Guest Post: Turkish Coffee

Hi everyone...as you can see by the title this is not your favorite Kelsey anymore but a friend of hers who asked if she might add to the general spirit of this blog by contributing a guest post. I won't be nearly as whimsical and creative as her (and let's face it, who is?) but I hope this might at least somewhat compliment all the amazing things she has going on here!

To begin with, let's clarify: I am no authority on Turkish coffee. In fact, I should probably apologize in advance for posting this in case someone who is a professional Turkish coffee brewer reads this blog and finds my methods offensive or in any way distasteful. I am no connoisseur. But I do think it has a valid enough social meaning to many people and cultures to be on this blog!

My parents are Serbian, and as far as Serbians are concerned, Americans don't know what coffee is. The stuff they sell at big-name coffee shops? It's just dirty water to begin with. Then we go ahead and add milk, cream, and sugar to it? Crazy Americans! [Note: The author of this post worked in a coffee shop herself as a barista and means no disrespect to coffee fanatics whatsoever.] Long story short, to Serbians - this is coffee: the dark, rich, frothy coffee that has all the grounds boiled right in, and collecting at the bottom of the cup.

And the thing about coffee with Serbians is, they drink it all the time. Not like Americans though. If you step into anyone's house in Serbia (which happens all the time, as people pop up totally uninvited as a way of life), there is immediately an ibrik* on the stovetop anticipating your Turkish-coffee-drinking, and some fancy dessert is pulled from behind a magic curtain. You are here to stay, at least for a while, and chat with your host about your house, your family, the weather, those crazy teenagers, and the crick in your neck that you just can't seem to get rid of. My point is, Serbians don't buy coffee on the go, they don't drink coffee in their cars, and they certainly wouldn't dream of having a cup by themselves. Turkish coffee is all about the experience of sitting down and socializing. And, luckily, it tastes wonderfully.


Some tips:

1) I learned this from my dad: Don't sweeten your coffee. Instead, eat something very small and very sweet like these walnut bars with a hint of lime with it. That way, you can alternate between the bitter (but tasty) coffee and sweeten your pallet with a fun dessert.

2) For a rowdy good time, try fortune telling after you've sipped all your coffee! It sounds ridiculous but this is the most fun part, in my opinion (and goes precisely with the theme of socializing). I have no idea how you are actually supposed to tell fortunes with your coffee grounds, but basically what I've been doing with friends is just drinking all the coffee, swirling around what's left of the coffee and grounds for a little bit to mix it well, and flipping the cup upside down onto the saucer. There, you let it dry for a few minutes and when you pick the cup back up, pretend you're looking at a cloudy sky and try to see some images in them and tell a story. When my mom was teaching me how to make this, we found we could see a llama, a koala, a road leading somewhere, a man, and something medical (I forget what). We concluded based on the placement that the llama indicated my past (study abroad in Chile), and the koala was on my 'road to the future' (clearly I'm going to Australia). And there is a man there I am going to meet, for whatever reason (I'm not one to dream of romance or weddings all that much) who will either be a doctor or will need me to help him somehow. Anyway, it's fun!

Turkish Coffee
~the only way I know how~
____________________

Items needed:
1 ibrik
Turkish coffee sized cups (like tea cups, they are small)
Turkish coffee (not just any coffee)
Sugar

Directions:

1. Measure out water for the ibrik by simply filling one of the turkish coffee cups as many times with water as you have people you are making coffee for.
2. Mix in a little sugar, to taste, to the water. (If your'e just starting, try about 1 tsp sugar per cup of coffee you are making).
3. Boil the sugar-water mixture, remove from heat.
4. Pour ONLY 1 cup's worth of water back into one of the turkish coffee cups.
   
5. Add about 1 tbsp coffee to the ibrik for each cup of coffee you are making. You can add more if you want it stronger. Stir well with a metal spoon.
   
6. Return the ibrik to the flame, BUT BE CAREFUL BECAUSE
7. Allow the coffee mixture to heat up, watching carefully, and to rise in the ibrik as much as you can without letting it overflow. Seriously, the coffee rises quickly so watch this (it's pretty cool) and try and remove it from the flame just before it boils over in the ibrik.
   
8. Pour the previously removed water back into the coffee mixture (my mom says she's guessing this is to help you NOT boil over the coffee mixture, but she's not sure).
9. Stir for a little while - if you've done it right, it should be kind of foamy/frothy near the top. This is the mark of good turkish coffee. =)
   
10. Use a spoon to evenly distribute the frothy part between all of your cups before pouring coffee from the ibrik into each cup.
    
11. Let the coffee settle (you don't want to be drinking the grounds).
12. When it has settled for about a minute, enjoy!
    

Lessons Learned in a Kitchen

My first job was at a breakfast cafe in my sleepy hometown. The place was pretty settled among members of the community, and, for that reason (as well as costs) it hadn't gone through any of the repairs and renovations that it truly needed. Practically every piece of machinery in the place was in a constant state of disrepair. Because of this fact, I consider it the ideal "first job"- any place that I worked at afterward seemed like a luxury.

Take, for example, the espresso machine. The machine itself was the most archaic, coffee grind- covered contraption I've ever seen. Perhaps the only recognizable part was the milk steamer (which was also the only portion that worked). The temperamental machine had a tendency to explode about five times a day, releasing the still-brewing espresso on the unfortunate staff member that happened to press the ground beans to the metal filter. Thus, when someone ordered a double latte, I found myself emitting a deep sigh as I approached the machine with caution, envisioning how I would coax it into producing espresso without losing another shirt to a coffee-spewing temper tantrum.

The other slightly old- fashioned aspect of the place was the fact that there was no computerized ordering system for servers. In fact, we'd take down orders on a piece of paper and bring it to the kitchen, handing it directly to the chef at the burners. While I disdained the espresso machine, I loved this aspect of the job. I felt as if I was truly setting up a line of communication between the kitchen and the customer.

But there was actually another reason that I loved running these pieces of paper back and forth between the kitchen and the main floor- Oswaldo. Oswaldo was the gentle giant of the kitchen, a middle-aged Peruvian chef with gray hairs peeking out of his beard and friendly eyes. He had an innate ability to prepare up to eight omelets at a time on that multiple-burner stovetop. He sang in a deep tenor as he carried out the trash bags at the end of the day. Best of all, he never got angry. He'd just say: "es ok".

At the time my Spanish skills weren't too great. After all, I hadn't gotten to the "food terminology" section of the Spanish high school curriculum. Oswaldo got a kick out of my attempts to explain complicated orders... and began to predict what I was going to say. After all, I began every attempt to communicate an order with "Well. it's a little complicated". After I handed him the order, an exchange between us might have gone like this:

Kelsey: "Oswaldo... er....esta persona quiere...er...es un poco-"
Oswaldo: "Ya lo se. Un poco complicado? Es ok. A ver... huevos revueltos con cebolla... es ok."

Oswaldo's combination of English and Spanish into the little phrase "es ok" seemed to calm me for a bit. Then, upon realizing that I should probably just stop trying to speak in Spanish to him, I'd reel, running out of the kitchen to leave the blaring mariachi music for the hustle and bustle of the main floor.

Yet, for some reason, I kept trying to explain things in broken Spanish. One day, I think Oswaldo realized that if I wasn't going to give up trying to speak Spanish to him, he'd have to start teaching me a bit. So that's how it began.

Well, actually it began with the Spanish word for egg yolk: "yema".

When a customer had ordered an egg-white omelet, I brought the order to Oswaldo. He turned his back temporarily on the sizzling omelets and bacon to tell me: "sin yema- Y-E-M-A". Our mini-kitchen lessons continued- with jamon, tocino, ajo, cebolla, pimientos.... he was a better teacher than he probably realized. I was grateful for his patience, and even started trying to crack jokes with him (he didn't find any of them funny). But really, it's people like Oswaldo that influenced this deep love that I have for Spanish language. I have learned more Spanish from real people with beautiful stories and incredible talents than I did in my years studying vocabulary lists and reading short stories in the classroom.

I'd walk home my long days at work with a leftover scone in hand and a string of new Spanish words running through my head. The scones were a pretty phenomenal end to the day- and I had a lot of good ones to choose from- they had everything from the traditional oatmeal raisin to the more adventurous pumpkin spice and cranberry orange. Yet, my favorite scone was the currant scone. I loved how each bite was permeated with currants and a buttery crumble of scone. So I thought, slightly in honor of my first job with Oswaldo, I'd replicate the currant scones.

I used this recipe by Dorie Greenspan- it yields a light scone, perfect for a lazy Sunday morning with a cup of milky coffee.

Dorie Greenspan's Raisin Scones (with currants)
shamelessly stolen from her website!

1 large egg
1/2 cup milk
2 cups all-purpose flour
2 1/2 Tbsp sugar
1 Tbsp baking powder
1/2 tsp salt
6 Tbsp cold butter, cut into bits
3/4 cup raisins (or currants)

Preheat the oven to 400ºF. Mix the egg and milk together in one bowl and the flour, sugar, baking powder, and salt in another.

Place the butter into the flour (don't forget to cut it into smaller pieces!) and, using your fingers, mash the two ingredients together until the mixture becomes "pebbly". Add the milk and egg. Mix with a fork until everything is incorporated. Add the raisins (or currants) and stir a few more times.

As Dorie says: "Spoon a dozen mounds of dough onto a foil-lined baking sheet and bake for 20 to 22 minutes, or until the scones are golden brown. Cool for a few minutes. Serve warm with butter or jam, or a little of each."

An Equal Opportunity Chicken Salad

I'm usually not too particular about what I eat (as long as it's fresh!) but there is one thing that I really dislike to see in large (or even medium-sized) quantities in a dish: mayonnaise. Actually, I dislike all condiments in general.

Somehow, I find it really discomforting that I don't know how ketchup and mayonnaise are made. Frankly, I don't want to know- I think that vegetables alone are the perfect additions to a sandwich or burger and that anything else just adds superfluous flavor (well, I think I make an exception for guacamole or home-made hummus).

For this reason, I tried to avoid chicken, potato, and other mayonnaise-filled salads for a long time. I was pretty skeptical, and still am. Yet, when I came across a chicken salad recipe without mayonnaise, and instead with a nice light vinaigrette, I thought I might give it a chance. I'm glad I did.

This salad is really crisp and refreshing for a hot day. I like to eat a bit with some whole wheat toast before I trounce down my hill to face the real world.

Chicken Salad
Adapted from Gourmet

1 large chicken breast (already cooked, but if not then just poach it)
2 celery ribs, chopped into little half-moon pieces
a handful of grapes, washed, dried, and halved
1/4 cup walnuts (you can toast them, I didn't)
1 tbs. chopped shallot
1 tbs olive oil
1 tbs lemon juice
1 tbs vinegar (champagne, red wine, etc.)
salt and pepper to taste

Peel apart the chicken breast into small strips and place in a large bowl. Chop the shallots and drop the pieces in a smaller bowl with the vinegar and lemon juice (so that they macerate a bit). Add the grapes, chopped celery, and walnuts to the large bowl with the chicken. Mix the olive oil in with the vinegar and shallots and taste- you may need to add more oil if it's too acidic. Otherwise just toss the dressing in with the salad and toss again. Enjoy!

Simple, Cold, Delicious

I was going to sling a pretty hefty rant about technology your way this week, along with a recipe for a slow-cooked meal to pry any cook away from his or her computer in order to appease the beckoning stove-top... however, fatigue reared its ugly, creativity-stomping head, so I thought I'd do something else.

Instead, I thought it'd be best to share a couple of recipes with you that I absolutely love to make. What I like about these two things is that they both a) require the use of a blender (which is fun in itself, right?) and b) taste quite amazing after one hour of refrigeration. In fact, the refrigeration process improves the taste of both items, making them that much more refreshing on a hot day like today.

So here they are: hummus and salsa verde!

Hummus
Shamelessly stolen (and slightly adapted) from Paula Wolfitz

1 can of chickpeas, drained and rinsed (but save the liquid in a glass if you can)
2 garlic cloves, peeled and diced
3/4 cup tahini*
1/2 cup fresh lemon juice
pinch of cayenne
2 tbs. chopped parsley

* Available at most stores now I believe- it's worth it! Otherwise, try a smaller amount of olive oil

Basically, put the garlic, lemon juice, and tahini in a blender or Cuisinart and pulse until well-blended. Then add the chickpeas and Cayenne.... now if the mixture isn't very smooth then add some of that reserved chickpea liquid. It really helps. Slide that mess in the fridge for an hour or two and then top with parsley and possibly a couple of drops of olive oil to serve.

Salsa Verde
I'm super excited to preview this baby- I took a pretty basic recipe from Rancho Gordo and added a couple of things to smooth it out. It actually turned out pretty great! Not too time-consuming, but slightly more so than the hummus.

5 medium-sized tomatillos
1/4 of a white onion, roughly chopped
2 red tomatoes, also roughly chopped
2 serrano chiles, roughly chopped into small-ish pieces
2 cloves of garlic, finely minced
1/4 of an avocado
Juice of 1/2 lime

Heat the tomatillos (whole) on a dry skillet over medium heat- you want them to be slightly charred on the outside. When done, roughly chop and set aside.
Place onion, garlic, chiles, and lime juice in the blender or Cuisanart and pulse until well-blended. Then add the tomatillos, blend away. Finally, add the two red tomatoes and 1/4 of avocado and blend again. You'll definitely want to throw this mixture in the fridge for an hour or two and enjoy with tortilla chips.

Why hello there, stranger!

Remember that person that turned to you today in line at the grocers and made some random comment about the weather? You know, the same person that interrupted the steady flow of your thoughts, forcing you to utter some nonchalant reply out of the corner of your mouth in order to appear polite? How obnoxious!

That person was me. Guilty as charged. I am addicted to striking up conversations with strangers and I apologize on behalf of me and the rest of my fellow addicts.

Maybe I can explain- you see, to me, this brief conversation, this tiny moment when our lives intersect at a tangent, gives me the biggest rush of happiness in the world. Somehow, just the fact that I exchanged words with you propels me to walk away from the scene with my head happily floating two feet above my shoulders and a beautiful new story or thought to tuck deep into the recesses of my memory.

I'm discovering more and more that I feed on stories- they keep me walking and living and laughing. If I cannot dictate them myself, I comfortably resort to those of others to give me the absolute bliss that my addiction calls for.

And in my meandering life I've heard plenty of amazing stories from strangers. I once walked two blocks in Madrid with an Argentinian doctor with a broken leg- listening as he recounted his travels around the world to help others. At Trader Joe's, I met a woman, who at 45, decided to quit her office job and become a nurse. Then there was the old Madrileñan man with the crinkly eyes and big smile, who took a break from setting up his daily newspaper kiosk to give me half of his "bollo" (or pastry) at 7 am when I was haggardly walking down Calle Ibiza after a long night out. These people, for some reason, have become part of my story- even if I only interacted with them for brief moments in time.

Ah, but is there no other cure for the conversational addict!? Are people like me bound to crawl through life, only to be dependent on the words of others for sustenance? No, there is a solution: the service industry! In fact, those jobs at restaurants, deli's, supermarkets, and other places are our salvation. They provide us with hundreds of short interactions with people on a daily basis!

So, to the woman in her late twenties who talked to me while I cut a pound of egg dough linguini- this is for you. Thank you for the suggestion to make an avocado salad and an omelet with a bit of Irish cheddar (I used Austrailian).... and thanks for talking to me. It made my day. Really.

Staying Afloat

Do you ever feel like you're on the verge of instantaneous disappearance? Wait! Before you deny it, hear me out-

Sometimes, when you're walking down a crowded street...or maybe when you're contemplating the infinitesimal abyss of the starry night sky, do ever you catch yourself taking a deep breath with the thought that, because you're so small and insignificant in this teeming planet, you might just spontaneously disappear into thin air? That's not the only possibility- maybe a hole will form beneath your feet and you'll slip downward, only to stop when you hear the "click" of the pavement closing above your head. Will anyone notice? Or will you just end up as another streak of light across the ever-extended sky?

I don't know about you, but I get this feeling quite often. It's not depression, so to speak, but just the idea that instead of a prominent individual that's pounding the pavement, I'm a mere pin in society, descending into an oceanic abyss of other metallic pin-drops that are jostling against each other in the friction of everyday life. Sometimes it's comforting, but other times it can be slightly unnerving.

So, taking from the school of American individualism, I've discovered the key to staying afloat in the current of pins. You just need to have something spontaneous under your belt that distinguishes you from the immediate, surrounding masses. Perhaps you've got the ability to recite the first twelve lines of Canterbury Tales in old(e) English, or the talent of being able to touch your nose with your tongue... or maybe, just maybe, you know how to make a delicious chana masala. That's my new discovery, and I want to pass it onto you.

But before I go there, I want to elaborate on the inspiration for this concept. You see, I grew up with one of the most skilled individualists that has ever graced the planet (well, in my opinion). He's so good that he probably doesn't even know that he's got the aforementioned talent. My brother: yes, the closet- tabla player, hip-hop album producer, skilled family comedian, and brilliantly witty writer, was ever-so-humble about all of these hidden skills and accumulations of knowledge throughout his life. He got me to laugh until tears formed in the corners of my eyes on a regular basis for the first eighteen years of my existence. It was only after I left Michigan that I realized how difficult it was to live without such a luxury.

Anyway, back to the chana masala. Chana masala is an Indian dish that includes the ingenious combination of chickpeas, tomatoes, onions, garlic, hot peppers, and a glorious blend of Indian spices. I've cooked my way through two recipes, and tried to glean the best parts of each for this compendium, but I'll still link to both so that you have a reference point.

In all actuality, my roommate Tas is the one that can make KILLER chana masala... but this combination of recipes produces pretty decent results. I'd recommend using fresh tomatoes instead of canned- but seeing as we're not yet in the right season (or as they'd say in Spain: "¡hombre- que no es la epoca!"), canned tomatoes will work just fine!

My directions will seem a bit haphazard, but that's because the process of cooking chana masala requires more intuition and improvisation than one would expect. From the mixture of spices to the consistency of the sauce, the qualities of this dish cater to individual tastes. So cook away! Enjoy the process! I promise that if I can make it, then you can too. In fact, if you're nervous, then check out the methodology of the other two recipes before navigating the waters here.

Chana Masala

adapted from this and that.
Serve on top of a bed of rice or with a generous spoonful of yogurt.

1 tbs. olive oil (or vegetable)
1 medium yellow onion, chopped
2 medium garlic cloves, chopped finely
1 tsp. fresh grated ginger, minced
1 thai bird chili, chopped (optional, but recommended!)
1 28 oz. can chopped tomatoes (or a container of cherry tomatoes or 3 medium sized tomatoes, chopped).
1 tsp. garam masala
1 tsp. ground cumin
1/2 tsp. coriander
3 cardamon pods, lightly crushed
(this is where I have fun- try adding some paprika and tumeric as well, maybe 1/2 tsp. of each... totally optional though).
2 15 oz. cans of chickpeas, drained and rinsed
1 lemon, sliced into wedges
2 tbs. chopped cilantro

Heat oil and chopped onions a saucepan or pot over medium heat- add a bit of salt and stir constantly. After about five minutes, when onions are translucent, add ginger, garlic, and chili. Lower the heat a bit and cook until the onions are carmelized (when the edges are browned). Then turn the heat back up to medium and add the spices (and some more oil if needed), stirring constantly to toast them until fragrant. If the contents are really sticking to the bottom of the pot or pan, add about 1/4 cup of water to loosen them and cook until the liquid has evaporated.

Add the tomatoes and bring contents of pot to a boil... reduce heat to low and simmer, stirring the contents until they thicken. When the sauce is noticeably thicker, add the chickpeas. This is when the experimentation begins- you'll want to keep simmering the mixture and checking on it for about 45 minutes to an hour, adding water in 1/4 cup increments so as to prevent burning. Keep tasting- the water won't dilute the flavor, rather it will add to the texture of the dish.

When the sauce is thick and the chickpeas have absorbed the juices, spices, and flavor, then serve with chopped cilantro, a squeeze of lemon, and rice or yogurt.

Enjoy!