Comfort in a Bowl (the other winter vegetables)

I do realise that a recent post focused on a winter vegetable soup, but this one is not your average winter potage and it's also tastier than any other I've had recently.

Along with my New Year's resolution to 'travel more' (I find these kinds of would-like-to-do -anyway objectives far easier to fulfill than those based on deprivation and restraint), I thought I might also reaffirm my belief in no-waste cooking. I shall cook with what lyeth in the darkest recesses of the cupboards, and I shall like what comes of it. Or else. Or be defeated trying.

This week's challenge brought about this roasted red pepper and Butternut squash soup, which has a few warming ingredients to liven up even the greyest of grey British January days. Ginger and red chillies add some sweet heat, and the addition of parsley stems, fresh tomatoes, green chillies and creme fraiche render the dish both more visually appealing and more texturally interesting. I also advise moderation when blending soups in a blender--a few chunky bits are always welcome so as not to create something that resembles baby food (as so many store-bought soups do).

So, without further ado:

Yield: 3-4 portions

1 Butternut squash (peeled, seeded, and cut into roughly 3-cm cubes)
1 large red Bell pepper/capsicum (rinsed, seeded, and cut into 4-5 thick segments, lengthwise)

2 Tbs. Dijon mustard
2-cm cube of fresh ginger, minced
1 Tbs. clear honey
1 red chili (rinsed, seeded, minced)
1 Tbs. fresh lemon juice
5-6 Tbs. olive oil (enough to coat all the veg)
Salt and ground black pepper

2-3 cups vegetable or chicken stock
2 cloves garlic (one whole, peeled, one peeled and minced)
1 small white onion (peeled and quartered)

3/4 cup fresh parsley or coriander (or mix of both) (rinsed, leaves roughly chopped, stems reserved)
4 Tbs. creme fraiche (plus more to serve on the side)
1 green chili, minced
1 red chili, minced
Fresh tomatoes (washed, roughly chopped)

Preheat the oven (on the broil setting) to 200 C, with one rack elevated to near the broiler). Place prepared Butternut squash and pepper onto a shallow baking tray and use a fork to mix the above five ingredients together. Pour over veg in the baking tray, tossing the veg until all is coated in the oil. Season with salt and pepper.

Roast the veg for about 30-40 minutes, or until soft and the edges caramelised. Meanwhile, heat the stock to a simmer over a medium-low flame and add the whole garlic clove and quartered onion. Continue to simmer on a low flame until the veg is fully roasted.

Transfer the roasted veg and scrape any oil from the tray into a blender. Add parsley/coriander stems and one cup of stock (garlic and onion included) and blend (make sure the top of the blender is not fully closed, as steam will need to escape!), adding more stock as needed. Pour half of the soup into a pot or serving tureen (so that some of it remains chunky) and blend remaining soup, with more stock if necessary. Transfer all of the liquid into a serving bowl and stir through 4 Tbs. of creme fraiche.

Arrange chopped chillis, tomatoes, and parsley, coriander, or both, on a plate and serve alongside soup, as well as a few lemon wedges and extra creme fraiche.

Tantuni-Land

I'm back!

It's been over a month since my last post, and copious and varied foodstuffs have been created and consumed during this silent but scrumptious hiatus.

Most exciting of these culinary adventures was a recent trip to Turkey to witness dear friends, J. and M., tie the knot on a beach in Mersin. A global network of friends and family came together from all over the world--first to Istanbul and then to Mersin-- for the event, and I cannot imagine a more fabulous, curious, ravenous-to-try-anything group ever assembled.

After a beautiful Istanbul fete complete with Bosporus cruise and lots of dancing, we all boarded a plane for the hour-and-a-half flight to Mersin. The day before the big event was free to explore this Mediterranean coastal town, and we hit the ground running in the direction of tantuni.

Allow me to digress a bit. When I worked at an English language immersion camp for two summers towards the end of my undergraduate years, many a night out in Taksim's rooftop clubs and bars ended with a large group of us counselors, both Turkish and yabanci [foreign], crouching on small wooden stools and sloppily devouring one portion of tantuni after another. The dish that we had become familiar with at a tiny establishment of Istiklal Caddesi consisted of a scant amount of sauteed mystery meat, heavily spiced with cumin and pepper, drizzled with lemon, covered in more cumin and parsley, and rolled up in durum [a kind of flat bread]. Friends would always bemoan the distance between Istanbul and Mersin, M.'s (the groom's) hometown, and how much better the true Mersin tantuni is.

So, there we were in the cradle of tantuni, where the mighty, spicy meat wrap was no tipsy fare, but THE main event.

Having consulted our friend H. on where to get the best, we headed to Gokzel Tantuni. Despite initial reservations--prompted by spotting multiple locations (a chain!) through the dolmus window--I was far from disappointed. Couples sat around us, daintily and artfully consuming their durums, which never seemed to drip or fall apart, and sipping frothy mugs of ayran.

Over at our table of six, however, twelve eyes grew wide as plate after plate of tomatoes, green spicy-sweet peppers, really hot, small, green peppers, mint, parsley, lemons (the skins are green here), and red cabbage came and just kept coming--many dusted with sumac or pul biber (red pepper flakes). How was all of this goodness to make it to our mouths? And how quickly could it be done?


Durum wraps were unwrapped to reveal glistening, moist, spiced meat, promptly loaded with all of the above, and raised to mouths, tomato, lemon, and meat juices gushing.

















The spicy meat was delicious and moist, and the secret of tantuni is in the method of cooking. The minced meat is cooked in a conical metal contraption that captures the fat and juices in the center, where the meat to be served is doused and seared with a bit of water.

This video is chatty, but it shows how lightening-fast the cooking method is:



Somehow, after a walk on the seaside boardwalk, we found room for a scoop of ice cream from Balli Baba Dondurma--a more stiff, glutinous ice cream than one might be used to, but delicious--there was everything from almond and honey to pistachio and melon.

It was the perfect ending to a tantuni feast.