Turkish – ALMOST ITALIAN

Spring Gardening and Green Recipes

‘Eat your greens’ was a familiar reproach from the elders around my childhood dinner table, as the boiled beans lay listlessly on the plate at the end of a meal. My father tried to lighten the mood by inventing riddles to encourage or distract the young diners, “Beans were made for queens”, or rhymes about historical events. There was nothing appetising or appealing about cooked greens in the Australian kitchens of the 1950s and 60s. All the culinary devotion was given to the meat, the centre piece of all our meals except on Fridays. The range of greens was fairly limited and included beans, peas, cabbage, brussel sprouts and lettuce, that is, iceberg lettuce. Broccoli, broccoletti, cima di rape, kale, cavolo nero, fennel, asparagus, broad beans, radicchio, bok choy, chinese broccoli, choy sum, wong bok and the vast variety of lettuces came to Australia much later. Silverbeet appeared occasionally, always served under a blanket of bechamel. Parsley was the main herb grown, the curly variety used to decorate scrambled eggs or a casserole, never featuring in its own right as a pesto or in tabouleh. Basil Genovese was still to make itself known and loved, followed by Thai and Greek basil. And then came Japanese herbs and leaves, shiso and mustard greens, mizuna, as well as the wild pungent rocket, rucola selvatica, that pops up everywhere, anise, coriander, lemon grass, the green tops of turnips and radish, the leaves of pumpkins, and the chicory family of greens.

All the greens of the world have their moment of glory in my garden and I would be lost without them. Most grow wild now. They are the star of many a dish, or are the inspiration for others. My green garden is most prolific in Spring and now, as I pull out the last of the broad beans, and watch the parsley and silverbeet bolt towards heaven, I’ll share a few simple green recipes.

Silverbeet and haloumi cheese fritters in the making.

These silverbeet and haloumi fritters were popular for lunch. They are fast and easy to prepare. I’m tempted to call them gozleme fritters as the taste is similar to the filling of a Turkish gozleme. Some oil softened onion could be a good addition to the mix. I always keep a tub of brined Haloumi in the fridge and find that buying it bulk in a Middle Eastern store is economical. A big tub lasts a year.

Silverbeet and Haloumi Fritters

180g haloumi cheese, coarsely grated
2 cups silverbeet, finely shredded
2 Tablespoons mint, finely shredded
1 lemon, finely zested
2 eggs
1/2 cup plain flour
2 Tablespoons EV olive oil

Grate the haloumi on a box grater ( large hole) into a bowl. Remove the white stalks from the silver beet and finely shred then add to the bowl. (Save the stalks for a soup or gratin). Add the mint, lightly beaten eggs, and flour. Mix well. Heat the oil in a large frying pan. Scoop large tablespoons into the pan, and slightly flatten as you go. Don’t overcrowd the pan. Gently turn to brown both sides and place them on a plate with paper towels to absorb the oil. Serve with a lemon wedge or yoghurt.

Smashed fava beans, haloumi, mint and lemon.

The broad beans starred in many a recipe during Spring, but this dish, also using haloumi, was popular.

Smashed Broad Beans with Haloumi, mint and lemon.

up to 1 kilo broad beans
150-200 g haloumi
one garlic clove
sea salt, black pepper
EV olive oil
mint
lemon wedges

Shell the beans and cook briefly in a pot of boiling water for 1-2 minutes. Drain and submerge them in cold water to stop the cooking. Remove the skins by popping the green centres out between your thumb and forefinger. (This is an easy but tedious task, and one I hand over to my kitchen hand, Signore Tranquillo, who is an uncomplaining soul.) Smash most of the beans in a mortar and pestle, adding some finely chopped garlic, salt and pepper and a dash of olive oil. Meanwhile fry rectangular pieces of haloumi in hot oil. They don’t take long to turn golden. Prepare the serving dish with salad leaves, then the smashed fava beans, then the fried haloumi and torn mint leaves. Place lemon wedges on the side.

Broad beans getting gently smashed, leaving a few whole.

I have a few more wonderful green dishes to share with you dear reader, but am waiting on one of my taste testers to give her final verdict on my latest silverbeet invention. Until then, addio, and happy green cooking and I mean that literally.

My girls grazing in a large grassy orchard. They love our leftovers and hang around along the fence line waiting for their daily greens. The eggs taste sensational. Greens and eggs go well together.

Last of the broadies and broccolini Calabrese which keeps on giving.

A Market Walk and Red Lentil Soup with Minted Eggplant

It’s shopping day. Come along with me to the Brunswick Market, not many Melburnians know about it. The uninviting blue concrete facade gives no hint of the treasure hidden within. I’ll lead the way, just follow me down through the windowless cavern, past the Turkish Kebab place on the left ( try to resist their big bowl of red lentil soup or the eggy Shanklish ) and the Iraqi Barber on the right, the one favoured by Mr T for $15 haircuts. In the centre of the hall is an open sided cafe, whose owner set up about 18 months ago. She is now doing well. Her gozleme are as soft as fresh lasagne, stuffed with intense green spinach, and receives my ‘Best Gozleme in Melbourne’ award. We’ll grab one on the way out. She makes other savoury pastries, including potato and onion Borek and Simit, as well cakes filled with almond meal and nuts. There are many other specialty stalls here: a shoe shop and repair business run by a Greek man, a mobile phone fixit guy, run by a Chinese man, a clothing alteration store, a Turkish CD shop, just in case you fancy a bit of belly dancing on the way through, and a clothing store selling nazar boncuğu, those lucky blue eye amulets, hijabs, colourful scarves and outrageous silver embossed leggings.

Here we are at the food section. In the centre is a large Turkish deli, specialising in all sorts of yoghurt, brined cheeses, grains, pulses and condiments such as Pekmez and Biber Salçası. Further along is the Vietnamese fish shop. They also manage supplies for hotels and restaurants so you can order anything you fancy. The fish here is sparkling fresh and they know the source of all species on offer. Ask the lovely woman from Hanoi to shuck six Tasmanian oysters for you then devour them on the spot. Over from the Vietnamese fish shop is the Italian butcher, with his sign, Vendiamo Capretti ( we sell young goat). His pork sausages, full of fennel, chilli and spice, are the best in Melbourne according to my carnivore sons.

Vendiamo Capretti. Baby goats for sale in Italian, Greek and English.

Until recently, there was a Halal butcher shop and a free range chicken shop but both have recently closed. A sign of things to come? Finally we get to Russell’s fruit shop, owned by Turks but staffed by Nepalese and Indians. It’s the busy end of the market where you can find the things that never turn up in supermarkets: knobbly yellow quinces, tables full of cheap pomegranates, ready to split and reveal their bijoux, piles of red peppers, shiny and irregularly shaped, curly cucumbers, every kind of bean- Roman, Snake, Borlotti, lime coloured Turkish snake peppers grown in Mildura, rows of eggplants, long, short, miniature and striped. It’s the antithesis of a modern supermarket.

The Brunswick Market. Every kind of bean.

Part of this walk involves chatting. While buying red lentils at the Turkish deli, I’ve nodded politely as two ladies gave me their different versions of the best way to make Mercimek Köftesi, or red lentil kofte. I once went halves in a kilo of filleted Western Australian sardines at the fish shop. An Egyptian woman told me in detail how she would cook her half. People love to talk about food here. You will also be recognised and remembered. And the hipsters of Brunswick? They mostly avoid the place. I wonder why?

My market friend.

Fresh fish stall, Brunswick Market.

Fresh fish at the Brunswick Market. Knowing the source. Ready to chat and clean to order.

Red Lentil Soup with Minted Eggplant is based on a recipe by Leanne Kitchen. The original recipe ( see below) makes a truck load. I halved the quantities and still had enough for 6 bowls. I also lessened the salt, added 2 tablespoons of Biber Salçası ( Justin Bieber in a jar) and kept the amount of garlic. The original is pale in colour. With the added Biber paste, the soup looks more vivid. Eggplants are now in season, and red lentils are one of my favourite budget foods. Eat well for less.

Ingredients

150 ml extra virgin olive oil
2 onions, finely chopped
625 g red lentils
2.5 litres chicken or light vegetable stock
60 ml freshly squeezed lemon juice
2 tablespoons salt
500 g eggplant ( about 1 large) cut into 1 cm pieces
2 cloves garlic, crushed
3 teaspoons dried mint
2/½ teaspoons sweet paprika
3 tablespoons fresh mint, chopped, to serve.

Method

Heat 2 tablespoons of the oil in a large saucepan over medium heat. Add the onion and cook for 6-7 minutes or until softened but not brown. Add the lentils and stock, then bring to a simmer, skimming the surface to remove any impurities. Add the Biber Salçası if using. Reduce heat to low, partially cover the pan, and simmer for 40-50 minutes. Add the lemon juice, salt and freshly ground black pepper.

Meanwhile sprinkle the salt over the chopped eggplant in a colander and set aside for 20 minutes. Rinse the eggplant, then drain and pat dry. Heat the remaining oil in a large, heavy based frying pan over medium high heat. Ass the eggplant and cook for 6 minutes turning often, until golden and tender. Ass the garlic and cook for 2 minutes then add the dried mint and paprika and cook for another minute or until fragrant.

To serve, divide the soup among the bowls and spoon over the eggplant mixture and scatter with the fresh mint.

Recipe by Leanne Kitchen. Turkey. Recipes and tales from the road. Murdoch Books Pty Ltd 2011.

Turkish red lentil soup with minted eggplant.

Brunswick Market, 655 Sydney Road, Brunswick. Let’s hope this market survives as the sweep of gentrification and apartment wonderland takes over the inner city.

Herb, Spring Onion and Zucchini Fritters

The Sagra di Zucchini continues at Casa Morgana as the crop picks up speed, and it’s a race to snare modest sized zucchini before they turn into giants. Zucchini fritters make a very satisfying and economical lunch, but rely on a couple of other key players- abundant herbs and good quality fetta cheese- to push the flavour from bland to gustoso. There are many varieties of fetta available in Melbourne, especially in the Greek delicatessen at fresh markets. At last count, my favourite Supermarket Deli in Brunswick stocked around 12 varieties. As this dish only requires a small chunk, I prefer to use Dordoni fetta, while I’m happy enough to use cheaper fetta cheese in Spanakopita or Tiropita.

Mucever, Zucchini Fritters Turkish style.

700 gr zucchini, coarsely grated
salt
1 bunch spring onions/green onions/scallions white and green finely chopped
170 gr fetta cheese, crumbled
1/2 cup fresh dill, chopped
1/2 cup fresh mint, chopped
1/4 cup fresh parsley, chopped
2 large eggs, lightly beaten
1/2 cup all-purpose/plain flour ( try chick pea flour for a GF version)
olive oil for frying.
simple luncheon dish. Mucever.

Place the zucchini in a colander and sprinkle with 1/2 teaspoon of salt. Let it sit for 1 hour to drain. Lightly squeeze out the moisture and dry with paper towels.
Place the zucchini in a large bowl and mix in the spring onions and herbs. Then add the eggs and mix well. Finally sprinkle over the flour and mix. Add salt and pepper.
Heat a large skillet or frying pan containing a thin film of oil. Drop tablespoons of the batter into the oil, spreading them to make thin, small pancakes. Cook until golden brown on both sides.
Serve hot with yogurt and mint sauce.

This recipe is from my favourite cookbook, a battered copy of From Tapas to Meze, by Joanne Weir, 1995.

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA — Early morning pick.

Turkish Red Lentil ‘Bride’ Soup.

I first tried this nourishing soup a few years ago in Brunswick, near Melbourne. A young Turkish woman opened a small lunchtime cafe in the middle of an empty space in the Brunswick Market. She cooked her grandmother’s food from memory; it was cheap, sustaining and delicious. Her little restaurant didn’t survive, given its location inside a dingy arcade. Every now and then I see her around the streets of Brunswick and I feel like running up to tell her how much I loved her soup. She served it in big deep bowls with a small pourer of white vinegar and a separate little saucer of dried chilli flakes on the side, along with fluffy Turkish pide, toasted in a flat sandwich maker. I have been making versions of this soup ever since then, trying to replicate her flavours and texture. It is so cheap and nourishing, you could live on it. The key to the ‘bridal’ quality of this soup is the butter. You could ‘veganise’ the recipe, but it wouldn’t taste as good.

I am indebted to Patricia Solley’s Soupsong for this close version to the real thing, to which I have made slight adjustments.

Turkish Red Lentil Bride soup – Ezo Gelin Çorbasi

4 Tablespoons butter
2 onions, finely chopped
1 teaspoon paprika
1 cup red lentils, washed and picked over
1/2 cup fine bulgur wheat
2 Tablespoons tomato paste, or Biber Salcasi ( red pepper paste)
8 cups vegetable stock, or water and 2 stock cubes ( use chicken stock if you prefer)
1/8 teaspoon cayenne pepper or dried red chilli flakes
1 Tablespoon dried mint leaves, crumbled
Traditional Garnish: lemon slices, or vinegar and chilli flakes, mint. Inauthentic garnish, yoghurt, mint leaves and chilli flakes.

Heat the butter in a large saucepan and saute the onions over low heat until they are golden, about 15 minutes. Stir in the paprika, then the lentils and bulgur to coat them in the butter. Add the tomato paste or red pepper paste ( or Biber Salcasi), the stock and hot chilli, then bring to a boil. Reduce to very low simmer and cook until soft and creamy, for about an hour. ( You may need a simmer mat for this and check that it doesn’t stick). When ready to serve, tear the fresh mint into the soup or crumble in the dried mint. Stir, remove from heat for 10 minutes, covered, then ladle the soup into large serving bowls, serving with lemon wedges and extra mint on the side. Great with warm or toasted Turkish Pide. It’s a meal!

“The origin of this rich Turkish soup is attributed to an astonishingly beautiful girl born in 1909 in the village of Dokuzyol, located on ancient caravan routes in the Barak plain. Ezo had red cheeks and black hair and was adored by camel riders who stopped by her house for water. Her story ends badly, though–her first marriage to a villager was unhappy and she was permitted to forsake him on grounds of maltreatment. Her second marriage took her to Syria and a mother-in-law who couldn’t be pleased…and for whom, it is said, she haplessly created this soup. Ezo died of tuberculosis in Syria in 1952, but in the interim had become a legend in her native land in both folksong and film. Her name lives on in this very popular, stick-to-the-ribs soup–which is now traditionally fed to new brides, right before their wedding, to sustain them for what lies ahead.”

Patricia Solley, An Exultation of Soups.

The bridal shops of Sydney Road, Brunswick, are notorious. Some specialise in elegance.

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