February 2009 Archives

Here’s an unusual alternative for using up a butternut squash or two.  Or you could use pumpkin.  We first enjoyed kabak tatlısı in Istanbul as a dainty dessert at Musa Dağdeviren’s wonderful Çiya restaurant.  After that we spotted it in various places as we travelled around Turkey and had the good fortune to learn how to make it from both Zeliha İrez, at her lovely guesthouse, and Engin Akin, a food writer and cooking teacher.  This recipe follows their tried-and-tested method.  You will need to do some maths; the candying stage follows a ratio of 2:3:4 of squash:sugar:water.  I use a large copper preserving pan, but any really big, wide saucepan will do.  It’s really good and I dare you to try it!

The use of calcium hydroxide, also known as ‘pickling lime’, ‘hydrated lime’ and ‘slaked lime’, is optional.  It will work just fine without it; simply miss out step 2.  But if you can find it, do use it, as its effect is remarkable.  Somehow (and I’d really like to know how) it causes the pieces of squash to develop a firm, almost crunchy skin, so that when you bite into a piece you will experience the marvelous texture combination of the crystalline exterior and soft gooey insides.  Plus, it helps the squash keep its shape while cooking for so long.  Calcium hydroxide is used for similar purposes in Indian cookery, so you can find it in good Indian food shops.  It comes as a white paste.  I got mine from www.spicesofindia.co.uk.  Their little green tubs of ‘chuna edible lime’ hold approximately 4 tablespoons each and cost just 75p.  (I’m trying to ignore the fact they’re labelled ‘for external use only’.)

Kabak tatlısı belongs to a fascinating family of sweet preserves, including rose petal, aubergine, fig, tomato and green walnut, which we found in Romania, the Balkans, Greece and Turkey.  During our travels in these countries we became slightly obsessed with these beautiful ‘spoon sweets’ and spent a good deal of time trying to uncover their origins.  You can read about what we found out here.

Argan oil is only produced in Morocco, the only country in which the ancient argan tree grows. 

The region from Essaouira to Agadir and inland, particularly the Souss Valley, is full of scrawny, wild, drought resistant argan trees. 

Families have collected, cracked and ground argan nuts for their own homemade oil for centuries.

I’d say this soup was Moroccan, although I’ve never had it in Morocco.  In fact I’ve only ever had it in my own kitchen, after experimenting with several flavours which are often combined in Moroccan cuisine.  Travelling in Morocco we often found carrot combined with oranges and orange flower water for desserts.  Carrot is also mixed with cumin, garlic and parsley in the common cooked carrot salad you will get as a starter.  Almonds are found in many Moroccan dishes, sweet and savoury.  I think this soup works brilliantly, but I’m biased, so you’ll have to let me know…

For an easier version, simply omit some or all garnishes, or make carrot soup with ginger as described below.  This simple carrot soup was one of the dishes I made while helping out chef Mona Talbott at the Rome Sustainable Food Project at the American Academy in Rome last June. 

The trick with any puréed carrot soup is the amount of time you cook the carrots; too short and the soup will not purée silky smooth; too long and you will lose the bright carrot colour and flavour.  So keep checking the carrots as they cook.

Jerusalem artichokes are neither artichokes nor from Jerusalem.  It seems their name is a corruption of ‘girasole’, Italian for sunflower, as the plant is indeed a relative, complete with bright yellow flowers and head-turning properties.  They originated in North America and first arrived in the UK in 1617, via France.  Their flavour is distinctly artichokey, which probably explains the first half of their name.  In the United States now they’re called ‘sunchokes’, which, as much as I hate invented conjoined abbreviations, is probably a more sensible name.

We had something like this at Mon Vieil Ami, an excellent bistro in Paris, during the first week of our culinary travels.  Jerusalem artichoke has to be one of my favourite soups; it’s just so delicious.  This combination with sweet shellfish, fresh herbs and slightly hot, bright chilli is a winner.  In the bistro they performed some table theatre for us by pouring the soup over the garnishes artfully placed in the bowl.  You could just put the garnishes on top, as usual; the prawns will just about stay on the surface without sinking.  

Piment d’Espelette is a red chilli grown in a small area in southern France, traditionally northern Basque Country.  The dried flakes have a small amount of heat and almost smoky flavour with some acidity.  You could substitute a mix of hot and sweet paprika, perhaps with a dash of smoky Spanish ‘pimentón’ if you have it.  Piment d’Espelette has its own AOC status and was all the rage in Parisian bistros when we were eating our way round them in February 2008.

For a much simpler Jerusalem artichoke soup, simply omit all the garnishes - it’s still fabulous.  Or see the variation at the bottom which is from my Chez Panisse intern days - a perfect marriage of celery and ‘sunchoke’, as they call it there.  This soup also featured on our road trip: the owner of Lalla Mira organic restaurant and hotel in Essaouira agreed for her chef to teach me the Moroccan speciality ‘pastilla’ on condition that I reciprocated by teaching her some new dishes.  I found some lovely Jerusalem artichokes in the souk, and this soup was a big success.