and the Middle
East's answer to Spanish tapas, Venetian baccari or Mexican
antojitos.
On our own shores, meze offer yet another twist on the small-plates
trend. Entertaining at home? Meze could have been invented for
Southern California, where, much like in Istanbul, they can be
languidly savored al fresco on the patio. Less fussy than hors
d'oeuvres, a welcome break from Italian antipasti, infinitely more
varied than hummus and baba ghanouj, a few meze together make an
exciting light feast.
Meze — the name is derived from the Persian word maza, or flavor —
seem to flourish in Istanbul as an edible life force: from a plethora
of eggplant preparations to a veritable encyclopedia of dolma, or
stuffed vegetables; from multitudes of böreks, savory pastries, to a
vast roster of salads and dips. They can be cold or hot, light or
substantial, as humble as a wedge of salty white cheese or as chichi
as the langoustine salads dished out at the glamorous fish
restaurants along the Bosphorus shores. Though most travelers to
Turkey encounter meze at restaurants, they taste even better when
prepared at home. "Meze is all about socializing — nibbling,
drinking, laughing," says Gökçan Adar, an Istanbul food writer. One
breezy night, under a sour cherry tree in his overgrown garden, he
treats us to a 19-dish meze marathon.
Spontaneity is essential
Typical of modern-day Istanbul, where the cuisine evolves with
lightning speed, his spread is both creative and classic: braised
eggplant topped with a flourish of walnut and sun-dried tomato paste,
langoustines with their roe resting atop lemony wild greens, fritters
of just-picked zucchini flowers on a vibrant red pepper purée. This
could almost be Catalonia — or California. Not to be outdone, my
friend Engin Akin, a food writer and radio host legendary in Istanbul
for her swank soirees, throws a bash on the lawn of her home
overlooking the Bosphorus. Ever willing to experiment, Akin
deep-fries paper-thin leaves of yufka (a phyllo-like dough) and
serves the crisps with shavings of Turkish cured mullet roe similar
to bottarga. She fashions nifty bruschetta from the ubiquitous fava
bean pâté, topping the toasts with fried almonds.
Grazing gets more cosmopolitan still when Akin and I move on to
Bodrum, a jet-set resort on the Aegean. Here, at a cocktail party at
the white-washed villa of a shipping tycoon, white-gloved waiters
pass such dainties as miniature French fry "kebabs," Gruyère köfte
(meatballs), and spicy sucuk (soujuk) sausage wrapped in phyllo.
In Turkey, meze are intimately linked with the city's history as a
cosmopolitan port and to drinking establishments called meyhane.
What — drinking in a Muslim culture, with its Koranic prohibitions on
alcohol? Well … sure.
Even before Kemal Atatürk secularized Turkey in the 1920s,
restrictions on alcohol were sporadic, a whim of one sultan or
another. Selling alcohol was taboo, though, entrusted to Istanbul's
numerous non-Muslim minorities: Greeks, Armenians and Jews. It was
they who established the original meyhane, raucous dives packed with
foreign sailors, where meze was an excuse for another round of raki.
Dating back to early Ottoman times or even further, meyhane continue
to thrive.
To learn more, I rendezvous with Akin and Deniz Gursoy, an author of
books on raki and meze, at Safa, the city's oldest meyhane. With
whirling fans, burnished mirrors and pictures of Atatürk striking
Hollywood poses, the place feels like a souvenir from another era.
When Safa opened some 125 ago, Gursoy explains, meze came free with
consumption, consisting of basics like anchovies, pickled cabbage, a
tiny börek and a bowl of leblebi, or dried chickpeas. Today, the
repertoire seems inexhaustible.
Akin explains that flavors Westerners usually associate with Middle
Eastern cuisines — bulgur, pomegranate molasses, lavish spicing,
hummus, kebabs — are rather new to Istanbul, a consequence of the
enormous influx of immigrants from eastern Turkey.
Other classic meze we sample reflect the city's historical layers of
cultures. Delicious fried liver nuggets, with wisps of raw onion and
a dusting of sumac, hail from the Balkans. The plaki is Greek, Gursoy
notes, referring to a classic cold preparation in which beans or fish
are simmered in tomato sauce sweetened with onions and cinnamon. Jews
might have contributed zeytinyagli, an iconic cold meze of
vegetables, such as artichokes or leeks, braised slowly in water and
olive oil with a little sugar until they melt in the mouth.
And though raki still reigns, these days, younger Turks are just as
likely to sip a locally made Cabernet or a dry Muscat with their
meze.
It is actually on Istanbul's Asian side, at a humble joint called
Çiya, that I discover the city's most exciting small dishes. Little
surprise, because chef-owner Musa Dageviren hails from Gaziantep, a
city near the Syrian border renowned for Turkey's finest cuisine.
Each of his dishes vibrates with flavor: A simple tomato and parsley
salad comes alive with a sprinkling of pungent orange-hued powder
made from dried curd cheese. Grape leaves are filled with dried
onions, bulgur and pomegranate syrup. Boiled wheat berries and
home-pickled green tomatoes sport a creamy cloak of dense, tart
yogurt.
"Gaziantep doesn't have a meze tradition per se," Dageviren explains,
"but small dishes are normally served at kebab houses. At home, cooks
often fashion light cold meals from leftovers."
Lacking white-gloved waiters or a grandma from Gaziantep, a meze
spread is still easy to improvise. The rich thick Turkish yogurt
alone — which can be replicated in the United States by draining
good-quality yogurt in a cheesecloth-lined sieve — provides a dozen
simple ideas. Stir in some crushed garlic, minced herbs and grated
cucumbers and spread it on pita. Or fold it into shredded beets,
sautéed zucchini or the chopped smoky flesh of an eggplant that has
been grilled whole over charcoal (and why not sprinkle some toasted
almond on top?). Alternatively, a dollop of yogurt can top fried
eggplant or zucchini slices.
Bulgur also makes a fine meze, say as a salad tossed with chickpeas,
tomatoes, parsley and mint and drizzled with pomegranate molasses and
olive oil. The mandatory raki accompaniment of feta and honeydew
melon becomes elegant when cut into cubes and threaded on long wooden
skewers. Not to forget olives, pistachios, good, creamy feta and
roasted chickpeas. And unless you have a bottle of raki that's been
burning a hole in your liquor cabinet, try Greek ouzo, Pernod, a
fruity, light red wine (slightly chilled) or a crisp, delicate white
(no oaky Chardonnay, please).
Still, raki is our drink as Akin and I prepare a meze feast on her
boat for an indolent Aegean voyage. As for the menu, our plan is to
test-run the best meze recipes we've collected from parties and
restaurants. From Tugra, the palatial Ottoman restaurant at
Istanbul's Çiragan Palace hotel, we steal the idea of wrapping
haloumi cheese in grape leaves, grilling them and serving this
unusual dolma drizzled with pomegranate molasses. A hit.
A floating feast
>>From the shipping tycoon's party we've emerged with a recipe for
müjver, crisp zucchini pancakes, which we make cocktail-sized, with
the addition of the nontraditional baking soda — for puffier
fritters. In Akin's hands, the ubiquitous köfte, or meatballs, turn
out studded with nuts and laced with herbs.
Suddenly, Akin confesses that she's never made topik, my favorite
Armenian chickpea pâté filled with caramelized onions, currants and
pine nuts and dusted with cinnamon. A flurry of phone calls to
Armenian matriarchs. Akin nods and scribbles furiously. She got it.
Except we are not shaping it by spreading the chickpea purée on a wet
muslin cloth with a rolling pin, as tradition dictates. A shortcut
will do.
The table is finally set on the deck under a vast starry sky. Akin's
husband, Nuri, proffers a CD with fasil, the traditional meyhane
music.
"You pour, we drink," the song blasts. We take the cue. A sip, a
nibble, a gulp — and luckily no one falls in the water. Luckier
still, we don't have far to go. No need for a hamal, a porter who in
Ottoman times would wait by the meyhane doors to deliver the
inebriated back to their families.
*
Topik (layered garbanzo bean pâté )
Total time: 1½ hours, plus chilling time
Servings: Makes 9 squares
2/3cups dried Zante currants
1/4cup mild olive oil
4 cups chopped white onions (medium dice)
1 teaspoon cinnamon, plus more for sprinkling the pâté
3/4 teaspoon ground allspice
1/2 cup toasted pine nuts
3 cups canned garbanzo beans, well drained, liquid
reserved
3 tablespoons tahini paste, room temperature, well stirred
2 tablespoons fresh lemon juice
2 medium-sized yellow-fleshed potatoes, peeled and boiled
Salt
1. Place the currants in a medium bowl, add boiling water to a level
one-half inch above the currants and let them stand for 30 minutes.
Drain and reserve the soaking liquid.
2. In a large skillet, heat the oil over medium-high heat. Add onions
and cook, stirring, until they begin to soften, about 7 minutes.
Reduce heat to medium-low and continue cooking, stirring
occasionally, until onions are soft and very lightly browned, about
15 to 20 minutes, adding 2 to 3 tablespoons of the currant soaking
liquid when onions begin to look dry.
3. Add the currants and another 2 to 3 tablespoons of their soaking
liquid and cook for 5 more minutes, stirring. Stir in the cinnamon
and allspice and cook for 2 more minutes. Remove from heat and let
the mixture cool to room temperature. Stir in the pine nuts.
4. In a food processor, purée the garbanzo beans in 2 batches with
the tahini, lemon juice and 4 to 5 tablespoons of the bean liquid
until very smooth. Scrape the mixture into a large bowl.
5. Mash the potatoes until smooth with a potato masher or pass
through a ricer. Stir the mashed potatoes into the puréed mixture and
mix thoroughly. Season with salt.
6. Line an 8-inch square baking pan with plastic wrap, leaving 4 to 5
inches of overhang on all sides. Wet your hands with cold water and
use them to spread half of the garbanzo mixture evenly on the bottom.
Spread the onion mixture evenly on top; it will be a rather thick
layer. With wet hands, spread the other half of the garbanzo mixture
on top of that. Fold in the overhang to enclose the pâté. Weight the
pâté with a small cast-iron skillet, a plate topped with two 16-ounce
cans or something of similar weight, and refrigerate for 2 to 3
hours.
7. To serve, bring the pâté to room temperature, invert it onto a
serving plate and remove the plastic wrap. Sprinkle the top lightly
with cinnamon (you can do this decoratively through a doily). Cut
into squares.
Each serving: 306 calories; 9 grams protein; 41 grams carbohydrates;
7 grams fiber; 14 grams fat; 2 grams saturated fat; 0 cholesterol;
246 mg. sodium.
*
Herbed zucchini and feta fritters
Total time: 1 hour, 30 minutes, plus refrigerator time
Servings: 36 fritters
1 1/2 cups plain yogurt, preferably full-fat organic
1 large garlic clove, crushed through a garlic press
Salt
1 pound zucchini (about 2 large), shredded in a food processor using
a three-eighths-inch hole
4 ounces feta, grated
1/3cup minced dill
1/3cup minced parsley
1/4 cup thinly sliced mint leaves
2/3cup flour
3/4 teaspoon baking powder
2 large eggs, beaten
Mild olive oil for frying
1. Place yogurt in a small sieve lined with cheesecloth and set over
a bowl. Drain in the refrigerator for 2 hours or overnight.
2. Place drained yogurt in a bowl, stir in garlic and salt to taste
and let mixture stand at room temperature while preparing fritters.
3. Place shredded zucchini in a fine sieve and press hard against the
sieve to extract as much liquid as possible. In a large bowl, mix
zucchini, feta, dill, parsley and mint and stir until well combined.
4. Sift flour and baking powder into bowl. Add half of mixture to the
eggs and stir to form a smooth paste. Stir paste into zucchini and
combine thoroughly. Sprinkle in the rest of the flour mixture and
stir in well. Let stand for about 10 minutes. Stir again.
5. Line a cookie sheet with paper towels. In a 12-inch skillet, heat
1 inch of oil to 375 degrees, or until a drop of batter sizzles on
contact. Drop 3 (1-tablespoon) portions of batter into oil without
overcrowding and flatten lightly with the back of a spoon. Fry until
deep golden and crusty, about 1 1/2 minutes per side. With a slotted
spoon, transfer fritters to the paper towels to drain and continue to
fry remaining fritters. Serve hot or warm, with the yogurt dip.
Each fritter: 50 calories; 2 grams protein; 3 grams carbohydrates;
0 fiber; 4 grams fat; 1 gram saturated fat; 16 mg. cholesterol; 52
mg. sodium.
*
Herbed köfte with tahini sauce
Total time: 45 minutes plus 1 hour chilling time
Servings: 42 meatballs
Note: Sumac is available at Middle Eastern markets.
Tahini sauce
1/2 cup tahini paste, well stirred
1/2 cup chicken broth
1/4 cup fresh lemon juice
1 teaspoon ground cumin
1 teaspoon mild paprika
1. Combine tahini, chicken broth, lemon juice, cumin and paprika,
stirring well.
Meatballs
2 slices white sandwich bread, crusts removed
1/2 pound ground beef
1/2 pound ground lamb
1 medium onion, grated
1 heaping teaspoon salt
1 1/2 teaspoons ground cumin
Large pinch ground allspice
1 teaspoon crushed red pepper
3/4 teaspoon black pepper
3/4 cup minced parsley
1/2 cup finely chopped mint
1 cup toasted walnut pieces
2 tablespoons mild olive oil
1/2 red onion, very thinly sliced
Minced parsley or sumac for garnish
Tahini sauce
1. Dip the bread in cold water and squeeze dry against the bottom of
a fine sieve. In a large bowl, mix bread with beef, lamb, onion,
salt, cumin, allspice, red pepper and black pepper. Mix thoroughly,
but avoid overhandling. Refrigerate for 1 hour.
2. Mix in parsley, mint and walnuts with your hands and shape mixture
into balls.
3. Heat 1 tablespoon oil over medium heat in a large skillet. Add
half the meatballs and sauté until browned and cooked through, about
7 minutes. Regulate heat so meatballs don't burn, and shake pan
vigorously to turn them. Transfer to paper towels. Wipe skillet and
repeat with remaining oil and meatballs.
4. Top with onions. Garnish and serve hot or warm, with tahini sauce.
Each meatball: 69 calories;
3 grams protein; 2 grams carbohydrates; 0 fiber; 6 grams fat; 1 gram
saturated fat; 7 mg. cholesterol; 78 mg. sodium.
*
Grilled haloumi-stuffed grape leaves with pomegranate sauce
Total time: 25 minutes
Servings: Makes 12 dolmas
Note: Haloumi cheese is available at Bristol Farms and at Middle
Eastern markets. Haloumi and grape leaves can both be quite salty; if
your brand of leaves is too briny, soak them longer or blanch in
boiling water for 1 minute.
12 grape leaves preserved in brine
12 (3-inch by one-half-inch) logs haloumi cheese, one-half-inch thick
(queso blanco can be substituted)
2 1/2 tablespoons mild olive oil,
divided
2 tablespoons pomegranate molasses
1 tablespoon water
1/4 teaspoon sugar
1. Place the grape leaves in a bowl. Add boiling water to cover and
soak for about 2 minutes. Taste, and if the leaves still taste
assertively briny, soak for few minutes more. Rinse under cold water,
drain and pat dry with paper towels. Heat the grill to medium.
2. Place a grape leaf shiny side down on a work surface with the stem
facing you. Trim off the stem. Place a log of haloumi across the
bottom end of the leaf and fold the bottom over it. Fold in the sides
and roll up like a cigar to make a dolma. Make sure there are no
tears in the leaf, or the cheese will ooze out. Continue until you
have used all the grape leaves.
3. Brush the dolmas lightly with one-half tablespoon olive oil. Grill
them until they are lightly charred and the cheese is beginning to
soften but is not oozing out, about 1½ minutes per side. Transfer the
dolmas to a plate and let them cool for about 10 minutes.
4. Meanwhile, whisk the remaining oil with the pomegranate molasses,
water and sugar.
5. To serve, drizzle a white serving plate with the pomegranate
mixture and arrange the dolmas on top, drizzling with some extra
sauce if desired.
Each dolma: 246 calories; 14 grams protein; 3 grams carbohydrates;
0 fiber; 20 grams fat; 11 grams saturated fat; 50 mg. cholesterol;
418 mg. sodium.
By Anya von Bremzen, Special to The Times
Los Angeles Times
June 9 2004
Istanbul
By 11 p.m., the street theater on Nevizade Street, a narrow lane
lined with outdoor restaurants around Istanbul's fish market, works
up to a kind of Felliniesque mayhem. Flower sellers push big thorny
roses at passersby's noses, while a Gypsy quartet cranks background
music for a parade of street peddlers.
Amid this carnival, waiters unload trays of small dishes on tables
and refill glasses with raki, Turkey's favorite anise-based liquor.
Our own table, at an old Armenian restaurant called Boncuk, is
mosaicked with plates of dips, crisp fish croquettes redolent of
allspice and cinnamon, a chickpea pâté layered with dried currants
and pine nuts, and a majestic börek, a pastry oozing a tangy filling
of cheese and pastirma, or spiced cured beef.
These are meze, Turkey's signature little dishes and the Middle
East's answer to Spanish tapas, Venetian baccari or Mexican
antojitos.
On our own shores, meze offer yet another twist on the small-plates
trend. Entertaining at home? Meze could have been invented for
Southern California, where, much like in Istanbul, they can be
languidly savored al fresco on the patio. Less fussy than hors
d'oeuvres, a welcome break from Italian antipasti, infinitely more
varied than hummus and baba ghanouj, a few meze together make an
exciting light feast.
Meze — the name is derived from the Persian word maza, or flavor —
seem to flourish in Istanbul as an edible life force: from a plethora
of eggplant preparations to a veritable encyclopedia of dolma, or
stuffed vegetables; from multitudes of böreks, savory pastries, to a
vast roster of salads and dips. They can be cold or hot, light or
substantial, as humble as a wedge of salty white cheese or as chichi
as the langoustine salads dished out at the glamorous fish
restaurants along the Bosphorus shores. Though most travelers to
Turkey encounter meze at restaurants, they taste even better when
prepared at home. "Meze is all about socializing — nibbling,
drinking, laughing," says Gökçan Adar, an Istanbul food writer. One
breezy night, under a sour cherry tree in his overgrown garden, he
treats us to a 19-dish meze marathon.
Spontaneity is essential
Typical of modern-day Istanbul, where the cuisine evolves with
lightning speed, his spread is both creative and classic: braised
eggplant topped with a flourish of walnut and sun-dried tomato paste,
langoustines with their roe resting atop lemony wild greens, fritters
of just-picked zucchini flowers on a vibrant red pepper purée. This
could almost be Catalonia — or California. Not to be outdone, my
friend Engin Akin, a food writer and radio host legendary in Istanbul
for her swank soirees, throws a bash on the lawn of her home
overlooking the Bosphorus. Ever willing to experiment, Akin
deep-fries paper-thin leaves of yufka (a phyllo-like dough) and
serves the crisps with shavings of Turkish cured mullet roe similar
to bottarga. She fashions nifty bruschetta from the ubiquitous fava
bean pâté, topping the toasts with fried almonds.
Grazing gets more cosmopolitan still when Akin and I move on to
Bodrum, a jet-set resort on the Aegean. Here, at a cocktail party at
the white-washed villa of a shipping tycoon, white-gloved waiters
pass such dainties as miniature French fry "kebabs," Gruyère köfte
(meatballs), and spicy sucuk (soujuk) sausage wrapped in phyllo.
In Turkey, meze are intimately linked with the city's history as a
cosmopolitan port and to drinking establishments called meyhane.
What — drinking in a Muslim culture, with its Koranic prohibitions on
alcohol? Well … sure.
Even before Kemal Atatürk secularized Turkey in the 1920s,
restrictions on alcohol were sporadic, a whim of one sultan or
another. Selling alcohol was taboo, though, entrusted to Istanbul's
numerous non-Muslim minorities: Greeks, Armenians and Jews. It was
they who established the original meyhane, raucous dives packed with
foreign sailors, where meze was an excuse for another round of raki.
Dating back to early Ottoman times or even further, meyhane continue
to thrive.
To learn more, I rendezvous with Akin and Deniz Gursoy, an author of
books on raki and meze, at Safa, the city's oldest meyhane. With
whirling fans, burnished mirrors and pictures of Atatürk striking
Hollywood poses, the place feels like a souvenir from another era.
When Safa opened some 125 ago, Gursoy explains, meze came free with
consumption, consisting of basics like anchovies, pickled cabbage, a
tiny börek and a bowl of leblebi, or dried chickpeas. Today, the
repertoire seems inexhaustible.
Akin explains that flavors Westerners usually associate with Middle
Eastern cuisines — bulgur, pomegranate molasses, lavish spicing,
hummus, kebabs — are rather new to Istanbul, a consequence of the
enormous influx of immigrants from eastern Turkey.
Other classic meze we sample reflect the city's historical layers of
cultures. Delicious fried liver nuggets, with wisps of raw onion and
a dusting of sumac, hail from the Balkans. The plaki is Greek, Gursoy
notes, referring to a classic cold preparation in which beans or fish
are simmered in tomato sauce sweetened with onions and cinnamon. Jews
might have contributed zeytinyagli, an iconic cold meze of
vegetables, such as artichokes or leeks, braised slowly in water and
olive oil with a little sugar until they melt in the mouth.
And though raki still reigns, these days, younger Turks are just as
likely to sip a locally made Cabernet or a dry Muscat with their
meze.
It is actually on Istanbul's Asian side, at a humble joint called
Çiya, that I discover the city's most exciting small dishes. Little
surprise, because chef-owner Musa Dageviren hails from Gaziantep, a
city near the Syrian border renowned for Turkey's finest cuisine.
Each of his dishes vibrates with flavor: A simple tomato and parsley
salad comes alive with a sprinkling of pungent orange-hued powder
made from dried curd cheese. Grape leaves are filled with dried
onions, bulgur and pomegranate syrup. Boiled wheat berries and
home-pickled green tomatoes sport a creamy cloak of dense, tart
yogurt.
"Gaziantep doesn't have a meze tradition per se," Dageviren explains,
"but small dishes are normally served at kebab houses. At home, cooks
often fashion light cold meals from leftovers."
Lacking white-gloved waiters or a grandma from Gaziantep, a meze
spread is still easy to improvise. The rich thick Turkish yogurt
alone — which can be replicated in the United States by draining
good-quality yogurt in a cheesecloth-lined sieve — provides a dozen
simple ideas. Stir in some crushed garlic, minced herbs and grated
cucumbers and spread it on pita. Or fold it into shredded beets,
sautéed zucchini or the chopped smoky flesh of an eggplant that has
been grilled whole over charcoal (and why not sprinkle some toasted
almond on top?). Alternatively, a dollop of yogurt can top fried
eggplant or zucchini slices.
Bulgur also makes a fine meze, say as a salad tossed with chickpeas,
tomatoes, parsley and mint and drizzled with pomegranate molasses and
olive oil. The mandatory raki accompaniment of feta and honeydew
melon becomes elegant when cut into cubes and threaded on long wooden
skewers. Not to forget olives, pistachios, good, creamy feta and
roasted chickpeas. And unless you have a bottle of raki that's been
burning a hole in your liquor cabinet, try Greek ouzo, Pernod, a
fruity, light red wine (slightly chilled) or a crisp, delicate white
(no oaky Chardonnay, please).
Still, raki is our drink as Akin and I prepare a meze feast on her
boat for an indolent Aegean voyage. As for the menu, our plan is to
test-run the best meze recipes we've collected from parties and
restaurants. From Tugra, the palatial Ottoman restaurant at
Istanbul's Çiragan Palace hotel, we steal the idea of wrapping
haloumi cheese in grape leaves, grilling them and serving this
unusual dolma drizzled with pomegranate molasses. A hit.
A floating feast
>>From the shipping tycoon's party we've emerged with a recipe for
müjver, crisp zucchini pancakes, which we make cocktail-sized, with
the addition of the nontraditional baking soda — for puffier
fritters. In Akin's hands, the ubiquitous köfte, or meatballs, turn
out studded with nuts and laced with herbs.
Suddenly, Akin confesses that she's never made topik, my favorite
Armenian chickpea pâté filled with caramelized onions, currants and
pine nuts and dusted with cinnamon. A flurry of phone calls to
Armenian matriarchs. Akin nods and scribbles furiously. She got it.
Except we are not shaping it by spreading the chickpea purée on a wet
muslin cloth with a rolling pin, as tradition dictates. A shortcut
will do.
The table is finally set on the deck under a vast starry sky. Akin's
husband, Nuri, proffers a CD with fasil, the traditional meyhane
music.
"You pour, we drink," the song blasts. We take the cue. A sip, a
nibble, a gulp — and luckily no one falls in the water. Luckier
still, we don't have far to go. No need for a hamal, a porter who in
Ottoman times would wait by the meyhane doors to deliver the
inebriated back to their families.
*
Topik (layered garbanzo bean pâté )
Total time: 1½ hours, plus chilling time
Servings: Makes 9 squares
2/3cups dried Zante currants
1/4cup mild olive oil
4 cups chopped white onions (medium dice)
1 teaspoon cinnamon, plus more for sprinkling the pâté
3/4 teaspoon ground allspice
1/2 cup toasted pine nuts
3 cups canned garbanzo beans, well drained, liquid
reserved
3 tablespoons tahini paste, room temperature, well stirred
2 tablespoons fresh lemon juice
2 medium-sized yellow-fleshed potatoes, peeled and boiled
Salt
1. Place the currants in a medium bowl, add boiling water to a level
one-half inch above the currants and let them stand for 30 minutes.
Drain and reserve the soaking liquid.
2. In a large skillet, heat the oil over medium-high heat. Add onions
and cook, stirring, until they begin to soften, about 7 minutes.
Reduce heat to medium-low and continue cooking, stirring
occasionally, until onions are soft and very lightly browned, about
15 to 20 minutes, adding 2 to 3 tablespoons of the currant soaking
liquid when onions begin to look dry.
3. Add the currants and another 2 to 3 tablespoons of their soaking
liquid and cook for 5 more minutes, stirring. Stir in the cinnamon
and allspice and cook for 2 more minutes. Remove from heat and let
the mixture cool to room temperature. Stir in the pine nuts.
4. In a food processor, purée the garbanzo beans in 2 batches with
the tahini, lemon juice and 4 to 5 tablespoons of the bean liquid
until very smooth. Scrape the mixture into a large bowl.
5. Mash the potatoes until smooth with a potato masher or pass
through a ricer. Stir the mashed potatoes into the puréed mixture and
mix thoroughly. Season with salt.
6. Line an 8-inch square baking pan with plastic wrap, leaving 4 to 5
inches of overhang on all sides. Wet your hands with cold water and
use them to spread half of the garbanzo mixture evenly on the bottom.
Spread the onion mixture evenly on top; it will be a rather thick
layer. With wet hands, spread the other half of the garbanzo mixture
on top of that. Fold in the overhang to enclose the pâté. Weight the
pâté with a small cast-iron skillet, a plate topped with two 16-ounce
cans or something of similar weight, and refrigerate for 2 to 3
hours.
7. To serve, bring the pâté to room temperature, invert it onto a
serving plate and remove the plastic wrap. Sprinkle the top lightly
with cinnamon (you can do this decoratively through a doily). Cut
into squares.
Each serving: 306 calories; 9 grams protein; 41 grams carbohydrates;
7 grams fiber; 14 grams fat; 2 grams saturated fat; 0 cholesterol;
246 mg. sodium.
*
Herbed zucchini and feta fritters
Total time: 1 hour, 30 minutes, plus refrigerator time
Servings: 36 fritters
1 1/2 cups plain yogurt, preferably full-fat organic
1 large garlic clove, crushed through a garlic press
Salt
1 pound zucchini (about 2 large), shredded in a food processor using
a three-eighths-inch hole
4 ounces feta, grated
1/3cup minced dill
1/3cup minced parsley
1/4 cup thinly sliced mint leaves
2/3cup flour
3/4 teaspoon baking powder
2 large eggs, beaten
Mild olive oil for frying
1. Place yogurt in a small sieve lined with cheesecloth and set over
a bowl. Drain in the refrigerator for 2 hours or overnight.
2. Place drained yogurt in a bowl, stir in garlic and salt to taste
and let mixture stand at room temperature while preparing fritters.
3. Place shredded zucchini in a fine sieve and press hard against the
sieve to extract as much liquid as possible. In a large bowl, mix
zucchini, feta, dill, parsley and mint and stir until well combined.
4. Sift flour and baking powder into bowl. Add half of mixture to the
eggs and stir to form a smooth paste. Stir paste into zucchini and
combine thoroughly. Sprinkle in the rest of the flour mixture and
stir in well. Let stand for about 10 minutes. Stir again.
5. Line a cookie sheet with paper towels. In a 12-inch skillet, heat
1 inch of oil to 375 degrees, or until a drop of batter sizzles on
contact. Drop 3 (1-tablespoon) portions of batter into oil without
overcrowding and flatten lightly with the back of a spoon. Fry until
deep golden and crusty, about 1 1/2 minutes per side. With a slotted
spoon, transfer fritters to the paper towels to drain and continue to
fry remaining fritters. Serve hot or warm, with the yogurt dip.
Each fritter: 50 calories; 2 grams protein; 3 grams carbohydrates;
0 fiber; 4 grams fat; 1 gram saturated fat; 16 mg. cholesterol; 52
mg. sodium.
*
Herbed köfte with tahini sauce
Total time: 45 minutes plus 1 hour chilling time
Servings: 42 meatballs
Note: Sumac is available at Middle Eastern markets.
Tahini sauce
1/2 cup tahini paste, well stirred
1/2 cup chicken broth
1/4 cup fresh lemon juice
1 teaspoon ground cumin
1 teaspoon mild paprika
1. Combine tahini, chicken broth, lemon juice, cumin and paprika,
stirring well.
Meatballs
2 slices white sandwich bread, crusts removed
1/2 pound ground beef
1/2 pound ground lamb
1 medium onion, grated
1 heaping teaspoon salt
1 1/2 teaspoons ground cumin
Large pinch ground allspice
1 teaspoon crushed red pepper
3/4 teaspoon black pepper
3/4 cup minced parsley
1/2 cup finely chopped mint
1 cup toasted walnut pieces
2 tablespoons mild olive oil
1/2 red onion, very thinly sliced
Minced parsley or sumac for garnish
Tahini sauce
1. Dip the bread in cold water and squeeze dry against the bottom of
a fine sieve. In a large bowl, mix bread with beef, lamb, onion,
salt, cumin, allspice, red pepper and black pepper. Mix thoroughly,
but avoid overhandling. Refrigerate for 1 hour.
2. Mix in parsley, mint and walnuts with your hands and shape mixture
into balls.
3. Heat 1 tablespoon oil over medium heat in a large skillet. Add
half the meatballs and sauté until browned and cooked through, about
7 minutes. Regulate heat so meatballs don't burn, and shake pan
vigorously to turn them. Transfer to paper towels. Wipe skillet and
repeat with remaining oil and meatballs.
4. Top with onions. Garnish and serve hot or warm, with tahini sauce.
Each meatball: 69 calories;
3 grams protein; 2 grams carbohydrates; 0 fiber; 6 grams fat; 1 gram
saturated fat; 7 mg. cholesterol; 78 mg. sodium.
*
Grilled haloumi-stuffed grape leaves with pomegranate sauce
Total time: 25 minutes
Servings: Makes 12 dolmas
Note: Haloumi cheese is available at Bristol Farms and at Middle
Eastern markets. Haloumi and grape leaves can both be quite salty; if
your brand of leaves is too briny, soak them longer or blanch in
boiling water for 1 minute.
12 grape leaves preserved in brine
12 (3-inch by one-half-inch) logs haloumi cheese, one-half-inch thick
(queso blanco can be substituted)
2 1/2 tablespoons mild olive oil,
divided
2 tablespoons pomegranate molasses
1 tablespoon water
1/4 teaspoon sugar
1. Place the grape leaves in a bowl. Add boiling water to cover and
soak for about 2 minutes. Taste, and if the leaves still taste
assertively briny, soak for few minutes more. Rinse under cold water,
drain and pat dry with paper towels. Heat the grill to medium.
2. Place a grape leaf shiny side down on a work surface with the stem
facing you. Trim off the stem. Place a log of haloumi across the
bottom end of the leaf and fold the bottom over it. Fold in the sides
and roll up like a cigar to make a dolma. Make sure there are no
tears in the leaf, or the cheese will ooze out. Continue until you
have used all the grape leaves.
3. Brush the dolmas lightly with one-half tablespoon olive oil. Grill
them until they are lightly charred and the cheese is beginning to
soften but is not oozing out, about 1½ minutes per side. Transfer the
dolmas to a plate and let them cool for about 10 minutes.
4. Meanwhile, whisk the remaining oil with the pomegranate molasses,
water and sugar.
5. To serve, drizzle a white serving plate with the pomegranate
mixture and arrange the dolmas on top, drizzling with some extra
sauce if desired.
Each dolma: 246 calories; 14 grams protein; 3 grams carbohydrates;
0 fiber; 20 grams fat; 11 grams saturated fat; 50 mg. cholesterol;
418 mg. sodium.