When I set up this blog in September a week before I took off on a two month trip, I had happy visions of posting fascinating tales from France to Egypt to Jordan, then on to Syria, Lebanon, and finishing up with Turkey. Well, the whole entrprise has had a lot more to do with being a turkey than visiting the country or cooking the bird. For 60 non-stop days, I was moving: bus, taxi, train, ferry, bus, taxi, bus, bus bus...and if I wasn't moving I was sightseeing: pyramids, temples, mosques, cathedrals (there was a cathedral, right?), tombs, ruins, temples, tombs, tombs, temples, tombs. Egyptian, Roman, Nabataean, Mamluk, Crusader, Ottoman, more Roman and yet more Roman. In the end, even I had had enough ruins. In Antalya, where the ever-traveling Roman Emperor Hadrian visited, I yawned as I passed under the gate he'd had built nearly 2000 years ago. Another triumphal gate? Such a bore!
But enough whining. It was a fabulous trip. Giza, Luxor, Abu Simbel, Kom Ombo, Edfu, Dendara, Karnak, Valley of the Kings, Tombs of the Nobles, Dahab and the Red Sea!...and that's just Egypt! Petra! Jerash! Damascus! Palmyra! Beirut! Nemrut Dag! It was spectacular! And I can't figure out how to get the photos off my chip and into the computer! But I will, I promise.
And, I am a failure at deciphering foreign keyboards, particularly the ones in Turkey. Apparently American programs don't read Turkish typing; the @ is in wierd places over in the eastern Med. So that's why you haven't gotten the scores of informative, recipe-ridden blogs.
Sorry. I'll do better next time.
Ps - Is this type too small?
Monday, November 29, 2010
FELAFEL RULES!
October 15 in LUXOR, EGYPT...The Nile flows placidly past Luxor's gigantic river-side temple, and the white wings of feluccas dart from shore to shore. To the west, the rugged Theban hills guarding the Valley of the Kings glow in the fading sun; there, it's over a hundred in the shade, except there isn't any shade. And the place has been Disneyfied, with walkways and tidy stone walls, all in blinding beige stone that absorbs the relentless heat. Bring lots of water, a bandana, and your umbrella if you want to survive; frankly, a hat is pretty useless, the umbrella a lifesaver.
Afternoon call to prayer suddenly booms out of scores of speakers, an embroidery of virile sound that echoes and re-echoes. The call is joined by the bells of the Catholic church next door. Shaded by canvas screens, I am lolling on a couch on my hotel's rooftop terrace, sipping fruit juice and trying to be serious about anything but enjoying the view of so much history smack before my eyes. The hotel cat is snoring at my side and I'm tempted to join him.
But I am hungry. I'm thinking about felafel. Egyptian food gets a bad rap, generally, but there's a couple of dishes that are central to my survival as long as I'm here, and both of them are excellent. Felafel is first, of course: deep fried golf-ball sized pieces of thick chickpea batter, stuffed in a 5" round piece of thin Egyptian bread, slathered with tahini sauce, topped with tomato and cucumber salad and stewed eggplant. Mark Bittman provides a great felafel recipe in his book The World's Best Recipes.
But the eggplant is what makes the felafel a million times better. I asked the hard-working guys at "my" felafel stand, just opposite Luxor Temple, for the recipe. I'm considered a regular, and they charge me what the locals are charged. Generously, they walked me through the eggplant process. A bowl of this in your fridge guarantees many happy noshes, and only improves with a few days waiting.
STEWED EGGPLANT, LUXOR STYLE
1 cup tomato sauce (not Italian)
1 large onion, coarsely chopped
3 garlic cloves, finely chopped
3 tbsp olive or canola oil
1/2 tsp cumin or to taste
1 large eggplant, unpeeled; equivalent weight in Japanese is okay
Chopped parsley, lots of it, to garnish
Slice eggplant into fingers, salt and leave to drain while you saute the onion and garlic in oil until transparent. Add onion/garlic and cumin to tomato sauce. Let simmer while you fry eggplant - preferably deep-fry - until crisp. Add to tomato sauce; mix; simmer for 20 - 30 minutes or until thickened. Salt and pepper to taste. Stuff into pita or directly into your mouth. Sadly, Egyptian pita is rarely available; if you find a source, treasure it. To give this a more Turkish twist, add a couple of glops of pomegranate molasses.
Afternoon call to prayer suddenly booms out of scores of speakers, an embroidery of virile sound that echoes and re-echoes. The call is joined by the bells of the Catholic church next door. Shaded by canvas screens, I am lolling on a couch on my hotel's rooftop terrace, sipping fruit juice and trying to be serious about anything but enjoying the view of so much history smack before my eyes. The hotel cat is snoring at my side and I'm tempted to join him.
But I am hungry. I'm thinking about felafel. Egyptian food gets a bad rap, generally, but there's a couple of dishes that are central to my survival as long as I'm here, and both of them are excellent. Felafel is first, of course: deep fried golf-ball sized pieces of thick chickpea batter, stuffed in a 5" round piece of thin Egyptian bread, slathered with tahini sauce, topped with tomato and cucumber salad and stewed eggplant. Mark Bittman provides a great felafel recipe in his book The World's Best Recipes.
But the eggplant is what makes the felafel a million times better. I asked the hard-working guys at "my" felafel stand, just opposite Luxor Temple, for the recipe. I'm considered a regular, and they charge me what the locals are charged. Generously, they walked me through the eggplant process. A bowl of this in your fridge guarantees many happy noshes, and only improves with a few days waiting.
STEWED EGGPLANT, LUXOR STYLE
1 cup tomato sauce (not Italian)
1 large onion, coarsely chopped
3 garlic cloves, finely chopped
3 tbsp olive or canola oil
1/2 tsp cumin or to taste
1 large eggplant, unpeeled; equivalent weight in Japanese is okay
Chopped parsley, lots of it, to garnish
Slice eggplant into fingers, salt and leave to drain while you saute the onion and garlic in oil until transparent. Add onion/garlic and cumin to tomato sauce. Let simmer while you fry eggplant - preferably deep-fry - until crisp. Add to tomato sauce; mix; simmer for 20 - 30 minutes or until thickened. Salt and pepper to taste. Stuff into pita or directly into your mouth. Sadly, Egyptian pita is rarely available; if you find a source, treasure it. To give this a more Turkish twist, add a couple of glops of pomegranate molasses.
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
DELICIOUS SYRIAN FOOD?
DATELINE DAMSCUS: The entrance to the mosque is through a 1/4 mile long covered souk jammed with locals nd vendors of every item imaginable. At the end of the souk soars the massive remains of a roman temple, a half dozen 30' columns and facade still reminding us that Rome owned this neck of the woods 1900 years ago. But the enormous mosque - which incoroporates many Roman fragments - remnds the viewer of who's boss now.
We had to put on nondescript putty-colored robes, with hoods, to enter the mosque. Instant anonymity! The outer walls are perhaps 45' high, the entrance portal 18' or so high, great double doors dating back hundreds of years. We removed our shoes, as required.
The main courtyard is nearly the size of a football field, the marble paving gleaming and smooth from millions of unshod feet. It's surrounded by an arcade of massive arches, all once decorated completely with spectacular mosaics; the remaining ones are magnificent and rival any in the western world (Ravenna's Byzantine ones spring to mind, but really can't hold a candle to these in either size or impact).
People roamed about, sat in the shade of the arcades; kids ran and screamed and tussled, women - resembling bundles of dark laundry in their voluminous robes - chatted in small groups. Men strolled around or sat with other men doing basically what the women did but looking far more comfiortable in their western clothes. Families - the fathers tenderly solicitous of their children, regardless of gender - congregated both in the courtyard or inside the huge building.
As with most mosques, there are no pews or other seating, just thick carpet on the floors, and no illustrations or pictures, just a line of flowing arabic script high on the walls. Women ranged along the back wall facing the mihrab, which marks the direction of Mecca, to which all Muslims prostrate themselves.
In the center of the space was a large tomb, perhaps 10' x 18' x 10' high, enclosed with green glass, around which worshippers gathered and pressed their forheads. Green is the color of Islam. This is the reputed tomb of John the Baptist, regarded as a prophet in this religion.
Children played noisily everywhere. Mosques are not simply places to worship, but places to meet or relax. Except during services, they are treated much as a public gathering space. As children are a precious asset to any family, they are allowed great latitude in behavior, and more than a few brawls broke out while we were inside.
When we left, by a rear door, we were in the old souk, and faced with a wall of carpets (many made in India, for pete's sake), a fresh juice stand, a score of shops with scarves swaying in the light breeze, and an impatient string of cars waiting to pass.
I state this categorically: Syrian drivers are, in my estimation, the worst drivers on the planet. Bar none. The Syrian people are lovely, friendly, open, welcoming, smiling, happy and generous. A Syrian driver is absolutely the opposite: aggressive, impatient, indifferent to your fate as a pedestrian, unapologetic, willing to nudge you aside with their fender (yes! really!), foolhardy, addicted to speed under the most absurd conditions ( a crowded souk, for example, or a jam-packed intersection), and believes that he owns the very earth you walk on. The police seem to agree, which makes walking - or should I say jogging - in Damascus quite an event.
But to the most important thing: food. We were repeatedly told Syrina food was excellent. We read that Syrian food is excellent. We have made Syrian food at home and it is excellent. So what the hell happened to Syrian food in Syria? It is, except for the street corner juice or shawarma stands, dreadful.
We had dinner at what was purported to be the best restaurant in Damascus and, leaving aside indifferent service that would give any decent French waiter a seizure, the food was mediocre, mostly flavorless, and noted only for its large portions.
We go to Lebanon next; now, that's supposed to be really good food. I can hardly wait!
SYRIAN STYLE TABOULLEH: mince two bunches of parsley. Put in a bowl. Chop two fresh tomatoes. Put on top of parsley. Drizzle oil over. Serve, if you dare.
We had to put on nondescript putty-colored robes, with hoods, to enter the mosque. Instant anonymity! The outer walls are perhaps 45' high, the entrance portal 18' or so high, great double doors dating back hundreds of years. We removed our shoes, as required.
The main courtyard is nearly the size of a football field, the marble paving gleaming and smooth from millions of unshod feet. It's surrounded by an arcade of massive arches, all once decorated completely with spectacular mosaics; the remaining ones are magnificent and rival any in the western world (Ravenna's Byzantine ones spring to mind, but really can't hold a candle to these in either size or impact).
People roamed about, sat in the shade of the arcades; kids ran and screamed and tussled, women - resembling bundles of dark laundry in their voluminous robes - chatted in small groups. Men strolled around or sat with other men doing basically what the women did but looking far more comfiortable in their western clothes. Families - the fathers tenderly solicitous of their children, regardless of gender - congregated both in the courtyard or inside the huge building.
As with most mosques, there are no pews or other seating, just thick carpet on the floors, and no illustrations or pictures, just a line of flowing arabic script high on the walls. Women ranged along the back wall facing the mihrab, which marks the direction of Mecca, to which all Muslims prostrate themselves.
In the center of the space was a large tomb, perhaps 10' x 18' x 10' high, enclosed with green glass, around which worshippers gathered and pressed their forheads. Green is the color of Islam. This is the reputed tomb of John the Baptist, regarded as a prophet in this religion.
Children played noisily everywhere. Mosques are not simply places to worship, but places to meet or relax. Except during services, they are treated much as a public gathering space. As children are a precious asset to any family, they are allowed great latitude in behavior, and more than a few brawls broke out while we were inside.
When we left, by a rear door, we were in the old souk, and faced with a wall of carpets (many made in India, for pete's sake), a fresh juice stand, a score of shops with scarves swaying in the light breeze, and an impatient string of cars waiting to pass.
I state this categorically: Syrian drivers are, in my estimation, the worst drivers on the planet. Bar none. The Syrian people are lovely, friendly, open, welcoming, smiling, happy and generous. A Syrian driver is absolutely the opposite: aggressive, impatient, indifferent to your fate as a pedestrian, unapologetic, willing to nudge you aside with their fender (yes! really!), foolhardy, addicted to speed under the most absurd conditions ( a crowded souk, for example, or a jam-packed intersection), and believes that he owns the very earth you walk on. The police seem to agree, which makes walking - or should I say jogging - in Damascus quite an event.
But to the most important thing: food. We were repeatedly told Syrina food was excellent. We read that Syrian food is excellent. We have made Syrian food at home and it is excellent. So what the hell happened to Syrian food in Syria? It is, except for the street corner juice or shawarma stands, dreadful.
We had dinner at what was purported to be the best restaurant in Damascus and, leaving aside indifferent service that would give any decent French waiter a seizure, the food was mediocre, mostly flavorless, and noted only for its large portions.
We go to Lebanon next; now, that's supposed to be really good food. I can hardly wait!
SYRIAN STYLE TABOULLEH: mince two bunches of parsley. Put in a bowl. Chop two fresh tomatoes. Put on top of parsley. Drizzle oil over. Serve, if you dare.
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