...Iran (Part 3 - Home Cooked Food to the Rescue)

Iranian food has been disappointing. There. I've said it. I know what you're thinking, that we were spoilt in Turkey. Yes we were but there are other travelling souls who share in our disappointment and who have not had the pleasure of experiencing Turkish cuisine. 

The food issue here has been bothering us. REALLY bothering us (we have the time for such matters to niggle after all). Endless conversations have ensued between backpackers (never with Iranians - they would be mortified to know we felt like this, one guy was deeply offended when Finn mentioned it was difficult to find a restaurant so you can see what we're dealing with here) to try to get to the bottom of it. And here it is...

Everything in this country is so tightly controlled and amazingly this has an effect on what and where you eat! Iranians do not relax in public because quite frankly, they can't. There are always 'people' watching. This explains the absence of outdoor cafes, lack of street food and poor variety (and often quality) of food in restaurants (when you are lucky enough to find one that is). The good stuff, the 'real' eating experience we have come to realise is where Iranians can really relax and be themselves. At home. The few travellers we've met here have all had one goal: to be invited to an Iranian home for dinner. We had the opportunity to eat great home cooked food when we recently spent a week in the desert.
 

Garmeh - an oasis village

In an oasis village, we stayed in a guesthouse with a baby camel outside (a digression: watching it eat is one of the funniest things I've seen - its mouth would start to move before it ate as if it were imagining eating, when not doing this it would form its lips into an 'o' shape making it look constantly excited as it hopped about, waiting for its dinner. End of digression. Thank you).

A baby camel! I will never eat another camel burger

Although it was a guesthouse, Payam, our shy chef cooked some lovely food that we would be hard pressed to find in a restaurant. Highlights were tahdig meaning 'bottom of the pan'. This is basically the crunchy bits of rice from the 'bottom of the pan', sometimes with vegetables added. We had potato tahdig which was damn good! The other unbelievably lovely foodstuff was pickled aubergines. Pickled. Aubergines. If ever there were two words made for each other it is these. Boiled, skinned, stuffed with mint and garlic and then left to soak up all that lovely vinegar for three months, these are one of the nicest things I've eaten. Three months before we return, I will remind you of this so you can get busy and make me happy on my return!

A plate of tahdig

After being fed, we watched our chef play beautiful tunes on ceramic pots

At another village called Toudeshk, we stayed at the home of Mohammad. One of the few home stays in Iran, Mohammad gives people the opportunity to experience Iranian home life, desert living and home cooked food. We overindulged on his sister-in-law's amazing cooking. On our last night we were treated to a 'traditional' dish of dates and egg. If ever there were two words that shouldn't go together it is surely these two. Or so I thought. The dates were boiled in a little water to soften them up and then cooked with whisked eggs resulting in a caramel mush. It was served as a main dish but all I could think about as I worked through seconds and thirds was how amazing it would be with a blob of vanilla ice cream.
 

Eating with the family

That same evening, we 'let' the kids beat us at snap while Mohammad and his sister-in-law hacked away at what can only be described as a phallus (sorry) of sugar. Why? They were making sugar lumps so they could dip them in tea, Iranian style. Why didn't they just buy sugar lumps? I have no idea. But what else are you going to do on a Saturday night when alcohol is banned? Although, as we have had the pleasure to experience, home brewing is alive and well in this country. And there's a rumour you can buy bacon on the black market...
 

...Iran (Part 2 - Iranian Pizza and Hejabs)

Imam Mosque in Esfehan, the most beautiful mosque in the world

One thing that has surprised us here (other than people's readiness to slag off their government whenever they see a foreigner) is the Iranians' love of fast food.

Iranian fast food is a welcome change to the massive meals you receive in normal restaurants which consist largely of meat and rice. You can actually get a good burger here. Here is Finn devouring a surprisingly good camel burger:

Look at the love in those eyes for that burger

 However, Iranian 'pizza', and I use the word 'pizza' very loosely here, is something else. What, I can't say, but it's very far from my idea of pizza. If you are Italian, you might want to stop reading.

So after an amazing morning gaping at the ruins of Persepolis, we needed to un-culture ourselves and headed to a fast food joint. To be precise, 'The First World Pizza and Hamber' which (obviously) sold 'onli pizza and hamber 110'. We ordered 'pizza' and joined the confusing queuing system. After 5 minutes, we received this:

Just look at it!

A pizza in nothing but name and base and the weight of 5 bags of sugar. In total, we counted 10 different toppings. Brace yourselves: Tasteless cheese, mince, vegetables (mushroom, pepper and chopped tomato), 'sausage', mayonnaise, gherkin, crisps (yes) and last but by no means least, something yellow. I know what you are thinking (other than 'I wish I'd waited to eat until after reading this blog), what about the tomato sauce  that  makes a pizza a pizza?! Well fear not! We were given the option of ketchup which was squirted all over the medley of ingredients. In fact, surprisingly it was the only thing you could really taste. I suppose when you have that many flavours, one has to dominate.

 I have no idea how they came up with this idea of pizza but I like Finn's suggestion that someone saw a picture of a pizza and just guessed.

On a completely different note, a word on wearing a hejab (headscarf) and eating. Wearing a hejab is obligatory here and something I'm getting used to. I find that often after meals I have a small mountain of rice hidden in the side of it. Finn has likened it to a horse's nose bag, while I prefer to look upon it as the hamster cheeks I have always longed for. However, I notice that Iranian ladies do not have the same issue and so should probably stop indulging myself. Incidentally, getting the hejab on in the first place is quite a chore. The rebellious nature of my hair refuses to be tamed by a piece of material. For visual learners among you, try to picture a fluffy cat being forced into a vet-bound pet carrier. It is a constant battle. On the plus side, its ability to defy gravity means I unintentionally copy the fashion here of having a bouffant fringe and a hejab several centimetres off my head. Swings and roundabouts.

Trying to eat Iranian dessert (noodles in rose water) without creating a small mountain inside my hejab

...Iran (Part 1 - In a Spin)

Celebrating getting our Iranian visas in Turkey. We finally allowed ourselves to read the Iranian guidebook we'd been carrying for weeks in the vague hope we might get there

Would you believe, we've made it to Iran (hence the silence for the last few weeks!). Int
ernational headlines didn't deter us, battling governments couldn't stop us and a hefty increase in visa costs for Brits wouldn't change our stubborn minds. Yes you may think us insane for coming here but really, all the above disappears in the face of Iranian hospitality. Now food.

I'm writing this blog after a big lunch so apologies if I have lapses in concentration. However, the timing of the big lunch and immediate bloggage is no coincidence as it is the finest Iranian meal so far and warrants the glory that comes with being first post (I have written two other draft posts, both boring).

After a morning wandering the bazaars, haggling badly, being mistaken for a Muslim (me) and being smuggled into a mosque by an old lady (me again) and then getting chucked out of the mosque when it becomes apparent the subject isn't Muslim (yep, me again), some (us) might've suggested we needed a good lunch. Hurray! And a good lunch came in the form of 'Dizi'.

Dizi is considered a poor person's meal here, probably because the ingredients are very simple and, in a country like Iran, readily available. Also it could be because really it's two meals in one. To get two meals out of it though requires certain procedures and thankfully we'd read up on it to be prepared (but probably still did it a bit wrong). So this is how it's done (kind of)...

On ordering Dizi, we received two earthenware pots with a stew inside. The stew contained chunks of mutton, plump tomatoes, chickpeas, beans, spices and lumps of fat.
 

We poured the 'juice' from the stew into bowls over pieces of bread we'd ripped up. And munched and slurped it all down.

Once the juice had been drained and the soggy bread devoured, we turned our attention to the 'solid matter' left in the pot. Taking the provided 'masher', we proceeded to pummel said matter into mush and devoured with the vinegary pickles, taking bites of mint and adding lemon juice. 

Mashing the Dizi

After mashing the Dizi

All in all a damn fine meal which should've set us up for an afternoon of more high frolics. Instead, it's made me want to sleep. Probably for the best, god knows what we would've got up to.

Happy!

...Turkey (Part 4 - In Praise of Sweet Things)

Baklava, a common sight all over Turkey

Gaziantep may mean little or nothing to anyone outside Turkey (and Hackney). However, to the Turks it means one thing. The best Baklava in the world. And so in the name of ‘research’ we dragged ourselves kicking and screaming to a city that is home to over 180 pastry shops. All for you dear reader. All for you.

So with that many pastry shops, how does one choose a good one? We headed straight to Gulluoglu, a huge chain that even has a shop in Hackney. But apparently there is one branch that is head and shoulders above the rest. A small, nondescript place in the heart of the bazaar which sells only baklava. You can't even get a cup of tea dammit!



Try walking past without going in...

It seemed perfectly normal for people to order themselves five or six pieces (for the record, Finn and I shared five). Baklava comes in many forms but essentially consists of layers of buttery pastry and crushed pistachios, all drenched in honey or syrup. Trays upon trays of the little devils sit in the windows of pastry shops taunting you until you give in. I have eaten a lot of baklava in my time but this has to be the best. They say the Gaziantep stuff is so good because they grow the best pistachios and have the best honey. Whatever it is, it works.

On the subject of sweet things, I mustn’t forget kunefe. We first ate kunefe in Antakya, a city who's cuisine is heavily influenced by Syrian cooking due its close proximity to the border. It is in this city that we were kidnapped by an English teacher and taken to 'teach' her students (read about it on Finn's blog!). Anyway, back to kunefe! It is a little slice of culinary genius. But only a little slice mind. Too much would definitely result in a heart attack. It basically consists of a piece of cheese, not that dissimilar to mozzarella. This is coated in a thin kind of vermicelli which is made on hot wheels in the bazaar. 

Making Kunefe

The whole thing is drenched in sugar syrup, topped with nuts and served warm. Et voila. A heart attack on a plate.

Nothing better than a piece of kunefe in the sun

In the holy city of Sanliurfa, we were kidnapped by a friendly man we bumped into somewhere in the depths of the sprawling bazaar. He offered us tea and took us along the dark twisting alleyways until suddenly we came out into bright sunlight. We had entered an old caravansari, a place where silk road travellers would stop for the night. We sat in the courtyard and drank tea, talked international politics and ate kunefe to the sound of old, head-scarfed Arabs throwing dominoes down on the small tea tables. And suddenly, we felt very far from home.

Finn, new friend and kunefe in the caravansari

...Turkey (Part 3 - Home-cooked Food)



Whirlıng Dervishes in Konya

 Konya is the home of Sufism (a mystical branch of Islam), whirling dervishes and most importantly, Finn's ex-student Emine and her family who let us into their home for a truly unforgettable experience.

Emine had emailed us to tell us to 'come hungry' and so we did. At least we thought we did but their idea of hungry seemed to vastly differ to ours (there's a first) and when we arrived, Emine's mother had laid on a feast for us. The first of many. We ate stuffed aubergine, pilav (rice with chickpeas), dolma and fried cauliflower. And lots more. Meals were spent with the five of us - us, Emine, her mother and brother and sister - sat on the floor around a small table, our laps covered with a large cloth to catch the crumbs.




A feast! The first of many...

 Eating with the family was a communal event and we took bits of whatever we fancied whenever and then filled up on endless cups of tea. At the ninth cup, I declined but Emine's mother was having none of it. It was cold outside and tea would keep me warm. So I drank three more cups. That evening, and every other evening we were there, Emine's mother came out with big bowls of fruit and carrots with knives and vegetable peelers, along with bowls of seeds, nuts and popcorn. Because clearly we hadn't eaten enough already.

We woke the next day to busy sounds in the kitchen and I was ushered in and given a front row seat next to Neslihan, Emine's little sister who was on dictionary duties. I was there to watch their mother prepare her special couscous.


Emine's mother making her special couscous

 With Neslihan's help to translate ingredients, I slowly got a vague recipe. Ingredients included pomegranate molasses (a staple of Turkish cooking), a spicy paste and lemon juice. Rolled into sausage shapes, we ate them wrapped in lettuce leaves for breakfast, once again astonished by Emine's mother's culinary skills. And the amount of food she thought we could eat. We were set up for a fantastic day exploring Konya, and even skipped lunch which is a first of the trip! Cold, hungry and tired, we returned to another amazing meal largely consisting of rice layered with meat and vegetables which we all dug into with spoons.

Emine and a demolished rice cake

 Refuelled, we ventured back out into the cold to watch a performance of whirling dervishes, an incredible and moving experience (if you are interested, Finn has more on it in his blog: tothecaravanserai.blogspot.com). On our return, the bowls of fruit and nuts made a very welcome appearance.

Walking around where they lived, I discovered that neighbourhoods have their own tandoor, a place where people take their dough to be cooked. A small hut is placed over a whole in the ground which is filled with hot coals. The dough is flattened and slapped onto the sides of the tandir and you return later to collect your fresh, hot breads.

A neighbourhood tandir

We debated whether this would work in London but I pointed out that making the dough is the difficult bit and no one could be bothered! Enter the firin. This is the opposite idea to the tandir. Emine's mother was making us etli ekmek, a local dish basically like a pizza with a dough base but with meat, tomato and herbs on top. Emine's mum had made the meat topping and we took it to the firin where they supplied the dough bases, slapped on the topping and cooked it in a stone oven with hot coals in.

Working the firin - from right to left: person who puts the topping on the bread, person who cooks the bread and person who chops it up.

We then debated whether that would work in London but came to the conclusion that you'd probably just go to a pizzeria instead. Never mind.

That evening we picked up the etli ekmek and took it to Emine's great aunt and uncle's house. Again, we sat on the floor eating the pizza along with small jacket potatoes straight from the stove and fresh borek. Our Turkish is very limited (although from this experience we have added words for 'I am full' and 'delicious' to our vocabularies) but eating with the family enabled us to live like them and experience Turkish hospitality. We also learnt how food can replace language when a common language doesn't exist and the importance of dining together and sharing food. We left promising to return one day. There is a lot that we have taken away from this experience. Including a massive bag of olives, etli ekmek and borek that should keep us going for a while...

Us with our Turkish family. And the bowls of fruit.

...Turkey (Part 2 - The Staples)

Having stopped in Kas, southern Turkey, we 're-anglisized' our taste buds at the home of my auntie and uncle. After a swim in the turquoise sea, we sat in a cafe on the beach, eating homemade chips and drinking lovely cold Turkish beer. A definite highlight of the trip.

Our little stop made me reflect on our Turkish culinary adventure so far and I decided that this would be an ideal opportunity to wax lyrical about Turkish staples (although the word 'staples' does not do them justice).

First up is the mighty Turkish breakfast. It's almost unheard of for a hotel not to provide breakfast and regardless of the size of establishment, the first meal of the day is an absolute feast. You can expect Turkish cheese, olives, tomato, cucumber, boiled eggs, fruit, honey and tonnes of fresh bread as well as tea, coffee and 'juice' (squash). Extras might include an omelet, yogurt with bowls of sweet jams and slices of dubious looking sausage. An exciting addition to our breakfast recently was feta crumbled up with syrupy blackberries. The Turkish take breakfast very seriously and we feel it only polite to indulge them (and ourselves).

This morniıng we ventured out for breakfast and ended up in a cafe around the corner. Here we had chewy Turkish bread wıth the most amazing honey and fresh cream. What better way to start the day? My god it was good!

Worth dragging yourself out of bed for...

Something else that is taken seriously is travelling by bus. Although perfectly comfortable, cheaper and often quicker, few people choose to travel by train. In Turkey, it's all about the bus. Travelling by bus is like taking a plane. Each bus has an attendant who, when not showering you with lemon cologne to make you smell of jif, brings you drinks and snacks. Having used a variety of companies for different journeys I have found the service to differ in the details and yet always be pretty special. One company stands out in particular. Where you are usually given a cake in a packet, this attendant allowed you to rummage around in a box and take what you like. Sitting near the back of the bus, I watched as hands dipped in the box as the trolley slowly made its way down the aisle. And I started to break out in a cold sweat. What if all the good stuff had gone by the time he reached us? WHAT IF HE RAN OUT?! Shedding my Englishness, as soon as the box was within reach of my sweaty little hands I grabbed the last chocolate biscuits and made a mental note to ask for seats nearer the front next time. On a different journey, I was delighted to find the only options were orange fizzy pop and a slice of cake thus making me feel like I was at a kid's birthday party and giving me the sugar rush to go with it. Not as much fun when you're the wrong side of 30 and at the beginning of a 4 hour bus journey.

How to keep the customers happy on a long old journey

Finally, a word on tea. Tea is drunk sweet and bitter in a small glass. On previous visits to Turkey I could never cope with the bitterness. However, this time I have been converted mainly because I have a)taught myself not to think of it as 'tea' and b) started adding at least two lumps of sugar. Of course, I still dig in to my supply of earl grey whenever we are near a kettle and for the last few days I've been back on the English tea. The purchase of a scarily efficient Turkish coffee kettle means that we can get hot water in less than 1 minute which should keep me going. But I have to admit, I'm beginning to crave a cup of the bitter/sweet hot stuff... Oh and here is an old man wandering around the internet cafe selling tea! What perfect timing! Well, if you insist...

Finn and tea seller in Antalya. He wouldn't stop giving us the stuff

...Turkey (Part 1 - The Weird and the Wonderful)

A snowy Istanbul

And so we have entered Turkey, bracing ourselves for a month of eating some of the finest food in the world. There is much to talk about but I will try to stay focused and only tell you what you need to know. That's why this entry will focus on the 'wierd and wonderful' that we've experienced so far.

Our third visit to Istanbul has involved visiting some 'old haunts' although that makes us sound a bit pretentious. Really, we are creatures of habit. First stop for Finn was a freshly grilled fish sandwich by the Bosporus while I enjoyed the cup of pickles in turnip juice you buy to compliment it.

The Istanbul fish sandwich. Finn used many fish puns to describe it but sadly, I can only remember one. 'Defishious'.

Our second 'old haunt' to visit was an unassuming kebab shop in the grand bazaar. We sat on stools in the alleyway watching the snow fall to the sound of merchants loudly battling over the price of silver. We ordered our kebabs, pieces of meat with tomato and lettuce all rolled up in thick flat breads. In front of us, on a long bench, were dishes laden with parsley, salty gherkın and green peppers blackened on the grill. You pile what you want on your 'plate' (a bit of plastic bag) and alternate your bites of kebab wıth the loveliness from the dishes. And that's it. No sauces, no spices. Just fresh, flavoursome ingredients. And that is why, in my humble opinion, Turkish food is among the best in the world.

The best kebab in the world ever. So far...

We spent two evenings in 'mayhenes', Turkish taverns where you order mezze and drink raki for as long as you like. These are great if like us, you are a bit fed up with eating meat everyday. We managed to have a vegetarian meal in one. And I ate a little too much dolma as it's one of my favourites.

Dolma. It basically means 'stuffed'. I was 'dolmad' after eating six of them.

We whiled away a very pleasant evening in a mayhene with Melda, an old student of mine and her boyfriend Boric.

Melda, Finn and Boric

They wanted to show us a real Friday night in Istanbul. However, due to the weather many Istanbulus had decided to stay at home so it was pretty dead (but we still had a great time!). At about 1.30am, Melda announced that she needed a, and I quote, 'wet burger'. I had no idea what she was on about. A wet burger?! But it turns out you don't have to stretch your imagination too far. At the front of many kebab stalls, there are glass boxes misted up with condensation. Inside are burgers with tomato sauce in their buns all soggy from the moisture being pumped into the box. And there you have it. A wet burger, is a burger that is wet. And although it has to be the oddest thing we have come across so far on this trip (and dare I say it, any trıp), it was surprisingly tasty. But also very, very wrong. It turns out that many Istanbulus eat them after a night out and therefore they are their equivalent to our end of night kebab.

A box of wet burgers. Never thought I would type those words.

After 5 days in Istanbul, we headed south to a large yet quiet city called Bursa, only just avoiding the snow which was about to grind Istanbul to a halt. Bursa has one big claim to fame in Turkey and that's its Iskender kebab. There is some dispute over the origins of the kebab and two restaurants claim to be the first to sell it. We went to the closest one, a small wooden restaurant that looked like something from the 1920s. Very basic decor and waiters in aprons and ties. There was only one thing on the menu and it was being devoured by hungry Turkish women around us. We ordered one to share. So what's so special about a kebab? A kebab is a kebab like a wet burger is a wet burger. Yes, that's what I thought to. But then I tried one...

The Iskender kebab. A heart attack on a plate.

It's not the prettiest looking dish in the world but then neither is chips and battered sausage if you think about it. A chopped up flat bread lies on the bottom, smothered in a rich tomato sauce. On top of this is a pile of lamb and you have yogurt, tomato and pepper on the side. Then the really strange thing happens. A waiter comes round with a saucepan of boiling butter and tips it over the meat. The whole thing is utterly delicious and well worthy of its fame. However, how those women were gobbling up a whole plate on their own I will never know. Half was definitely enough.

At the bus station to our next destination, we managed to squeeze in the other delicacy of Bursa, candied chestnuts. The more you eat, the better they taste. But they're still a bit weird.

Candied chestnuts. Interesting.