< PreviousLamb kebabs with tomato sauce & yoghurt Giaourtlou All the senses are engaged when visiting the cities of the Levant and the Eastern Mediterranean, with the stunning natural scenery and historical landmarks, the sound of church bells and the call to prayer from the mosques, the shouts of street vendors, the horns of cars and the melodies of the lute-like oud. Before we get to taste the remarkably delicious food, there comes the smell — and the smell of this land for me is that of fatty meat grilling on charcoals: the smell of kebabs. I’m not a phenomenal griller myself at all, but here’s a recipe for simple, tiny kebab skewers that can be made at home on a grill pan, or on a barbecue if you’re lucky enough to have access to one. Instead of minced (ground) lamb (which is my preference here), you can use any minced red meat, as long as there’s a good percentage of fat. Indeed, in Istanbul and western Turkey, where lamb is expensive and harder to find than in eastern Turkey, many kebab places use mostly beef with only some lamb tail fat to add that gamey, greasy flavour. Naturally, I don’t recommend this. Kebab giaourtlou is a common dish in Greece, although it’s originally from Turkey, where it’s called yoğurtlu kebap. It means ‘kebab with yoghurt’ — not to be confused with iskandar kebab, which is similar, but has yoghurt on the side, with the meat served on a bed of chunky bread pieces dressed in butter and a pool of tomato sauce. These little skewers are served on a whole pita bread (and topped with another one, to keep them warm), and the tomato sauce and yoghurt are served on top, or on the side as a dressing to add to each mouthful of meat wrapped in bread. As with all kebabs and meatballs with minced meat, remember that you need to knead the meat with the spices and let it rest, so that it won’t fall off your skewers. If you have wooden skewers, make sure you soak them in water for at least an hour before using them, so they don’t burn. Continued overleaf › 154 Pomegranates & ArtichokesLamb kebabs with tomato sauce & yoghurt Giaourtlou All the senses are engaged when visiting the cities of the Levant and the Eastern Mediterranean, with the stunning natural scenery and historical landmarks, the sound of church bells and the call to prayer from the mosques, the shouts of street vendors, the horns of cars and the melodies of the lute-like oud. Before we get to taste the remarkably delicious food, there comes the smell — and the smell of this land for me is that of fatty meat grilling on charcoals: the smell of kebabs. I’m not a phenomenal griller myself at all, but here’s a recipe for simple, tiny kebab skewers that can be made at home on a grill pan, or on a barbecue if you’re lucky enough to have access to one. Instead of minced (ground) lamb (which is my preference here), you can use any minced red meat, as long as there’s a good percentage of fat. Indeed, in Istanbul and western Turkey, where lamb is expensive and harder to find than in eastern Turkey, many kebab places use mostly beef with only some lamb tail fat to add that gamey, greasy flavour. Naturally, I don’t recommend this. Kebab giaourtlou is a common dish in Greece, although it’s originally from Turkey, where it’s called yoğurtlu kebap. It means ‘kebab with yoghurt’ — not to be confused with iskandar kebab, which is similar, but has yoghurt on the side, with the meat served on a bed of chunky bread pieces dressed in butter and a pool of tomato sauce. These little skewers are served on a whole pita bread (and topped with another one, to keep them warm), and the tomato sauce and yoghurt are served on top, or on the side as a dressing to add to each mouthful of meat wrapped in bread. As with all kebabs and meatballs with minced meat, remember that you need to knead the meat with the spices and let it rest, so that it won’t fall off your skewers. If you have wooden skewers, make sure you soak them in water for at least an hour before using them, so they don’t burn. Continued overleaf › 154 Pomegranates & Artichokes›› Serves 4–6 For the kebabs 500 g (1 lb 2 oz) minced (ground) lamb 1 small onion, or 11//22 large one, grated 1 handful of chopped parsley 1 garlic clove, grated 1 tablespoon olive oil 1 tablespoon dried breadcrumbs 111//22 teaspoons tomato paste (concentrated purée) 111//22 teaspoons salt 11//22 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper 1 teaspoon sweet paprika 1 teaspoon ground cinnamon 11//22 teaspoon ground cumin 11//22 teaspoon dried oregano For the tomato sauce 2 tablespoons olive oil 1 small onion, or 11//22 large one, diced 400 g (14 oz) tin diced tomatoes, or 3–4 fresh large tomatoes, diced 1 teaspoon sugar 11//22 teaspoon salt 11//22 teaspoon smoked, hot or sweet paprika For serving 2 tablespoons olive oil, for grilling 3–4 large flat breads 300 g (1011//22 oz) plain Greek-style yoghurt, whipped chopped parsley, to garnish paprika and/or ground sumac, for sprinkling onion slices, to garnish (optional) If you’re using bamboo skewers for your kebabs, soak 8–12 of them in water so they don’t burn on the grill. Combine all the kebab ingredients in a large bowl. Knead well for 5–10 minutes, until the colour has slightly changed. Chill in the fridge for at least 30 minutes, or even overnight. To make the tomato sauce, heat the olive oil in a saucepan and sauté the onion over medium heat for about 5 minutes, or until translucent and quite soft. Add the tomatoes, with a splash of water if needed. Stir in the sugar, salt and paprika and simmer on low heat for 20–30 minutes, stirring occasionally. Meanwhile, heat a grill pan or barbecue chargrill plate to high and drizzle with olive oil. Take about 2–3 tablespoons of the kebab mixture at a time and work it in the palm of your hand into a sausage shape. Place a skewer right in the middle and squeeze your hand around it several times to shape the kebab around the skewer. Make sure the top and bottom are secured tightly around the skewer. Grill each kebab for a couple of minutes on each side until brown and sizzling; meanwhile, warm the flat breads for serving. Place the flat breads on a serving platter/s and lay several skewers on each. Add dollops of yoghurt on the kebabs, then spoon the tomato sauce on top. Scatter with parsley, sumac and/or paprika and onion slices, if desired, and serve immediately. As with most kebabs and street foods, this is a hands-on dish — tear off a piece of bread and, holding the kebab in it, remove the skewer before eating. Alternatively, you could simply keep all the kebabs warm under one flat bread, then cut the rest into large wedges and serve on a platter, with separate bowls of yoghurt, tomato sauce, parsley and onion, so that each person can assemble their own kebab. Note: You can prepare the kebabs a few hours before grilling and keep them in the fridge on a plate, separating them with baking paper if necessary to ensure they’re not sticking to each other. Give them an extra squeeze just before grilling to make sure the meat is sticking to the skewers. 156 Pomegranates & Artichokes 157 In between›› Serves 4–6 For the kebabs 500 g (1 lb 2 oz) minced (ground) lamb 1 small onion, or 11//22 large one, grated 1 handful of chopped parsley 1 garlic clove, grated 1 tablespoon olive oil 1 tablespoon dried breadcrumbs 111//22 teaspoons tomato paste (concentrated purée) 111//22 teaspoons salt 11//22 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper 1 teaspoon sweet paprika 1 teaspoon ground cinnamon 11//22 teaspoon ground cumin 11//22 teaspoon dried oregano For the tomato sauce 2 tablespoons olive oil 1 small onion, or 11//22 large one, diced 400 g (14 oz) tin diced tomatoes, or 3–4 fresh large tomatoes, diced 1 teaspoon sugar 11//22 teaspoon salt 11//22 teaspoon smoked, hot or sweet paprika For serving 2 tablespoons olive oil, for grilling 3–4 large flat breads 300 g (1011//22 oz) plain Greek-style yoghurt, whipped chopped parsley, to garnish paprika and/or ground sumac, for sprinkling onion slices, to garnish (optional) If you’re using bamboo skewers for your kebabs, soak 8–12 of them in water so they don’t burn on the grill. Combine all the kebab ingredients in a large bowl. Knead well for 5–10 minutes, until the colour has slightly changed. Chill in the fridge for at least 30 minutes, or even overnight. To make the tomato sauce, heat the olive oil in a saucepan and sauté the onion over medium heat for about 5 minutes, or until translucent and quite soft. Add the tomatoes, with a splash of water if needed. Stir in the sugar, salt and paprika and simmer on low heat for 20–30 minutes, stirring occasionally. Meanwhile, heat a grill pan or barbecue chargrill plate to high and drizzle with olive oil. Take about 2–3 tablespoons of the kebab mixture at a time and work it in the palm of your hand into a sausage shape. Place a skewer right in the middle and squeeze your hand around it several times to shape the kebab around the skewer. Make sure the top and bottom are secured tightly around the skewer. Grill each kebab for a couple of minutes on each side until brown and sizzling; meanwhile, warm the flat breads for serving. Place the flat breads on a serving platter/s and lay several skewers on each. Add dollops of yoghurt on the kebabs, then spoon the tomato sauce on top. Scatter with parsley, sumac and/or paprika and onion slices, if desired, and serve immediately. As with most kebabs and street foods, this is a hands-on dish — tear off a piece of bread and, holding the kebab in it, remove the skewer before eating. Alternatively, you could simply keep all the kebabs warm under one flat bread, then cut the rest into large wedges and serve on a platter, with separate bowls of yoghurt, tomato sauce, parsley and onion, so that each person can assemble their own kebab. Note: You can prepare the kebabs a few hours before grilling and keep them in the fridge on a plate, separating them with baking paper if necessary to ensure they’re not sticking to each other. Give them an extra squeeze just before grilling to make sure the meat is sticking to the skewers. 156 Pomegranates & Artichokes 157 In betweenLabneh with (rose petal) jam Whether we call it labneh as they do in Arabic, or suzma in Central Asia, or mast-è chekideh (literally ‘strained yoghurt’) in Iran, or simply Greek yoghurt, this fermented (and often strained) milk is the glue that connects all of Central Asia, the Middle East, the Eastern Mediterranean, the Levant — and even the Balkans and beyond. From dressing all sorts of borani (pages 66–69), to dumplings and grilled meat, yoghurt is omnipresent wherever you go in these regions. True, the former Ottoman Empire and the animal husbandry culture of the Turkic people in Central Asia had much to do with this influence, but even before that, yoghurt had been present in many Persian dishes that then found themselves in medieval Arab cuisine, too. Something that is remarkable in the Levant is eating labneh for breakfast, sprinkled with salt and drizzled with good peppery olive oil, with pita bread, olives, the ripest tomatoes, crunchy and aromatic little cucumbers, and fresh mint or za’atar. Another brunch favourite is cilbir, Turkish poached eggs on labneh, drizzled with an oil infused with paprika or red pepper flakes. But I prefer it sweet, which could be as simple as drizzling it with honey and sprinkling with cinnamon, as is done in Greece — something quite similar to what my mum sometimes made for us as a treat after meals, when she would simply add swirls of jam to yoghurt. Not any jam, though — you want something aromatic and rather thick. My favourite is the unexpectedly chewy rose petal jam, but you could use an orange peel jam or quince jam, too. Speaking of quince, the spicy drunken ones on page 168 are also wonderful with labneh — as are the pears poached in wine on page 258. Makes 1 cup labneh 500 g (1 lb 2 oz) yoghurt a pinch of salt 2 tablespoons rose petal jam, or orange peel or quince jam (to taste) Mix the yoghurt with the salt. (The salt won’t actually alter the flavour, but will draw the water more easily from the yoghurt.) Line a small colander with a clean cotton tea towel, or two layers of muslin (cheesecloth), and place it over a bowl so that it doesn’t touch the bottom. Pour the yoghurt in, then lightly cover it with the corners of the cloth. Leave to drain in the fridge for 5–10 hours. Spoon the labneh onto a plate, leaving swirls to hold your favourite topping. 170 Pomegranates & ArtichokesIn between 171Labneh with (rose petal) jam Whether we call it labneh as they do in Arabic, or suzma in Central Asia, or mast-è chekideh (literally ‘strained yoghurt’) in Iran, or simply Greek yoghurt, this fermented (and often strained) milk is the glue that connects all of Central Asia, the Middle East, the Eastern Mediterranean, the Levant — and even the Balkans and beyond. From dressing all sorts of borani (pages 66–69), to dumplings and grilled meat, yoghurt is omnipresent wherever you go in these regions. True, the former Ottoman Empire and the animal husbandry culture of the Turkic people in Central Asia had much to do with this influence, but even before that, yoghurt had been present in many Persian dishes that then found themselves in medieval Arab cuisine, too. Something that is remarkable in the Levant is eating labneh for breakfast, sprinkled with salt and drizzled with good peppery olive oil, with pita bread, olives, the ripest tomatoes, crunchy and aromatic little cucumbers, and fresh mint or za’atar. Another brunch favourite is cilbir, Turkish poached eggs on labneh, drizzled with an oil infused with paprika or red pepper flakes. But I prefer it sweet, which could be as simple as drizzling it with honey and sprinkling with cinnamon, as is done in Greece — something quite similar to what my mum sometimes made for us as a treat after meals, when she would simply add swirls of jam to yoghurt. Not any jam, though — you want something aromatic and rather thick. My favourite is the unexpectedly chewy rose petal jam, but you could use an orange peel jam or quince jam, too. Speaking of quince, the spicy drunken ones on page 168 are also wonderful with labneh — as are the pears poached in wine on page 258. Makes 1 cup labneh 500 g (1 lb 2 oz) yoghurt a pinch of salt 2 tablespoons rose petal jam, or orange peel or quince jam (to taste) Mix the yoghurt with the salt. (The salt won’t actually alter the flavour, but will draw the water more easily from the yoghurt.) Line a small colander with a clean cotton tea towel, or two layers of muslin (cheesecloth), and place it over a bowl so that it doesn’t touch the bottom. Pour the yoghurt in, then lightly cover it with the corners of the cloth. Leave to drain in the fridge for 5–10 hours. Spoon the labneh onto a plate, leaving swirls to hold your favourite topping. 170 Pomegranates & ArtichokesIn between 171The Italian Pantry Look for a specialist Italian food store in your town. In some, you can find the most peculiar pasta shapes, and some of the shop owners may even have family connections to local Italian producers. Another good idea is to ask your Italian friends for advice on where to buy the best products. It’s possible they may also get what you need in their next pacco da giù, the goodies package almost all emigrated Italians get from their families. Extra virgin olive oil: A good olive oil, often in abundant measure, is the soul of Italian food. The rule to know is that a good olive oil is not — and should not be — cheap. Don’t save your good olive oil for a long time to be served for special occasions, as it goes rancid. Do keep it in a dark bottle, never a transparent colourless one. Bread: The ‘body’ of Italian food, consumed in all forms, from the thinnest Sardinian pane carasau, to all the doughs that are topped or stuffed and then baked or fried, and the things that sometimes go by the name of ‘pizza’, to the salt-less loaves in central Italy served with extra- salty cured meats, to the simple ‘little roses’ that become little panini filled with anything from mortadella to Nutella, it’s very hard to imagine an Italian table without good bread. Wine and vinegar: If olive oil is the soul of Italian cooking, and bread its body, wine is undoubtedly its blood. Red or white wine vinegar and balsamic vinegar are also very commonly used, especially for dressing and conserving cooked and raw vegetables. Tomato: Whether you’re using them fresh or preserved, as cans of pelato, jars of passata (puréed tomatoes), tubes of paste (concentrated purée), or sun-dried and preserved in oil, the miracle of Italian food is its incredible flavour with very few ingredients, so find the best- quality tomatoes you can. Pasta: What Italian pantry would be without pasta, dried or fresh, in different shapes? Anchovies:Either on toasted bread with some butter, or as a foundation of a pasta sauce or soup, anchovies make a difference in Italian cooking. A good tinned variety works well. Cheese, aged and fresh: Dry, aged cow’s milk cheeses such as Parmigiano Reggiano or Grana Padano, and aged sheep’s cheese such as Roman pecorino, which can be grated, are often used in fillings, as well as on top of pastas and soups. Very fresh cheese such as ricotta and mozzarella are sometimes used in cooking as well. A slab of any cheese, a slice of bread and a glass of wine is already a meal, or at least an aperitivo, in Italy. Nuts and dried fruits: Pine nuts, almonds, hazelnuts, raisins and candied fruits are mostly used in sweet recipes, although some nuts end up occasionally in savoury dishes, too. Herbs: Bay leaves, rosemary, thyme, basil, fennel and local herbs from the mint family are commonly used. Spices: Cinnamon, nutmeg and chilli flakes — but not too much of any of them. Pulses: Chickpeas, various types of beans, broad beans and lentils are the backbone of many dishes, especially rural ones. Italy 177The Italian Pantry Look for a specialist Italian food store in your town. In some, you can find the most peculiar pasta shapes, and some of the shop owners may even have family connections to local Italian producers. Another good idea is to ask your Italian friends for advice on where to buy the best products. It’s possible they may also get what you need in their next pacco da giù, the goodies package almost all emigrated Italians get from their families. Extra virgin olive oil: A good olive oil, often in abundant measure, is the soul of Italian food. The rule to know is that a good olive oil is not — and should not be — cheap. Don’t save your good olive oil for a long time to be served for special occasions, as it goes rancid. Do keep it in a dark bottle, never a transparent colourless one. Bread: The ‘body’ of Italian food, consumed in all forms, from the thinnest Sardinian pane carasau, to all the doughs that are topped or stuffed and then baked or fried, and the things that sometimes go by the name of ‘pizza’, to the salt-less loaves in central Italy served with extra- salty cured meats, to the simple ‘little roses’ that become little panini filled with anything from mortadella to Nutella, it’s very hard to imagine an Italian table without good bread. Wine and vinegar: If olive oil is the soul of Italian cooking, and bread its body, wine is undoubtedly its blood. Red or white wine vinegar and balsamic vinegar are also very commonly used, especially for dressing and conserving cooked and raw vegetables. Tomato: Whether you’re using them fresh or preserved, as cans of pelato, jars of passata (puréed tomatoes), tubes of paste (concentrated purée), or sun-dried and preserved in oil, the miracle of Italian food is its incredible flavour with very few ingredients, so find the best- quality tomatoes you can. Pasta: What Italian pantry would be without pasta, dried or fresh, in different shapes? Anchovies:Either on toasted bread with some butter, or as a foundation of a pasta sauce or soup, anchovies make a difference in Italian cooking. A good tinned variety works well. Cheese, aged and fresh: Dry, aged cow’s milk cheeses such as Parmigiano Reggiano or Grana Padano, and aged sheep’s cheese such as Roman pecorino, which can be grated, are often used in fillings, as well as on top of pastas and soups. Very fresh cheese such as ricotta and mozzarella are sometimes used in cooking as well. A slab of any cheese, a slice of bread and a glass of wine is already a meal, or at least an aperitivo, in Italy. Nuts and dried fruits: Pine nuts, almonds, hazelnuts, raisins and candied fruits are mostly used in sweet recipes, although some nuts end up occasionally in savoury dishes, too. Herbs: Bay leaves, rosemary, thyme, basil, fennel and local herbs from the mint family are commonly used. Spices: Cinnamon, nutmeg and chilli flakes — but not too much of any of them. Pulses: Chickpeas, various types of beans, broad beans and lentils are the backbone of many dishes, especially rural ones. Italy 177A simple salad of grilled courgette, garlic, mint & (a lot of) olive oil In the summer of 2008, after having lived in Italy for almost a year, I spent a week or so with my friend Dora and her family in Calabria — a southern region much overshadowed by Sicily and Puglia, with stunning nature and a rich culinary culture, known particularly for the strong hint of chilli that lingers in most dishes. We had arrived in Calabria on the cheapest night train from Bologna, where we had just been to a Metallica concert. Looking back, I wonder whether I was nurturing a secret desire to torture myself. As doe-eyed as I was, getting out alive from amidst an excited throng of hardcore metal music fans was not a given, especially after spending many hours under Bologna’s scorching July sun waiting to be let into the concert venue. But after the 900 kilometre journey on the clanky and distinctly uncomfortable train, Calabria awaited with deep blue waters and green mountains, and many lazy meals by the pool of Dora’s parents. Best made with in-season pale green romanesco courgettes, this salad may rightly remind some of another courgette side dish called zucchine alla scapece, or concia. A staple of Jewish cuisine in Italy, and much loved in both Naples and Rome, concia stars courgette that has been fried, then marinated in vinegar with some garlic and plenty of mint leaves. Although this salad is grilled as opposed to fried, and there’s no vinegar in it (but you could add some if you wanted to), Dora’s mum must have been inspired by concia. Enjoying this salad as a light summer meal over the years, often with a piece of fresh cheese, also reminds me of a summer staple my own mother used to prepare — a dish of courgette, sliced lengthways, then pan-fried and served with copious amounts of garlicky yoghurt, and perhaps some golden onion (page 16). Similar flavour palates, distant memories and places. Serves 3–4 as a side dish 11//22 cup (125 ml) extra virgin olive oil 2 generous handfuls of mint 4 garlic cloves 4 large courgettes, or 7–8 small ones 11//22 teaspoon salt, or more to taste Start by flavouring the oil. Pour the oil in a large, quite deep dish. Tear most of the mint leaves into it, saving a few nice- looking ones for garnishing. Put the garlic cloves on a chopping board and bash them once with the flat blade of a knife, or with the bottom of a sturdy mug, which feels less ‘cheffy’. This should remove the skin easily. Slice the garlic lengthways, thinly enough to impart maximum flavour to the oil, but not so thinly that it will dissolve when the grilled courgette is added later — just large enough to spot, if someone wants to skip eating it. Continued overleaf › 180 Pomegranates & ArtichokesA simple salad of grilled courgette, garlic, mint & (a lot of) olive oil In the summer of 2008, after having lived in Italy for almost a year, I spent a week or so with my friend Dora and her family in Calabria — a southern region much overshadowed by Sicily and Puglia, with stunning nature and a rich culinary culture, known particularly for the strong hint of chilli that lingers in most dishes. We had arrived in Calabria on the cheapest night train from Bologna, where we had just been to a Metallica concert. Looking back, I wonder whether I was nurturing a secret desire to torture myself. As doe-eyed as I was, getting out alive from amidst an excited throng of hardcore metal music fans was not a given, especially after spending many hours under Bologna’s scorching July sun waiting to be let into the concert venue. But after the 900 kilometre journey on the clanky and distinctly uncomfortable train, Calabria awaited with deep blue waters and green mountains, and many lazy meals by the pool of Dora’s parents. Best made with in-season pale green romanesco courgettes, this salad may rightly remind some of another courgette side dish called zucchine alla scapece, or concia. A staple of Jewish cuisine in Italy, and much loved in both Naples and Rome, concia stars courgette that has been fried, then marinated in vinegar with some garlic and plenty of mint leaves. Although this salad is grilled as opposed to fried, and there’s no vinegar in it (but you could add some if you wanted to), Dora’s mum must have been inspired by concia. Enjoying this salad as a light summer meal over the years, often with a piece of fresh cheese, also reminds me of a summer staple my own mother used to prepare — a dish of courgette, sliced lengthways, then pan-fried and served with copious amounts of garlicky yoghurt, and perhaps some golden onion (page 16). Similar flavour palates, distant memories and places. Serves 3–4 as a side dish 11//22 cup (125 ml) extra virgin olive oil 2 generous handfuls of mint 4 garlic cloves 4 large courgettes, or 7–8 small ones 11//22 teaspoon salt, or more to taste Start by flavouring the oil. Pour the oil in a large, quite deep dish. Tear most of the mint leaves into it, saving a few nice- looking ones for garnishing. Put the garlic cloves on a chopping board and bash them once with the flat blade of a knife, or with the bottom of a sturdy mug, which feels less ‘cheffy’. This should remove the skin easily. Slice the garlic lengthways, thinly enough to impart maximum flavour to the oil, but not so thinly that it will dissolve when the grilled courgette is added later — just large enough to spot, if someone wants to skip eating it. Continued overleaf › 180 Pomegranates & ArtichokesNext >