Bhutanese Refugees in Anchorage, Alaska with Recipe for Lamb's Quarters & Tomatoes with Eggs (Χόρτα και Ντομάτες με Αυγά)

Lush baskets of greens lined the table: crumpled dark Lacinato kale, sweet golden-stalked Swiss chard, deep maroon piles of earthy red orach. The sign read, “Fresh International Gardens.”

“Good morning! Where’s your farm?” The answer to my standard market question was a surprise: “Mountain View.”

Mountain View, a densely populated neighborhood within Anchorage’s urban core, is an unlikely spot for a market garden. “How much land do you have?” “8000 square feet.”

A commercially viable garden in Alaska on less than 1/5 of an acre? I looked again at the people staffing the booth. Of diverse ages and ethnicities, they didn’t fit the typical farm family image.

“Is Fresh International Gardens a farm? Or a group?” I hesitated. “Or what?”

The answer: “Or what.” Fresh International Gardens is part of the Refugee Farmers’ Market Program. This program helps refugees, newly arrived in Anchorage, adjust to uprooted lives in a new country. In addition to gardening, the program teaches entrepreneurial and life skills essential to succeeding in Alaska.

The thriving program grew from a seed planted by Julie Riley, longtime Anchorage Cooperative Extension Service Horticulture Agent. In 2004, Riley successfully helped Hmong refugees from Southeast Asia adapt their gardening skills to Alaska’s cold climate. This success inspired Catholic Social Services to work with Riley and others to create the Refugee Farmers’ Market Program. Using municipal land next to Mountain View’s McPhee Park, the program is now in its fourth year.

Most refugees working on the 2010 garden are originally from Bhutan. Over the last 10 months, a group of nearly 100 Bhutanese refugees began the challenging process of creating lives in Alaska after many difficult homeless, stateless years.

Bhutan is a land-locked country the size of Switzerland. It lies between China and India on the Himalayas’ eastern edge; Nepal is to the west. In the late 19th century, the Lhotsampa (meaning southerner in Bhutanese) began emigrating to Bhutan from Nepal, largely to work as laborers for the Bhutanese.

The Lhotsampa settled, built homes, and grew families in Bhutan. Life continued uneventfully until the late 1980s. At that time, the ethnic majority ruling Bhutan became worried about its ethnic group being outnumbered by Lhotsampas. To prevent this, the rulers began a program of ethnic cleansing, forcibly expelling many Lhotsampas from the country.

The forcible expulsions left over 100,000 Lhotsampas, including Anchorage’s new residents, stranded for nearly two decades in Nepalese refugee camps. It wasn’t until 2008 that various countries, including the US, began admitting Bhutanese refugees for permanent resettlement.

Last Thursday I went to the Fresh International Garden site on McPhee and talked with gardener and market entrepreneur Bishnu Subedi.

Subedi said he was forced from his home by the Bhutanese government in 1992. He lived in Nepalese refugee camps until Alaska welcomed him last year. “Seventeen years. Seventeen years, no home. Now, in Alaska, apartment. A home.” Subedi smiled, hesitantly.

While we talked, Subedi and a fellow refugee cleaned and turned a new garden bed, planting it with spinach seed. The men were neatly dressed; their shirts freshly ironed. They deftly and swiftly worked shovel and hoe with bare feet.

Subedi is just now learning English, and spoke it haltingly. He described his plans: work hard, feed his family, get a green card, become a citizen. He laughed, shrugged, and said, “For now, have apartment. But is home. Home.” He smiled again, this time broadly.

I walked further into the garden where three Bhutanese women were weeding beds of thickly planted greens. They heaped all but one kind of weed in piles for disposal. The women treated lamb’s quarters (Chenopodium album) differently. This plant was separated out and added to plastic grocery bags that were already full when I arrived.

Though weeds, lamb’s quarters are delicious edible greens. Since none of the women spoke English, I couldn’t ask if they planned on eating lamb’s quarters. Kelly Ingram, a Vista volunteer working for the Refugee Farmers’ Market Program, had an answer: the women used lamb’s quarters as an ingredient in curry.

Wild lamb’s quarters are gathered for food all around the globe. Uniquely, the Himalayan region, where Lhotsampas survived in Nepalese refugee camps, is the one area in the world where lamb’s quarters are domesticated. It is grown there for its leafy greens and as a grain crop. Lamb’s quarters is a quinoa relative; up to 70,000 poppy-sized seeds grow on every plant. The seeds are ground into flour, cooked as porridge, made into alcoholic beverages, and used as livestock feed.

Unlike countries with subsistence economies, wild foraging is a rarity in modern America. Lamb’s quarters and other wild greens are usually seen only as noxious weeds that pop up in home gardens and interfere with efficient commercial crop production. As a result, few Alaskans have tried tasty lamb’s quarters.

Lamb’s quarters are related to spinach and Swiss chard, and can be substituted for those greens in any recipe. Its flavor is milder, and its leaves slightly firmer, than spinach. Although young lamb’s quarters leaves may be eaten raw, I prefer them cooked. Then again, I also prefer spinach cooked.

Of the wild greens that grow in Alaska, lamb’s quarters is one of the easiest to harvest. (First time foragers may want to review my Rules for Gathering Wild Plants.) Cut off the top 6-8” of each plant, remove any damaged or diseased leaves (look carefully, lamb’s quarters are susceptible to leaf miner damage), and strip the leaves and soft seed heads from the stem. These are ready to use in your favorite greens recipe; the stem may be discarded.

Lamb’s quarters freeze well. Harvest the greens before seeds form, blanch in boiling salted water for 30-45 seconds, drain, cool, squeeze out excess water, package in freezer bags, and freeze.

Lamb’s quarters thrive on land that’s been previously cultivated, or any place they can get an easy foothold. In my yard, they're particularly fond of the topsoil pile, where loose dirt and ready nutrients attract a nice patch of lamb’s quarters every year.

Returning from my trip to the Fresh International Gardens, I had a powerful hankering for lamb’s quarters. Lacking a Bhutanese curry recipe, but being rich in farm fresh eggs, I lunched on a Greek village favorite: eggs cooked on a bed of wild greens and tomatoes.
Lamb's Quarters and Tomatoes with Eggs takes less than 30 minutes to make, including the time to harvest the lamb’s quarters (assuming you're behind on your weeding so have lamb's quarters readily available). Despite its simplicity and humble ingredients, the flavors are luxuriant: runny yolks combine with vegetable juices to form an enthrallingly rich sauce.

Lamb's Quarters and Tomatoes with Eggs (Χόρτα και Ντομάτες με Αυγά)
Serves 2
Any wild or domesticated greens may be used in this recipe. Milder greens, such as lamb’s quarters, nettles, spinach, and Swiss chard, taste best. Feta cheese, bread, and Kalamata olives typically are served with this dish.

6 cups greens, cleaned of stems and damaged leaves
1/2 cup diced onion, 1/4” dice
1 Tbsp. olive oil
Salt
Freshly ground black pepper
1 cup diced fresh tomato, 1/4” dice
2 Tbsp. minced fresh mint or basil
4 eggs

Blanch greens in boiling salted water for 30-45 seconds. Drain, rinse with cold water, and squeeze out as much water as you can from greens (do this in batches using your hands or all at once using a clean dish towel). Roughly chop the blanched greens.

Sauté onion, lightly seasoned with salt and freshly ground black pepper, in olive oil. When onions begin to turn golden, add chopped greens and tomato. Mix well. When greens are hot, taste and add salt or freshly ground black pepper as needed. Stir in mint or basil.

Spread greens evenly over bottom of the pan and make an indentation for each egg in greens. Break one egg into each hole, lightly season with salt, turn heat down to low, and cover pan. Cook until egg whites just solidify and yolks are still liquid. Serve immediately.

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Fresh International Gardens sells produce every Wednesday at the Northway Mall Farmers’ Market and alternating Saturdays at the University Center Farmers’ Market and the Spenard Farmers’ Market. Volunteers are needed to help with the Refugee Farmers’ Market Program; for more information about volunteer opportunities, contact Kelly Ingram at 786-6331.
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This post is included in Weekend Herb Blogging compiled by Susan at The Well-Seasoned Cook.

A 2 Part Tale of 2 Plants in 2 Countries with 2 Recipes: Purslane-Tomato Salad (Ντομάτα Σαλάτα με Γλιστρίδα) and Beach Lovage-Tomato Salad/Salsa (Ντομάτα Σαλάτα με «Άγριο Σέλινο»)

Introduction

In Greece, friends and relatives are endlessly curious about Alaska. We’re quizzed about daylight, animal life, cost of living, how many thousand miles we live from family. Every exotic Alaskan detail is examined and catalogued.

Back in Alaska, a vast land peopled largely by recent transplants, we describe life on a Greek island in a small village filled with relatives (family roots on the island go beyond reach of transmitted memory). We divert Alaskans with stories of family intrigues, open-handed generosity, and island bureaucratic snafus.

Greece and Alaska could not be more different. Yet, in both places, I shop for groceries, forage for wild edibles, and cook with abandon.

A friend of mine recently asked whether a dish cooked in a Greek kitchen tastes the same when made in Alaska. The simple answer: no.  The same recipe tastes different in Greece and Alaska because the ingredients aren’t the same in the two places.

For example: Greek tomatoes have more flavor, as do Alaska spinach and lettuce. Wild greens available in Greece don’t grow in Alaska and vice versa. American and Greek flour, butter, and eggs all bake up differently. Similar differences are found with virtually every ingredient. In both countries, I use the same basic recipes, but the results always vary, sometimes slightly, sometimes significantly.

No matter where one cooks, the key to a good result is tasting what you are making as you are make it. No one should ever blindly follow a recipe (even mine), no matter how trusted the source. The flavors of vegetables, herbs, spices, meats, cheese, fruits, you name it, all change subtly from purchase to purchase and day to day. The only way to compensate for these changes, and to generally adjust a recipe to please your palate, is to taste.

Two articles with recipes follow that illustrate this point. Part One was written in Greece last summer. It’s about purslane, Portulaca oleracea, a weed growing rampant in much of the world (including North America, but not Alaska). I combined the purslane with tomato to make a cooling salad.

Part Two is about a recent gathering expedition for beach lovage, Ligusticum scoticum, in Alaska. Using the Greek Purslane-Tomato Salad as the starting point, I tweaked the flavors to accommodate my Alaskan ingredients.  I served Beach Lovage-Tomato Salad with grilled king salmon; loaves’ herby freshness and the salad’s tart dressing nicely complimented king salmon’s richness.

Part One: Purslane-Tomato Salad in Greece

For years, our yard in Greece was a wasteland of weeds.  Every year on arrival we whacked down the tangle and borrowed a truck to haul away several loads of debris.

Our messy yard contrasted sharply with the carefully tended gardens of family, friends, and neighbors. Cousin Effie has an especially green thumb.  Most of her yard is paved over, but her narrow strip garden holds an impressive collection of flowering plants.

A couple years ago, Effie was sighing over her lack of a vegetable garden.  Since she lives only a few blocks away, and we are in Alaska for most of the year, we suggested she use our yard.

Now, when we arrive in Greece, we open the gate to a healthy, green garden, both decorative and edible, instead of a jungle. We planted roses and a bottle brush tree.  Effie and cousin Tzani have surrounded them with smaller, flowering plants. Blue jasmine from Tzani and a sweet-smelling white-flowered vine climbs the neighbor’s wall. What were tiny rosemary starts are now bushes.

This year the vegetable garden includes eggplant, okra, green beans, summer squash, tomatoes, mint, and celery.  The eggplants are heavily laden with fruit.  We pick them only when it’s time to cook (or gift eggplants); their texture and flavor are dramatically better than any supermarket eggplant available in Alaska.

While in the village, we take over weeding and watering the garden.  This year, purslane and crab grass were the most dominant weeds. While crab grass is purely an annoyance, purslane makes a tasty edible green.

Purslane has been used in Greece throughout recorded history.  Hippocrates, Galenus, and Dioscurides documented its many medicinal uses.  In the kitchen, it’s used raw in salads, mixed with yogurt, added to soups, served with meat or fish, and pickled for winter salad.

In Greece, purslane is best harvested by June or July, at which time both stem and leaves can be used. In September, stems are too tough to eat, but leaves still taste great.

This year, our first day back on the island, we drove to the main town to shop for basics. The day was a scorcher; we returned home hot and tired.  I wasn’t in the mood to cook and, after a day spent under the relentless Greek sun (at least to an Alaskan), didn’t want to eat more than a salad.

While I cut vegetables, Steve collected a colander full of purslane from the garden. Its succulent, slightly sour leaves, combined with sweet tomatoes and tart lemon juice, made a refreshing salad, perfect for a hot day.

Purslane-Tomato Salad (Ντομάτα Σαλάτα με Γλιστρίδα)

Serves 2 – 4

If you don’t have fresh purslane, see the recipe below for Beach Lovage Salad and follow the recommended substitutions there for a fresh, cooling summer salad.

Dressing:

1/4 cup extra virgin olive oil

2 Tbsp. fresh lemon juice

Salt

Freshly ground black pepper

Salad:

1 1/2 cups diced tomatoes, 1/2” dice

1 1/2 cups cleaned purslane leaves

3/4 cup diced cucumbers, 1/2” dice

3/4 cup diced red onions, 1/2” dice

1/4 cup minced fresh parsley

1 Tbsp. minced fresh mint

Make the dressing: Whisk the olive oil into the lemon juice. Season with salt and freshly ground black pepper to taste.

Make the salad: Toss all the ingredients together. Drizzle with the dressing and toss again. (You may not need all the dressing.) Taste and add salt or freshly ground black pepper, as needed.

Beach Lovage and Chocolate Lilies

Part Two: Beach Lovage-Tomato Salad in Alaska

Nearing the spring equinox, by June’s second week Anchorage was enjoying almost 20 hours of daylight. Winter doldrums were a distant memory; the whole town was in a good mood.

Sunday we woke early. Sun streamed in the window, warming our faces. The sky was clear bright blue. Staying in bed wasn’t possible. We headed out to find a beach where we could harvest wild plants.

After making the circuit of possible foraging sites, we finally came across a field of beach lovage (Ligusticum scoticum).  Also known as Scotch lovage, sea lovage, wild celery, and petrushki, beach lovage grows on sandy beaches along the coasts of Alaska, Canada, and the Northeastern United States.

Beach lovage is easy to identify with its three-lobed leaflets and smooth, reddish-purple stem.  It’s best harvested before flowering.

One caution: Beach lovage is in the Umbelliferae family and its flowers are similar to those of relatives like carrots, parsley, and dill. However, water hemlock, a poisonous plant is also in the Umbelliferae family, and has similar flowers but very different leaves. As with all wild foraging, be certain you know what you’re gathering and be sure to follow the forager’s primary rule: “when in doubt, throw it out.”

The flavor of fresh beach lovage is unique and wonderful. The closest approximation would be to mix celery, parsley, and a little lemon zest, but there is still a missing flavor, the hint of wild bitterness that makes beach lovage special.

Although the flavors of purslane and beach lovage are not at all the same, both have a tart freshness that can't be purchased in a supermarket. As I tossed about ideas for using the beach lovage, I kept thinking about the Purslane-Tomato Salad we'd had last summer. With that in mind, I started mixing and tasting, adding cucumbers, then more mint, then more lemon juice, a little of each at a time, until the balance of flavors was correct for beach lovage - and for our palates.

In the last two weeks, I’ve used beach lovage in a risotto that was devoured by guests, a lovely topping for pan-fried halibut, and delicious halibut cakes.  The best way I served beach lovage was in the modified version of my Greek Purslane-Tomato Salad.

Beach Lovage-Tomato Salad/Salsa (Ντομάτα Σαλάτα με «Άγριο Σέλινο»)

Serves 4 as a salad, or 8 as salsa for serving with fish

If you don’t have beach lovage, substitute 1/4 cup minced parsley, 1/4 cup minced celery leaves, and 1/2 tsp. finely grated lemon zest (or 3 Tbsp. minced parsley, 1 Tbsp. minced lovage, and 1/2 tsp. finely grated lemon zest).

Dressing:

1/4 cup extra virgin olive oil

3 Tbsp. fresh lemon juice

Salt

Freshly ground black pepper

Salad:

1 1/2 cups diced tomatoes, 1/2” dice

1 1/2 cups diced cucumbers, 1/2” dice

3/4 cup diced red onions, 1/2” dice

1/2 cup minced fresh beach lovage leaves

3 Tbsp. minced fresh mint

Make the dressing: Whisk the olive oil into the lemon juice. Season with salt and freshly ground black pepper to taste.

Make the salad: Toss all the ingredients together. Drizzle with the dressing and toss again. (You may not need all the dressing.) Taste and add salt or freshly ground black pepper, as needed. 

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This post is included in Weekend Herb Blogging compiled by Chris from Mele Cotte.

Greek Cookbooks: Hellenic Athletic Club of Khartoum with Recipe for Spiced Gazelle Pilaf (Πικάντικο Πιλάφι με Κρέας)

Modern Greeks have been in Sudan since the early 20^th century.  In 1910, a Greek Orthodox church opened in Khartoum.  By 1956, there were 6000 Greeks and 1000 Cypriots in the country.  “The Greek presence was particularly strong in the capital, Khartoum, where all the restaurants, cafes, hotels, cinemas, and most shops were Greek-owned.” 

In 1983, the Sudanese president imposed Islamic Sharia law, which fanned the flames of civil war between the Muslim north and Christian-Animist south.  From then to now, civil war and famine have killed millions of Sudanese. Many Europeans fled to their homelands. By 1992, only 500 Greeks remained in Sudan.  Today, there are only about 300.

Dancers at the Greek School in Khartoum, Sudan

Photograph courtesy of Apouro

Although the way of life for Sudanese Greeks has changed since 1983, there is still a Greek Orthodox church and Greek school in Khartoum.  The Hellenic Athletic Club is a hangout for Khartoum expats.  The Greek school’s students celebrate Greek Independence Day, Greek Easter, Oxi Day (when Greece stood up to Mussolini), and the 1973 Athens Polytechnic Uprising against the then-ruling Fascist junta.

Greek readers should check out this compelling description of a scalding hot Greek Easter in Khartoum, written by the Greek Ambassador to Sudan. For English speakers, the poetry of the original Greek is so powerful, it seeps through the vagaries of Google translator. Anyone interested in more about Khartoum can read this fascinating blog written by a Greek teacher who lives there (in Greek, but with fun pictures).

In 1983, the year the Sudanese civil war reignited, Greeks in Khartoum published a cookbook: Treasured Recipes: A Collection of Personal Recipes from the Women Members of the Hellenic Athletic Club of Khartoum and Their Friends (148 pages, 191 recipes, 6.5” x 9”). The editors explain the recipes “reflect the nature of our community here in the Sudan, and the influences upon our cooking, resulting from our way of life, from travel, and through marriage to other nationalities.”

Just as I’ve learned to cook Mediterranean food in Alaska, Greeks in Sudan adapted traditional recipes to their new country.  Fish recipes call for Nile perch, a giant freshwater fish that grows over 6 feet long and over 500 pounds.  Sudanese limes are recommended in lieu of lemons. Egyptian Roumi (Romy) cheese stands in for traditional Greek varieties. Spicy shatta is used for seasoning.

The recipe for Stifado (Greek stew) calls for gazelle meat. Its creator says when the stew is done, “The only thing left is to sit before the camp fire with some friends and polish the whole thing off!”  Gazelle also makes an appearance in George Limnios’ recipe for “Rice and Gazelle Pilaf.”  (An internet site counsels Khartoum visitors who “fancy” a camping safari to call “Greek guide George Limnios [who] happily provides safari advice and organizes trips.”)

Other interesting recipes in Treasured Recipes include: Tomato-Bacon Soup, Eggplants with Eggs, Spaghetti with Bacon-Olive Sauce, Sheftalia, Purslane Stew, Stuffed Mortadella Rolls, Baked Eggplant Packets, Grape Leaves with Onion, Zucchini, and Carrot Stuffing, Salty Cake, and four different recipes for Olive Bread (no explanation for the abundance of Olive Bread recipes).

The idea of “gazelle pilaf” stuck in my mind; I had to make it. (I also had to buy my home when I saw it had a gazebo and have a strong attraction to gazetteers.)  Luckily, there were moose steaks in the freezer to stand in for gazelle, though deer, lamb, or beef would also work. 

The tantalizing, cinnamon aroma of tomato-meat sauce soon filled the house.  Even before adding rice, the rich and spicy sauce was amazing on its own; neither of us could keep our tasting spoons away from its deliciousness. (The sauce, thinned with a little stock, would make terrific soup.)  The tastes of the individual spices had blended into an entirely new and wonderful flavor; no single spice dominated.  The rice soaked up the sauce, ensuring we enjoyed every last bite of the pilaf.

Spiced Gazelle Pilaf (Πικάντικο Πιλάφι με Κρέας)

Serves 4-6

Adapted from George Limnios’ recipe for “Rice and Gazelle Pilaf” in Treasured Recipes: A Collection of Personal Recipes from the Women Members of the Hellenic Athletic Club of Khartoum and Their Friends (Khartoum 1983)
The cinnamon sticks and whole cloves must be removed before serving. To make this easier, wrap the spices with cheesecloth or muslin and tie the packet up with string, instead of cooking them loose in the liquid.

1 lb. boned and trimmed gazelle (or moose, deer, lamb, or beef) meat

Salt

Freshly ground black pepper

1/4 cup olive oil

3 cups diced yellow onion, 1/4” dice

2 Tbsp. minced garlic

1 tsp. coriander seed, ground

1 tsp. cumin seed, ground

1 tsp. Aleppo pepper or 1/2 tsp. crushed red pepper flakes (optional)

1 cup red wine

1/4 cup tomato paste

4 cups water

3 cinnamon sticks

8 whole cloves

1 cup long-grain rice

Wash the meat, dry it well, and cut it into 1” cubes. Season the cubes on all sides with salt and freshly ground black pepper.  Heat the olive oil in a large pot (that has a lid) and thoroughly brown the meat.  Stir in the onions, lightly seasoned with salt and freshly ground black pepper, and sauté until they soften and begin to turn golden. Mix in the garlic, coriander, cumin, and Aleppo pepper and cook for 1 minute.  Stir in the wine, bring to a boil, and cook until it reduces by half. Stir in the tomato paste until it’s evenly distributed.

Stir in the water and packet of cinnamon sticks and cloves.  Bring to a boil, turn down the heat, and simmer for 75-90 minutes or until the meat is tender and the liquid reduced to about 2 1/2 cups.  Remove and discard the cinnamon sticks and cloves.  Stir in the rice, cover the pot, turn down the heat as low as possible, and cook for 20 minutes or until the rice is cooked and the liquid absorbed.  Serve immediately.

Eggplant Recipes: Melitzanosalata & Hünkar Beğendi with Tomato-Lamb Stew (Μελιτζανοσαλάτα με Πιπεριές & Χιουνκιάρ Μπεγiεντί με Αρνί Κατσαρόλας)

Two simple and delicious ways to use eggplant are Eggplant-Red Pepper Dip (Melitzanosalata) and Hünkar Beğendi, a smoky eggplant purée that pairs perfectly with Tomato-Lamb Stew.

Even though we recently returned from Greece, I’m still craving Greek food. Luckily, when I went to Costco to restock our supplies, they had fresh eggplant and figs. Combined with the lamb, crusty bread, and cheese Costco always has on hand (and a quick trip to the farmers’ market for a pile of vegetables), we had everything necessary for a Greek feast. Or two. Or ten.

I was particularly happy about the eggplant. They were in perfect condition: firm flesh and shiny, unmarred skin. Unlike many eggplant sold in Anchorage, these were picked small, and hadn’t developed a large mass of seeds inside.

The Costco eggplant came 4 to the 1.75-pound bag. To be efficient and save energy, I oven-roasted them all at one time. (If you want to store eggplant raw, here’s how.) Half the roasted eggplant went immediately into Melitzanosalata; the other two I refrigerated to save for Hünkar Beğendi.

Fire-grilled eggplant tastes better in recipes than oven-roasted but, the day I cooked eggplant, we were too damn tired from the trip home to start a fire. To add smokiness to my Melitzanosalata, I added a grilled-over-a-gas-burner red pepper. It’s lucky there were only two of us; the pepper-laden Melitzanosalata disappeared quickly.

I used a different technique to add smokiness to Hünkar Beğendi. I had roasted 2 eggplants whole, and stored them without breaking the skins (if you break the skins, the eggplant juices leak out). I took the eggplant directly out of the refrigerator and charred their skins over a gas burner. Because the eggplants were cold when I started charring them, they didn’t leak juices over the stove, as I 'd feared they might. This “smoking” technique was quick, easy, worked well, and added lots of flavor. I’ll do it again.

Hünkar Beğendi is a famous Turkish eggplant dish that’s also made in Greece, particularly in areas where many people have roots in Constantinople (Istanbul), Smyrna (Izmir), or other parts of Anatolia (Asia Minor). Translations for “Hünkar Beğendi” abound: Sultan’s Delight, Sultan’s Pleasure, The Sultan Liked It, Her Majesty’s Delight, Her Majesty’s Favorite, and The Sultan Approved.

The origins of Hünkar Beğendi are murky. Some say the dish was created in the early-17th century for Sultan Murad IV (who was half-Greek). Others say it was created for a French empress in the late 19th century. My favorite version of this story is in The Art of Turkish Cooking by Neset Eren (New York 1969):

When the Empress Eugénie, the wife of Napoleon III, was in Istanbul as the guest of Sultan Abdulaziz, the Ottoman emperor, she fell in love with eggplant purée, at that time a specialty of the Topkapi Palace. She asked her host if he would allow his chef to teach her cook how to prepare it. The sultan obliged. The next day the French chef requested an audience with the empress and begged to be excused from this impossible task. “I took my book and my scales to the Turkish chef,” he said, “and he threw them out. ‘An imperial chef,’ he told me, ‘cooks with his feelings, his eyes, his nose.’” The empress returned to France without the recipe for her favorite dish.

In Lords of the Horizons: A History of the Ottoman Empire (London 1998), historian Jason Goodwin repeats the Empress Eugénie story. However, in Η Οθωμανική Μαγειρική: 99 Παλατιανές Συνταγές (Ottoman Cooking: 99 Recipes from the Palace) (Athens 2004), an extremely interesting and well-researched book, author Marianna Gerasimos says:

I searched hard to find how and when the famous eggplant puree, called Hünkar Beğendi, entered Ottoman cuisine. … There are many rumors and allegations about [it being made for Empress Eugénie] but, for now, there is no written historical evidence of this.

Although Empress Eugénie may not have feasted on Hünkar Beğendi, I certainly have. In the same way that mashed potatoes are exactly right with turkey and gravy, Hünkar Beğendi and Lamb Stew are wonderful together.

Eggplant-Red Pepper Dip (Melitzanosalata) (Μελιτζανοσαλάτα με Πιπεριές)
Makes 1 cup
The smoky flavor of eggplant grilled over an open fire makes the best Melitzanosalata, although it’s not absolutely necessary to success. When I don’t want to start a fire, I oven-roast the eggplant and add a grilled red pepper for smokiness. Although you can make Melitzanosalata in a food processor, I far prefer the more rustic texture that results from knife-chopping the eggplant. Serve with crusty bread and olives for a tasty appetizer, or as a flavorful accompaniment to grilled meat.

1 1-pound eggplant, or 2 1/2-pound eggplants
Olive oil
1 red bell pepper
2 cloves garlic
1/2 tsp. salt
Freshly ground black pepper
4-6 tsp. white wine vinegar
1/3 cup extra virgin olive oil

Preheat the oven to 400°F.

Rub the whole, uncut eggplant with olive oil, and place on a rimmed baking sheet. Bake for 45 – 70 minutes, depending on the size of the eggplant, or until the eggplant collapses and is cooked all the way through. (Better yet, grill the eggplant over fire until it’s cooked through.) Peel the eggplant, cut it into large chunks, and place the chunks in a colander for 15 minutes to let some of the juices drain off. When the eggplant is cool enough to handle, use your hands to squeeze out as much liquid as you can.

Roast and clean the pepper (see Note below).

Place the eggplant flesh on a cutting board, finely chop, and put in a bowl. Finely chop the roasted red pepper and add to the bowl. Purée the garlic by mashing it into the salt, and add to the bowl. Add freshly ground black pepper, 4 tsp. vinegar, and extra virgin olive oil, and mix well. Taste and add vinegar or salt, as needed.

To serve, spread the Melitzanosalata evenly over a plate and drizzle with a small amount of extra virgin olive oil.

Note on Roasting and Cleaning Peppers: The traditional method of roasting peppers is over a hot wood fire, but you can also roast them on a gas grill, directly on a gas burner (without a pan), under the broiler, or by baking in a 450° oven for 30 minutes. Unless you are baking them in the oven, turn the peppers frequently as they roast to ensure the skins char evenly and the flesh doesn’t overcook. When the skin is completely blackened, place the peppers in a paper bag and close it up for 5 minutes. Hot pepper flesh releases steam in the closed bag, loosening the charred skin and making it easier to peel.

Once the peppers are cool enough to handle, remove the burned skin from the softened flesh with your fingers or a paper towel, gently scraping away any stuck bits with a knife. Resist the temptation to rinse the peppers in water, as doing so washes away too much flavor. If necessary, dip your fingers in a bowl of water to release clinging charred pepper skins. Remove the seeds and any white pulp from the inside of the pepper.

Smoky Eggplant Purée with Tomato-Lamb Stew (Hünkar Beğendi) (Χιουνκιάρ Μπεγiεντί με Αρνί Κατσαρόλας)
Serves 4
Beef can be substituted for lamb in the stew; meatballs and grilled meats also go well with Hünkar Beğendi. In Anchorage, the best price for lamb is often on boneless leg roasts at Costco. I cut out and grill a couple “steaks” from the center of the roast, and then make stew out of each end. If you use lamb with bones, cook them in the stew for extra flavor. Unlike Melitzanosalata, smokiness is an essential flavor in Hünkar Beğendi. If you don’t have access to a grill, oven-roast the eggplant as described in the Melitzanosalata recipe, refrigerate them without puncturing the skin, and thoroughly char the skins directly over a gas burner.

Tomato-Lamb Stew:
1 1/2 – 1 3/4 lb. boneless lamb, excess fat removed
Salt
Freshly ground black pepper
2 Tbsp. olive oil
2 cups diced yellow onion, 1/4” dice
1 Tbsp. minced garlic
1 tsp. Aleppo pepper or 1/2 tsp. crushed red pepper flakes (optional)
1 14.5 ounce can (or 2 cups fresh) diced tomatoes
1 Tbsp. dried oregano, crushed
2 Tbsp. tomato paste
2 cups water

Smoky Eggplant Purée:
1 1-pound eggplant, or 2 1/2-pound eggplants
2 Tbsp. lemon juice
1 cup whole milk
2 Tbsp. butter
3 Tbsp. all-purpose flour
1/2 cup grated kasseri or Romano cheese
Pinch of nutmeg

Make the Tomato-Lamb Stew: Wash and dry the meat, cut it into 1” cubes, and season on both sides with salt and freshly ground black pepper. In a large pot, cook the lamb in olive oil until it is browned all over. Stir in the onions, lightly season with salt and freshly ground black pepper, and sauté until the onions begin to turn golden. Stir in the garlic and Aleppo pepper and cook for 1 minute. Stir in the tomatoes, oregano, tomato paste, and water, bring to a boil, cover, turn down the heat as low as possible, and simmer for 1 hour. Remove the cover and simmer for 30-60 minutes, or until the lamb is very tender and the sauce the thickness you prefer. Stir the sauce from time to time and, if it starts sticking, add a little bit more water. Taste and add salt and freshly ground black pepper, as needed. (The stew can be made ahead, refrigerated, and reheated just before serving.)

Make the Smoky Eggplant Purée: Grill the eggplant whole until it softens, collapses, and is slightly charred on all sides (or oven-roast and char as described in note above). Peel the eggplant, cut it into large chunks, and place the chunks in a colander for 15 minutes to let some of the juices drain off. When the eggplant is cool enough to handle, use your hands to squeeze out as much liquid as you can. Place the eggplant flesh on a cutting board, finely chop, and sprinkle with the lemon juice.

Warm the milk over low heat or in the microwave. Melt the butter in a saucepan, mix in the flour and cook for two minutes, stirring constantly; be careful not to brown this mixture. Slowly stir in the warm milk and cook, stirring, until the sauce is thick and smooth. Add the eggplant, cheese, and nutmeg and cook, stirring constantly, until the ingredients are thoroughly combined. Taste and add salt, as needed.

To serve, spoon some Smoky Eggplant Purée onto a plate and top with the Tomato-Lamb Stew.
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This is my entry for Weekend Herb Blogging, hosted this week by Cinzia from Cindystar.
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Bob, in a rabbit stupor

Greek Cookbooks: Summer Tomatoes in Greece with Historical Information and Recipe for Strapatsada (Greek Scrambled Eggs and Tomatoes) (Στραπατσάδα)

(From Greece)

Summer tomatoes are a glory of Greece. Red and juicy, warmed by the sun and simply seasoned with salt, Greek tomatoes explode with flavor, bathing taste buds in their sweet-yet-tart goodness.

We arrived in Greece this (and every) year during tomato season. Our relatives, friends, and neighbors greet us with food, which always includes lots of luscious fresh tomatoes. Right now, there are at least ten pounds of gorgeous tomatoes sitting on the counter, and the refrigerator is packed with grapes, okra, peppers, and other seasonal vegetables. It’s the best possible welcome home gift. We happily use the bounty.


One of the best ways to eat summer tomatoes is in Horiatiki Salata (Village Salad), a mix of tomatoes, cucumbers, onions, green pepper, and feta cheese, dressed only with olive oil and salt. This most beloved of Greek salads appears on taverna menus throughout the country. During tomato season in Greece, we eat a variation of Horiatiki Salata every day.

Many Greeks like salad tomatoes when they’re still slightly green. I prefer them at their peak of ripeness. When I’m eating salad with Greek relatives, this balances out perfectly. I snag the reddest tomato bits. They go for the greener parts.

It’s hot on the island during tomato days. I’m not a hot weather aficionado, but appreciate that heat helps give Greek tomatoes their superior flavor.

At this time of year, light, flavorful, quick-cooked foods are welcome. They help avoid spending too much time in hot kitchens. One favorite such Greek dish is Scrambled Eggs and Tomatoes. In some places it’s called Strapatsada, in others Kayianas, Menemeni or Sfoungato Politiko, and in many it’s simply Eggs and Tomatoes (Avga me Domates/Αυγά με Ντομάτες).

The Greek name “Strapatsada” derives from the Italian for “scrambled eggs” (“uova strapazzate”). Some say the dish was originally brought to Greece by Sephardic Jews. If true, given the Italian name, a plausible route is via the Venetian Jews to the Jews in Corfu and the significant Jewish population that used to exist in Thessaloniki. (Most Greek Jews died in German concentration camps during World War II; today the entire Jewish population of Greece is about 5000.) Certainly, Strapatsada is consistent with Jewish dietary restrictions.

Although some debate the Jewish connection, it’s commonly accepted that Strapatsada as a Greek name for Scrambled Eggs and Tomatoes originated in the Ionian Islands (including Corfu) during their years of Venetian rule (1401 – 1797). See also Voice of Corfu: “… tomatoes … were brought to Corfu by the Venetians.” It’s documented that after the Venetian conquest, Corfiot Jews developed close relations with the Venetian Jewish community and its many international merchants and traders. Cookbook of the Jews of Greece, Nicholas Stavroulakis (Lycabettus Press 1986).

According to food historian Claudia Roden, the 16th and 17th century Jewish merchants of Venice “traded with their relatives and co-religionists around the Mediterranean … [and others] in South America.” Roden says the Jewish merchants “introduced New World food products such as tomatoes…” throughout the entire Mediterranean Jewish community.

Roden points out “a tomato sauce in Venice is called ‘alia giudia’” (Jewish Style). In her history of Italian Jewish cooking, The Classic Cuisine of the Italian Jews: Traditional Recipes and Menus and a Memoir of a Vanished Way of Life (Giro Press 1993), Edda Servi Machlin says: “In the 18th century, the first people who used tomatoes in their cooking were Jews.”

See also, “[S]ome of the [Sephardim] … traveled as merchants to the New World, bringing back a whole new range of vegetables which were quickly adopted into the Sephardic kitchen. These were adopted, in turn, by the others among whom they lived, especially as the Sephardim were dispersed through the Mediterranean basin, into the Balkans, and parts of Western Europe.”

The Jews were also among the first to bring tomatoes to England and America. In his 1753 supplement to A History of Plantes (Thomas Osborne 1751), John Hill documented the use of tomatoes “eaten stewed or raw” by Jewish families in England. The tomato-eating 18th century English Jews “were of Portuguese or Spanish descent and … maintained contact with Jewish communities in the New World who consumed tomatoes.” The Tomato in America, Andrew F. Smith (University of South Carolina Press 1994). Smith says “at least one English-born Jewish physician introduced tomatoes into Virginia during the mid-18th century.”

If the conventional wisdom is correct that Strapatsada came to Corfu during the Venetian years, and we accept the historical record that Jews adopted tomatoes into their diets by at least the mid-18th century (and probably earlier), it isn’t too far-fetched to believe that Strapatsada was originally a Jewish creation. Indeed, Cookbook of the Jews of Greece and Γεύση από Σεφαραδιτική Θεσσαλονίκη: Συνταγές των Εβραίων της Θεσσαλονίκης (Tastes of Sephardic Thessaloniki: Recipes of the Jews of Thessaloniki), Νίνα Μπενρουμπή (Φυτράκη 2002), which document the traditional foods of Greek Jews, both have recipes for Strapatsada.

It could be that tomatoes weren’t used anywhere in Greece until the 19th century. And, as with all simple food combinations, it’s entirely possible that each version of Scrambled Eggs and Tomatoes was created independently and spontaneously by creative cooks making use of seasonally fresh foods.

No matter its origin or name, Scrambled Eggs and Tomatoes is easy to make and very flavorful. It’s especially good when made with sun-ripened summer tomatoes.

Scrambled Eggs and Tomatoes (Strapatsada – Στραπατσάδα)
Serves 2
When I make Strapatsada with fresh sweet summer tomatoes, I use mint to season it. Mint’s flavor enhances the tomatoes’ sweetness and goes well with eggs. Made with canned tomatoes, dried oregano makes a better seasoning for Strapatsada. In our house, three eggs are plenty for two people, but eaters with hearty appetites may prefer four eggs. I like the finished egg curds to be smooth-textured so skin the tomatoes. Skinning is not necessary; the Strapatsada will taste great if you leave on the skins. To make the simplest version of Strapatsada, cook tomatoes in olive oil until their water evaporates, then scramble in the eggs, seasoning only with salt and pepper.

2 cups diced tomatoes (1 pound tomatoes) or 14.5-ounce can diced tomatoes
1/2 cup diced yellow onion, 1/8” dice (optional)
1/4 cup olive oil
Salt
Freshly ground black pepper
2 cloves garlic, grated or minced (optional)
1 tsp. sugar (use only if needed)
3 - 4 eggs
1/2 cup crumbled feta (optional)
1 Tbsp. minced fresh mint (or oregano, dill, basil, or parsley) (optional)

If starting with fresh tomatoes and you want to skin them, cut a shallow “X” on the bottom of the tomato. Drop the tomatoes in boiling water for 20 seconds. Remove the tomatoes and drop them in cold water. Drain and slip off the peels. Cut the tomatoes in 1/2” dice.

Sauté the onions, lightly seasoned with salt and freshly ground black pepper, in olive oil until they soften and start to turn golden. Stir in the diced tomatoes, bring to a boil, turn down the heat to medium, and cook for 15 minutes or until most of the water in the tomatoes has evaporated, stirring regularly to prevent scorching and to break up the tomatoes. Stir in the garlic and cook for 5 minutes. Taste; if the tomatoes are too acidic, add 1 teaspoon sugar.

Whisk together the eggs. Stir eggs, cheese, and mint into the cooked tomatoes, and continue to cook over medium-low heat, stirring regularly, until the eggs are cooked and form small curds; the eggs should be served when they’re still a little juicy. Eggs cook faster at a higher temperature, but taste better if cooked over lower heat for a longer time.

Variations:
- Use grated kefalotyri, kasseri, or parmesan instead of feta.
- Add chopped sausage, smoked pork, or ham.
- Add diced green peppers.
- Substitute puréed roasted red peppers for half the tomatoes.
- Substitute green onions for the yellow onion.
- Add Aleppo or crushed red pepper flakes.
- Add cinnamon stick to the sauce and omit the herbs.
- Add cumin or allspice to the sauce and omit the herbs.
- After mixing in the eggs and tomatoes, quit stirring and let the eggs set, then flip and cook on the second side (as for a frittata).
- When the tomatoes are cooked and saucy, turn the heat to low, make indentations in the sauce, crack an egg into each indentation, cover, and cook just until the egg whites set and the yolks are still juicy.
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This is my entry for Weekend Herb Blogging, hosted this week by Gretchen from Canela & Comino.