Ramadan in Turkey, from the perspective of a non-Muslim? I tried the fast two years ago, to experience it, not for religious reasons. Now I am just mindful of fasting people around me, which means to refrain from drinking water in public, or you just give up your seat on the bus to someone who you know is observing Ramadan. You get a sort of eye for it. Once iftar has come, the time sun sets and the imam prayer calls signal it’s time to break the fast, Istanbul stirs to life. There is great life in the streets. First you’ll hear the clattering of pots and plates through the open window of houses. There are the communal setups that are paid for by the councils, where people assemble to receive a boxed meal. The streets and parks are so lively, families out for picnics, and one can smell köfte grilling. I have no reference or a western equivalent to compare it to. Ramadan also means festivals - and it’s always worth to take a trip to Feshane at 2am to walk around amidst the families, trying to find something sweet, or buy a traditional sherbet. Two years ago the festival moved from the historical exhibition hall to across the road, to Eyüp Sultan. I still bemoan the fact that the original Künefe maker from Hatay hasn’t been back in town with his giant rotating tel kadayıf fancy noodle making machine. It was getting quite late in the night, even for local standards. In a quiet side alley was a small setup which I would have overlooked if it hadn’t been for a giant flag advertising for the business. ADANA SU BÖREĞİ. Adana style water börek. This is a type of pastry where the sheets get dropped in hot water first, essentially cooking much like a lasagna noodle. Only that the pastry is far more delicate, rolled out with the tapered oklava rolling pin to a paper-thin sheet. Far from entertaining the thought of ordering, but curious to see, I approached. A tray had just freshly come out of the oven. Resistance was futile in the face of such seduction. Normally I opt for the cheese version, but the fresh tray was with mince meet (kıymalı). It is prepared with some fine spices, and dried blue grapes - with the cooking process and picking up of meat juices now fully rehabilitated to their perky fresh conditioned - peaked at me like a pair of black eyes.
Eating this dish is a torturous pleasure of diet guilt juxtaposed by not wanting it to end, of biting into crunchy textures and mellower lower sheets of yulfka, the flavors of butter permeating throughout, and of the hearty meat mix. I couldn’t help but compare it with an Australian meat pie. Don’t get me wrong, a good old pie is a wonderful thing to bite into and some bakeries have certainly lifted the game on this food type. But in reality the majority of pies get consumed from football ground canteens, or bought from the frozen section and reheated. The pastry is thick and sturdy, designed to hold in the stodgy, nuclear hot mince mix thickened with cornflour. It’s a far cry from Su böreği (sorry to say). Or perhaps I'm just not patriotic enough. I will live with the consequences. Bir porsiyon daha, lütfen! One more portion, please.
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AuthorInnate curiosity, learned (discovered) deep love and appreciation for Turkey, a bit of time at my hands, and always hungry: voila, a food blogger! Archives
September 2019
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