tools from the bazaar

I'm really back now. The details of day to day life require my presence, and I mean really require it, so I've stopped leaving pots and the stove and daydreaming of little cups of Turkish tea. I'm moving at full speed.

Which, I admit, is not that fast. There is a lot to keep up with. Sadie had her first piano lesson, it's almost time to plant radishes, and I'm working on some, well, let's just call them big projects.

And then there are the lawn signs. I never thought I'd see my name on the lawns of Great Barrington, but the signs are about to be in the mail, and if you have a prominently located lawn in this town, you could be the proud owner of one.

But let's not get ahead of ourselves here. I've been talking about the town budget and the future of the library all day. I know some people think I'm a little nutty for this, but I really like thinking about these things. But at the end of the day, I'm needing a break, just for a few minutes. I need to talk about that thing that makes my heart soar, makes my soul sing.

That's right. You know where I'm going. Let's talk about kitchen gadgets.


Today, it's not food processors or yogurt makers. I want to show you a little assortment of kitchen tools that I found at the bazaar in Istanbul. I know I've been back for a while, and I promise that once I get this out of my system, I'll stick to the goings on in my own kitchen. It's just that when I was wandering the tiny paths of the spice bazaar, the grand bazaar, and the wood bazaar, I kept seeing things that I wanted to show you. These are just the treats I stuffed into my suitcase. I wish I could show you the home smokers in the metal bazaar, but I couldn't take one back on the plane. I've got some pretty good ones, though.

This beauty is called the limonmatic. It screws into a lemon, and then you squeeze the lemon and pour out the juice. The most lovely thing about it, I think, is that you can squeeze a little bit of juice, snap the top on, and put the lemon back in the fridge. It basically turns a fresh lemon into one of those little plastic lemons that you can take a bit of juice out of here and there. Brilliant, isn't it? I know! But that's not all!


I have never seen so many beautiful wooden spoons in one place. I came home with a small variety, but this is my absolute favorite. A wooden slotted spoon! I love how the holes are so randomly placed, like the person who made it really wasn't paying attention. This spoon makes me smile every time I look at it.


This is a sieve. I haven't used it yet, but I look and it and adore it every day. If I don't use it soon, I'm going to have to figure out how to wear it. I don't know why things just aren't as pretty in kitchen shops over here.

And then there is the the rolling table. I saw this in use at the organic bazaar, and I told Molly that I was taking one of them home. Normally they are used by old Turkish grannies to make several traditional kinds of flatbreads. Lissa and I each bought one, and we carried them around Istanbul for the better part of a day, along with two extraordinarily long rolling pins. We got the best looks, and even some comments about the how funny it was that the tourists had bought grannie tables. I like to think that we got a lot of respect that day, but more likely people thought we were a bit crazy. Most Americans bring home rugs and silks from Turkey, but we went for rolling tables.

And here ends my career as a travel writer, for now at least. Thanks for taking this trip with me- I promise there will be more in the future. But back to the kitchen now, and to this little town.

apple rhubarb pandowdy

I like a thing that can reinvent itself with confidence.
Sometimes, it just doesn't work out to be what you set out to create. The day gets messy, and dinner gets abandoned for something altogether different. Or a career seems all laid out, and then a little person decides that your career will actually be mother. I think it's a good thing to be able to adjust without apologies, to say okay, you thought I was this, but now I'm this! Really! This all gives me a lot of hope.

This could have been a pie, but it's really a pandowdy.

I don't know who made the first pandowdy, but I'm guessing that it was not their original intention. Like the woman who made the first tarte tatin out of a failed apple cake, I'm thinking it must have been a happy accident. Maybe they only had enough butter for one crust, and they came to terms with the fact that the top crust was what mattered. Or maybe they were giving pie-making directions to a friend, and as they scribbled out the directions, they wrote "put the filling under the crust" instead of "over." We may just never know.

So what is a pandowdy?
Basically, we're talking about a pie without the bottom crust. Without the bottom layer, there is no risk of crust sog, and the whole thing comes together almost as easy as a crumble. It can be made in a pie pan, but it can also go into a square baking dish or a cast iron skillet, or whatever have you. It is a dessert that will forgive you for your limited baking supplies or your solitary pie crust. It is not meant to be pretty, just delicious. It is a dessert with an adaptable nature.

Yesterday was Joey's birthday. He was 31, and he requested pie.
I'd like to tell you how I started out making a pie and ended up with a pandowdy, how this mess or that mess got in my way, and then I had this fabulous dessert. That would be such a good story.
But really, the truth is that I have this book. Do you remember the Menu for Hope back in December? Well, in addition to offering a prize, I put in a bid for a few. Who could resist? If you didn't participate last year, don't worry, I'll remind you about again next year.
Because the right star seemed to be over my kitchen at the time, I won. I won 8 baking books from Ten Speed Press- really good baking books that I had been reading while loitering at the bookstore. It was pretty dreamy, to put it mildly. The day that box arrived might have been an all time high point for the mail around here.
One of these books is called Rustic Fruit Desserts. It is a beautiful little book that makes me feel even more excited for the 30 cherries that my tree might produce this summer, for peaches from the farmers market, and for apple picking in September. The use of the word "rustic" is my favorite part, because in most cases, by "rustic", I think that Cory Schrieber and Julie Richardson mean, "don't stress how it looks, it will taste great anyway," which basically sums up my whole cooking philosophy. Hell, that might actually sum up the way I feel about life, come to think of it.

As much as I love this little book, Joey loves it even more. Fruit desserts are a form of worship for him- and it is in the oozy strawberry and the flaky pastry that Joey experiences the magic and wonder of the world. In the first couple of months that we were together, Joey and I went on a road trip from Santa Fe to Vancouver. We stopped at every diner in the Pacific Northwest famous for their pies, which turned out to be one every couple of hours. Over huckleberries and sour cherries, we shared the random details that come out over the first few months of a relationship, and I owe a lot of our happiness today to the magic that occurred over those many slices of pie.
So, on Joey's birthday, I set out to make a pandowdy and I made a pandowdy. The book listed it as an ideal dessert from early Spring, an opportunity to combine the last apples of the late fall that are still in storage with the new rhubarb just poking through. Although it is early spring, I have no root cellar and it is far too frigid for my rhubarb to show its first shoots. Luckily, I had piles of rhubarb in my freezer which I combined with apples shipped in from some far off place. Not ideal, but like I said this a dessert of adaptability.

The specific recipe for this filling is brilliant. The balance of sweet and sour, peppered by cinnamon and lemon zest, is better than I've ever had it, and I've done a whole lot of time experimenting with my rhubarb. With vanilla ice cream rustically scooped over the rustic piece-like portion of pandowdy, this was just about the best fruit dessert that has sat on our table in a long time. I hope you're all up for it- as soon as the fruit starts coming around here, I'm going to be baking my way through this whole book. If I hold to it, it should be a pretty good 32nd year for Joey.

Apple Rhubarb Pandowdy
from Rustic Fruit Desserts by Cory Schreiber and Julie Richardson

1 single crust recipe of all butter pie crust- if you have a go-to recipe for this, go ahead and use it. My favorite right now is here, and I add 1 teaspoon of lemon juice to the ice water.

1 tablespoon unsalted butter, at room temperature, for the pan
4 tart apples, peeled, cored and sliced
5 cups of rhubarb, sliced 1/2 inch thick (this can be used frozen)
zest and juice of one lemon
3/4 cup packed (5 3/4 ounces) light brown sugar
2 1/2 tablespoons cornstarch
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/4 teaspoon fines sea salt
Vanilla Ice Cream, for serving

Preheat the oven to 425 degrees. Butter a 9-inch deep dish pie dish, square baking pan, or cast iron skillet.
Toss the apples, rhubarb, lemon zest, and lemon juice together in a large bowl. Separately, rub together the brown sugar, cornstarch, cinnamon and salt, then add to the fruit mixture and stir to combine. Transfer the mixture to the prepared pan.
Roll out the pie pastry to roughly the size of the pan. You want it to be a little thicker than you would typically do for pie. Lay it out over the filling, and tuck the excess crust into the sides of the pan. Cut a few steam vents into the crust, and place the whole thing on top of a baking sheet to collect the drips.
Bake for 20 minutes, and then turn the heat down to 350 degrees. Bake for another 30-35 minutes, or until the crust is golden and the fruit is bubbling around the edges.
Cool for at least an hour, and serve with vanilla ice cream.

way better than it looks

I've been working on reconstructing a taste memory from Turkey. I finally got it, and it was just as good as I remember, but I've got to warn you about something.
Do you see how lovely this dill is, and how the orange of the carrot contrasts with it so perfectly?
I just want you to remember that image, and to close your eyes, and give this a taste.
Don't look at it.

I only give you this photo because I feel that I must. But skip over it. Make this even though it looks gross. Just taste it. Taste on anything, but my favorite these last few days is atop a bagel and cream cheese. Good on bread, good on a little slice of radish, good on a carrot stick.

Sometimes a thing just can't be prettied up. I'm really okay with that. I'm no Martha, I know, but while she's molding things into pretty little shapes, I'll be sitting here, happily submerging everything I can find into my ugly dip.

Carrot Dill Spread

3 large carrots, peeled and chopped into 1 inch pieces
1 cup fresh dill, chopped, plus 1/4 cup dill chopped kept to the side
4 ounces feta cheese
1 cup toasted walnuts
1/2 cup fresh parsley, chopped
2 tablespoons olive oil
1 tablespoon red wine vinegar
2 tablespoons fresh lemon juice
salt to taste

Combine all ingredients except the extra 1/4 cup dill in a food processor. Puree until fairly smooth. Stir in remaining dill, and add salt to taste.

orange soy braised pork ribs

I've been thinking about my grandmother a lot lately.
Maybe it was Turkey. She loved to go to interesting places, and while her friends would go hang out at their condo in Florida, she and my grandfather would be off on a folk dancing trip to Bulgaria. When it came to travel, she was a woman looking for real experience.
Or maybe it has something to do with what has been going on since I got back. A few days after my return, Joey and the girls and I went out to be part of a group photo to support a local library which may soon be extinct. As we were leaving the library and heading over to take Sadie to dance class, a few friends called me over.
"You know how you were thinking about running for the town select board a few years ago?"
It was true. I had considered it, but it just hadn't felt like the right time.
"Well," one friend said, "it's time."
So here I am, running for the select board of my little town. Although I usually end up frustrated when I attend town meetings, I'm going to attempt to step away from apathy and see what happens if I can get a seat at that table. It's a small town, but it is my town, after all.

My grandmother loved Great Barrington with all her being. She and my grandfather moved up here in the early 70's to start their bed and breakfast, and they both lived here until the end of their lives. They were all about participating in their community- between the two of them, they were centrally involved in everything from arts organizations to adult literacy, to the formation of our local co-op market.

I grew up here, and I never thought I'd come back after college. I was at the middle school when the occurrence of knife fights and eighth grade pregnancies was at its highest, and I just couldn't roll my pants or fringe my bangs the right way. But it turns out that as an adult and a parent, this is actually a pretty great place. My children were both born here, and this is their world, too. I'm here for good, and like my grandparents, I'm feeling inspired to put some time into it.
Still, I must say, seeing my name on the ballot at the caucus last night was totally surreal. We went into the fire station after dinner, and the girls cheered that we were "going to vote for mommy!" I know it's a small thing, but I'm just getting used to the idea. The final vote will be on May 10, and I'll be doing my best to refrain from holey jeans when I walk down main street until then. And when people question my sanity for getting into this process, I just think to myself that I'm channeling my grandmother, at least a little bit.

If I'm going to be doing my grandmother's work, I need to be eating my grandmother's food. I think that I've shared this with you before, but it bears repeating: My grandmother was a vegetarian who ate ribs. She never cooked them at home, as my grandfather was a vegetarian who did not eat ribs, but when ever she had the opportunity to sit down in front of a messy stack of ribs, she would roll up the sleeves of her button down shirt and get to work. There was not an ounce of squeamishness in her when it came to ribs- she would suck every thing off those bones, gnaw on them a bit, and then go back to being an avid vegetarian. It was her way.
The night before I left for Turkey, I made these ribs. We ate them with rice and a big pile of greens, and as Sadie sucked on the bones just like her great grandmother Shirley, I knew that they would nourish her through the ten days ahead of pizza and grilled cheese and whatever else lay before her.


Orange Soy Braised Pork Ribs
adapted from Gourmet, January 2005

serves 3-4

2 1/2 pounds pork ribs, separated
2/3 cup fresh-squeezed orange juice
1/2 cup soy sauce
1 tablespoon sugar
2 tablespoons grated ginger
a tablespoon minced garlic
1/2 tablespoon freshly ground pepper
1 cup water

Preheat oven to 325 degrees and place rack in the middle of the oven. Sprinkle ribs with salt.

Bring orange juice, soy sauce, sugar, ginger, garlic, and pepper to a boil in roasting pan over medium high heat, stirring until sugar is dissolved. Add ribs in to the pan, using tongs, turning to coat, and cover pan with a lid or foil.

Braise ribs in oven until very tender, about 2 to 3 hours.

Before Serving: Reduce oven temperature to 200°F.

Transfer ribs to a baking dish, arranging them in 1 layer, and keep warm in oven. Make glaze by boiling liquid, uncovered, stirring occasionally, until syrupy and reduced to about 3/4 cup, about 15 minutes. Brush glaze generously on ribs.

car snack 1

Sometimes I feel like a real hypocrite.
I make the craziest things. I get excited about making things like cheese and puff pastry, and I feel so proud that I can stick to the raw material aisles at the store. I bypass all those bags and boxes of processed things with my head held high.
Most of the time.
It turns out, that when it comes to my liberation from expensive little packages of food that make my life run smoothly, I have a nemesis out there.

I'm talking about the car snack.
Maybe for you it's the bus snack, or the scarfing before piano lesson snack- it's all the same thing. For those of you who are not familiar with the car snack, I'm going to let you in on a little something. Screw breakfast. For kids, the car snack is the most important meal of the day. It is consumed at about 3:00, right after school, on the way home or to the next thing.
I don't know what your experience of these things is, but in my car, this is not the finest hour for my children. They are tired. They want to tell me a lot of intricate details about what happened on the playground. They do not want to speak one at a time. But most of all, they are so so so hungry.

I tuck little snacks in the outside pockets of their lunch boxes. Their school is nut free due to a very sweet boy with a nasty nut allergy, and so the girls know that they can't eat their car snack until they buckle in. It often has nuts. It sometimes has chocolate, just enough to up the appeal. And it is always wrapped in a wrapper that ends up on the floor.
When I got back from Turkey, there seemed to be hundreds of wrappers on the floor in the back seat. TLC granola bars and Cereal Bars. Koala Kids puffy rice bars. Fruit leathers. Annie's bunny snacks. All at five dollars a box, with wrappers within wrappers, and weighted with a heavy sigh when I throw a few boxes into the cart.

When they look into their lunchboxes to see what I've packed, I never know what kind of reaction I'll get. One day the mango fruit leather is a hit, and the next day it inspires a half an hour straight of really loud crying. It's all about the time of day, I guess.
So I rely on the things I know they'll go for. I look for some sort of protein, maybe a little nutritional value. But mostly, I just want it to get into their bellies.

I'm feeling pretty good about things after my trip. I've made it through the jet lag, and life is feeling fresh. I'm ready. I'm ready to face the car snack.


I'll be dueling my nemesis a few times over the next couple of weeks, just in case you need a few options like I do. But today, it's sweet nutty puffy rice things. Bad name, I know. So let's just call it:

Car Snack 1

makes 16-20 bars

1 1/2 cup rolled oats
1 1/2 cups puffed millet (rice crispies will also work here)
1 1/2 cups loosely packed chopped dried fruit (apricots, dates, prunes, raisins, ginger or what ever you have)
1 1/2 cups toasted sliced almonds
1/2 cup chocolate chips
1/2 teaspoon sea salt
1 tablespoon cinnamon
1/2 cup brown rice syrup
1/4 cup light brown sugar
1 tablespoon vanilla extract
1/4 cup canola oil

Lightly oil a 9 x 13 casserole dish. In a medium mixing bowl, combine the oats, puffed millet, dried fruit, almonds, cinnamon, salt, and chocolate chips. In a small saucepan, combine the brown rice syrup, brown sugar, canola oil, and vanilla. Bring the mixture to a boil, stirring frequently. Continue to stir the mixture while it boils for one minute. Then pour the syrup mixture over the dry ingredients and coat thoroughly. Spread the mixture into the prepared pan, press down with a spatula, and refrigerate for an hour. Then cut into bars as needed. They will hold together pretty well, but crumbs will escape here and there, so place in a container or a wax bag when packing for the car. Store in the refrigerator to keep the bars firm, but they will also be fine at room temperature.

turkish breakfast

I'm liking this place I've come back to. Cheeks as soft as I dreamed them, crocuses poking out of the dead grass, and a general temperature about 25 degrees warmer than the bitter chill of Istanbul. I came back with a duffel bag full of presents, and there might not be anything better than giving presents.

I'm missing the food though.

I've gotten a few inquiries as to why I went to Istanbul. I'm happy to answer, although it's not so neat and clean, I think.

I went to Istanbul to drink tea and find the right baklava, to visit my friends Molly and Aurel, to see old and round buildings. I went to Istanbul to travel with my friend Lissa, the closest person I have to a big sister. To travel just to travel for the very first time since I went to Europe drunk and depressed and looking for a tattoo artist. Because when we talked about it, Joey said, "go!" I went to Istanbul because travel makes my cells hum, and I had just enough for the plane ticket with a little more to pay for Sadie to go to camp this summer. I went to hear the call to prayer as I walked down the street. But mostly, I went to Istanbul to come home again.

I'm not religious, although I have my moments. But when I go other places, I see the connection of things more than when I am home. People are always kinder than I think they will be. When I travel I complain less, because awe takes over. Other languages and patterns make me feel part of something bigger, and the world takes on, well, I don't know how to say it, but something like a different color.

I travel so rarely, but it stays with me for a long time, and for that I am so thankful.

I ate very well in Istanbul. Over the next little time I will ask you to bear with me as I try to recreate some of the treats that I dissected with every bite. I just have to try, and we'll see how it goes. But I think my favorite thing might be Turkish breakfast.

Lissa and I arrived in Istanbul in the morning, and after a tumultuous and dramatic cab ride, we pulled in to Molly and Aurel's, and Aurel put together a little plate of foods. It seemed random; an egg, some wrinkly Turkish olives, chunks of cucumber sprinkled with salt and pungent oregano. There were a few dates, I think, and slices of soft smelly cheese that we would come to love over the next week. There was bread and a little bowl of honey. It was perfect, and as I was falling asleep on the couch after breakfast, I wondered why I had never thought of that particular combination.

As we saw these arranged plates day after day on every Turkish table, I learned that Aurel had not created the idea. There were variations, maybe a spread for the bread or a bit of radish, and there was always parsley. But with every Turkish breakfast, I grew more convinced that this is the best breakfast...ever.

Yesterday, in my jet lagged stupor, I tried to make dinner. I forgot about what I had started, I almost started a fire, and I ruined my favorite pot. So I abandoned my original plan and boiled a few eggs. It seemed that it was time to have our first of many Turkish breakfasts, for dinner.


Turkish Breakfast

Like most good things, this one is up for interpretation. But as far as I have been able to learn, there are a few necessary elements:

1. an egg. just one- probably soft boiled, but maybe hard boiled, or even fried if that brings you more pleasure.

2. olives. luckily, I came back with some. but any good olives will do.

3. soft cheese. if you are not in turkey, the most authentic would be feta, sliced.

4. cucumbers. i know that they are expensive and out of season. but if you can do it, do it.

5. parsley. not just garnish. eat it.

6. a bit of bread, not too much, with honey to dip.

Optional elements are endless, but a little arugula salad is nice, or a few dates. Tomatoes if you've got them. A dolmas if you are in Turkey or innovative. Some sort of spread made of carrots and dill and walnuts and feta that I am trying to figure out.

And tea. Coffee comes after.

wednesday

I like what travel does. I am getting ready to fly home, and I am ready to go, but I have the buzzing of my own mispronounced Turkish words in my thoughts. I like that all of my clothes smell funny, like red pepper and car exhaust with a slight undertone of cat pee. I like to remember how many people there are in the world, and how each one of them has a favorite food and a route they take to work and a pair of boots they like and a preference for taking naps on the boat or the bus.


I love home so much, but I also really love not to be home.


Sometimes I feel ill at ease with the newness of the US. I know that there is something older that I should recognize and know. But there are so many different countries mixed up in me that all the oldness might be faded away. So, as a result, I love to be somewhere old, a place with a memory of its own history. Today I saw Abraham's saucepan, and by Abraham's saucepan, I mean Sarah's saucepan, of course. I saw Mohammed's foot print. And I stood on floors worn down by millions of feet in centuries of ever changing footwear.


I have started to drink little cups of tea ever two hours, and to crave soft cheese and cucumbers for breakfast. I love that after only a week, Istanbul, a city which still confuses the hell out of me, has lent me some of its habits. I am happy to take them home, those habits. I have wrapped a little Turkish tea cup in my underwear, and I will be a bit Turkish at home, at least for as long as I can hang on to it.

I love not to be home. But today, all I keep thinking about the feeling of the girls' cheeks. We have skyped every night, and they stick their faces into the camera and their skin is magnified. I miss the way they feel, and I'm excited for those days after traveling when I get to be between worlds, when the Turkish words are still in my head, but the cheeks are close enough for me to touch.

tuesday

Today, my friend Aurelien turned 34. We made him oreos for breakfast. Although this might not sound so good to you, he is a man who can eat oreos before 10 am, and I really respect him for that. I brought shortening from the states in preparation for his sacred cookies, and Lissa and I made the chocolate wafers at 11:30 last night. I cursed international baking with every step, we measured everything a little wrong, and we ran out of sugar and had to grind up sugar cubes with our hands. But in the end, the oreos were oroes, and ready to fill this morning. I can now say with confidence that these are forgiving cookies- feel free to make them in any country you like.

The only other thing that Aurel had requested for his birthday were deviled eggs. There is no mayonnaise in Turkey, so he and Lissa whisked some up, and Lissa made deviled eggs, Turkish style. We packed up our oreos and eggs and set off for the Princes' Islands for some sea air and a break from the constant fear of being run over in Istanbul.

The Princes' Islands are a little cluster of quiet islands about an hours ride off the coast of Istanbul. We arrived at the ferry station early and eager, only to find that we were the only people in Istanbul who had actually changed our clocks two days ago. It seems that the Turks like to take their time, and that they actually change their clocks next week. So a long cup of tea later, we got onto the ferry.


There are no cars allowed on any of the islands, and the first thing I noticed was the silence. And then, it was the color. This island, Burgazada, it was painted with a different paint set than most.

We wandered through paths and backyards, and the stray cats and dogs kept two steps ahead of us, showing us around. We made our way out of the village, and up the central hill of the island. Something about all that ocean and sky- it felt like the top of the world. It was high, and old, and one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen.


We stopped for a cup of tea and a quick pee at on of the little cafes on the island. We were the first guests in quite a while, and he proudly showed us in to his little hookah lounge. After a cup of thick, soapy tea and a squat over the hole in the ground he called the "WC", he invited us to pick some of his oranges.


They were both sour and bitter when we cut into them, with a tiny fruit inside inches of peel. Instead of eating them, we just held them, because when do you get to hold oranges that you have picked off of a tree in Turkey?


We continued up the hill to find a place for our picnic.
And of course, for our balloon launch.


It was Aurel's birthday after all.

And one of the gifts of being his friend is that you never know when you will launch a balloon at a picnic on the top of the world. Favorite day... so far.

sunday

I keep reading about how all of the minarets of Istanbul help to direct one's gaze towards heaven. As spectacular as I find the architecture higher up, I just can't help myself from looking down. I have never walked on anything like the ground in Istanbul.