Saveur.com: Daily Fare

Keepers of the Flame
Hongshao Qiezi (Red-Cooked Eggplant)
Western Expansion: Washington Wines
5 Inventive Fruit Salads

Posted: 23 Jul 2013 08:30 AM PDT

by Ansel Mullins
In the vast kitchen of İmam Çağdaş, a kebab restaurant in the southern Turkish city of Gaziantep, Burhan Çadaş, the 51-year-old owner, looked on as his staff of 20 labored in perfect harmony. At one counter, a crew worked ground meat and eggplant onto metal skewers. Another cadre stood at a long grill, deftly rotating skewers of various meats and vegetables over glowing oak charcoal. In a corner, a half dozen men reduced cuts of lamb to a fine crimson paste with scimitar-like blades known as zırh, their rhythmic chopping reverberating like thunder. Hand chopping, explained Burhan, gives his cooks complete control over the texture of the meat, which should hold together on the skewer but crumble under the fork. Besides, he said, "Meat ground by machine has no soul."

I'd come to Gaziantep to learn about the fine art of Turkish kebab making, and İmam Çağdaş was the logical place to start. Burhan is one in the long line of kebap ustas, or kebab masters. An apprenticeship at his almost 130-year-old restaurant is equivalent to an Ivy League degree in Turkish grilling, and the lessons learned on the job reach right back to the hand of the restaurant's namesake, İmam usta, Burhan's grandfather, a legend in the world of Anatolian kebab.

Burhan hovered while a junior usta plated a dish for me to try-an ala nazik kebab of ground lamb on a bed of strained yogurt and smashed roasted eggplant-before drizzling melted butter infused with chiles over the meat himself. I dug in, savoring the spicy, fat-rich lamb, roasted eggplant, and tangy yogurt with every bite. As I ate, Burhan's 73-year-old father, Talat Çağdaş, shuffled past in baggy pants dusted with charcoal, taking in the scene with a nod of approval and saying, "It must be exactly the same as my father made it."

...a true usta is a rare individual whose hard-earned experience, old-fashioned principles, and humble nature render him an elevated culinarian.

While you can find grilled kebabs all across Turkey, Gaziantep is known for the artistry and ancestry of its ustas, who work from childhood to master every step of kebab making. In this city you'll find ustas grilling everywhere from institutions like İmam Çağdaş to the bustling bare-bones eateries just outside the Kamil Ocak Stadium where people drop in for a quick kebap dürümü, skewers of chicken, beef, or lamb wrapped in flatbread. Wherever they are, ustas do more than just grill the meat-they also give each place its heart.

The word usta may be stenciled on nearly every restaurant window in Gaziantep, but a true usta is a rare individual whose hard-earned experience, old-fashioned principles, and humble nature render him an elevated culinarian. His role goes beyond kebab preparation; he is the gatekeeper of tradition. Gaziantep's best ustas are local heroes, the pride of the city.

"It's very hard to be an usta in Gaziantep, because everyone is an usta here!" Sirvan Payasl said, joking about the notoriously finicky and food-crazed locals he serves. He spent 24 years at İmam Çağdaş learning to cook the pantheon of Gaziantep kebabs-soğan kebabı, onion and ground lamb glazed in pomegranate molasses; alti ezmeli, tiny marinated chunks of grilled lamb stewed with tomatoes; and more-before opening his own restaurant, Şirvan Baklava Lahmacun ve Kebab, in 2004.

As we spoke, Payaslı stood before an ornate copper hood with his name etched into it, peeling a dusky brown keme, a prized desert truffle, slices of which he alternated on a skewer with ground lamb and then placed on the grill. Moments later he handed me the result, a beguiling mix of smoky meat and tender, nutty truffle, a rarity even in Gaziantep, where, depending on the season, ustas might work quince or loquats onto their kebabs, and flavor the ground lamb with chopped tomatoes or pistachios.

Away from these famous kitchens, in the backstreets there are humble grill joints that are just as beloved. At six o'clock one morning, at the insistence of a taxi driver, I visited a tiny smoke-filled shop called Ciğerci Ali Haydar Usta, just as the morning prayer crowd descended from the mosque across the street. Having selected prepared skewers from a pushcart out front, men jostled giddily around the usta as he laid the food on the grill inside, taking part in a local ritual: a breakfast of cubed lamb liver kebab served on flatbread with chopped parsley, raw onions, tart sumac, and a spritz of lemon. By 8 a.m. the gregarious usta, Mehmet Ali Gürbüz, was sold out.

"I wear my customers like a crown; this relationship gives my life meaning," he told me. Then he closed up shop and headed to the market to buy the next day's liver, as he's done for the past 45 years and as his father did before him. -Ansel Mullins, co-author of Istanbul Eats (Boyut, 2010)

See the recipe for Tavuk Kebabi (Mint andamp; Aleppo Pepper Marinated Chicken Kebabs) »
See the recipe for Simit Kebap (Ground Lamb, Bulgur and Pistachio Kebabs) »

Hongshao Qiezi (Red-Cooked Eggplant)

Posted: 23 Jul 2013 06:00 AM PDT

SERVES 2

INGREDIENTS

5 Chinese eggplant, quartered lengthwise, cut into 3" pieces
3 cups canola oil
3 tbsp. light brown sugar
2 tbsp. Chinese chili bean paste
1 tbsp. tomato paste
1 bay leaf
1 oil-packed anchovy filet, finely chopped
1 sachet of spices (5 whole cloves, 4 whole star anise, 2 pods black cardamom, one 4" strip peeled orange zest, and 1 stick cinnamon, halved, wrapped in cheesecloth and tied with kitchen twine)
2 cups chicken stock
1½ tsp. Szechuan peppercorns, crushed
1½ tsp. dark soy sauce
1 tsp. fennel seeds
2 chiles de árbol, stemmed
2 tbsp. Chinese cooking wine
12 tsp. fish sauce
3 cloves garlic, mashed
1 tbsp. finely chopped dill
1 tbsp. finely chopped chives
¼ cup hot sesame chili oil

INSTRUCTIONS

Submerge eggplant in a bowl filled with ice water for 5 minutes. Meanwhile, heat oil in a 14" flat-bottomed wok over medium-high heat. Drain eggplant, dry thoroughly with paper towels, and add all to the oil. Cook until just soft and golden, about 3 minutes. Using a slotted spoon, transfer eggplant to a bowl, cover with boiling water, and let sit for 3 minutes. Drain; dry with paper towels.

Discard all but ¼ cup oil in wok; return to medium heat. Add sugar; stir until sugar dissolves and mixture looks like separated peanut butter. Add 1 tbsp. chili paste, tomato paste, bay leaf, and anchovy; cook for 1 minute. Add sachet of spices, stock, 1 tsp. peppercorns, dark soy sauce, fennel seeds, and chiles; boil. Cook until reduced by half, about 15 minutes; discard bouquet garni. Add remaining chili paste, wine, fish sauce, and garlic; cook for 1 minute. Add eggplant; fold into sauce. Transfer to a plate; garnish with remaining peppercorns, dill, chives, and chili oil.

See all 150 classic recipes featured in our 150th issue »

Western Expansion: Washington Wines

Posted: 21 Jul 2013 11:30 PM PDT

by Jon Bonnandeacute;
Rarely have I enjoyed living anywhere as much as I did in my old ranch-style house in Seattle's Maple Leaf neighborhood. Its true charm lay in the grilling area out back, where I cooked my dinner several nights a week, come shine or, more frequently, come the Northwest's endless rain. Some of my fondest cooking memories were hatched there, in Washington's damp winters, as I huddled near the fire, grilling firm, rich chinook salmon on a cedar plank, and burgers from local lamb made succulent with milk and a pinch of rosemary picked from my backyard.

To accompany these meals, there were plenty of wines-mostly reds. I had moved to Seattle at the turn of the millennium, just in time for a wine boom that was driven by small producers who saw the Northwest as the next great frontier. This was a quieter affair than the party going on to the south. While California embraced magnitude, the appeal of Washington's reds was their drinkability, their ease and flexibility with all kinds of foods, especially grilled ones. The wines could be hearty, for sure, but those cold northern nights lent them a freshness, and they exhibited a complexity that often eluded their California counterparts.

By the time I left Seattle for San Francisco in 2005, Washington was home to 360 wineries, more than twice as many as when I'd arrived, and red wine had become the state's shining star. Robust cabernet; aromatic, spicy syrah; and Bordeaux-inspired blends showcased its top vineyards, the majority of which were planted in the Columbia Valley's arid steppe on the eastern side of the Cascade Range, far from many of Washington's wineries. Although the remote town of Walla Walla, more than four hours southeast of Seattle, had drawn intrepid winemakers eager to expand the area's reputation for prodigious red wines, most of the newer vintners settled in or near the city and had the grapes trucked in. The proximity to Seattle allowed hopefuls with young families, like former Boeing engineer Ben Smith and his wife Gaye, who launched their tiny Cadence label in a south Seattle warehouse, to pursue their winemaking dreams without upending their lives.

This geographic split personality-grapes grown in one place, wine made in another-hardly diminished the quality of the wines. In addition to Walla Walla, the tiny Red Mountain appellation, tucked into the Yakima Valley growing area in south central Washington, attracted a big following for its dense, tannic reds. Not only cabernet but plush merlot, smoky cabernet franc, and inky petit verdot-the full Bordeaux grape roster-thrived in its gravelly alkaline soils. The names of Red Mountain vineyards-Tapteil, Klipsun, and others-graced bottles made by Seattle area wineries such as Andrew Will Winery, producer of some of the country's top Bordeaux-style blends.

But the distance between vineyards and wineries did complicate things. In the eyes of visitors expecting to see rows of grapes next to cellars, Washington struggled with delivering what writer Matt Kramer once called "somewhereness." And those ranks of hopeful vintners were swelling to capacity. Watching from afar as the number of wineries recently crept up to 750, I worried that such a glut would affect the quality of those lovely local wines that had completed my backyard meals back in my Seattle days. So I was rooting for Washington when, on a trip back to the state not too long ago, I delved into its recent vintages to see how the wines were holding up. I was relieved to discover that, given some new developments, Washington's wines are more interesting than ever.

For one thing, established regions are attracting winemakers with globally informed palates. With their fresh perspectives, they're creating elegant wines from grapes that grow well in Washington soil. Walla Walla, for instance, is benefiting from newcomers such as Amavi Cellars' Jean-François Pellet, who farmed vines in his native Switzerland before coming here to make mineral-driven cabernet sauvignon, the kind that pairs well with steak. Greg Harrington of Walla Walla's Gramercy Cellars worked as a master sommelier in New York, where he fell in love with the Rhône-style wines he produces now. His vivacious syrah is a great match for pork.

The appeal of Washington's reds is their intrinsic drinkability, their ease and flexibility with all kinds of grilled foods

Intriguing reds are also coming from nascent growing regions. A case in point is Andrew Will Winery's straightforward cabernet franc, made from grapes from several vineyards, including the winery's own young Two Blondes planting. Located in the town of Zillah in the Yakima Valley, Two Blondes occupies a spot once considered too cold for red wines. But cabernet franc has made a happy home here-and a case for being Washington's perfect variety. Its smoky flavors and bright red fruit, preserved by cold October harvests in these latitudes, are right for nearly everything off the grill, especially lamb.

Cabernet franc is also thriving in the Columbia River Gorge, Washington's other emerging region. The gorge was formed by the ancient volcanic lift of the Cascades and the mighty Columbia River as it wound westward from the arid eastern desert and between the mountains toward what is now downtown Portland, Oregon. The Missoula Floods-massive walls of water at the end of the last ice age-left exposed volcanic-rock cliffs and an astonishing jumble of soils along this 40-mile stretch of river that divides Oregon and Washington. Rarely do you encounter such a chaotic stretch of geography. (The Columbia Gorge appellation, created in 2004, is the rare winegrowing area to straddle two states, and neither Oregon nor Washington has exclusively claimed it.)

In response to the Columbia Gorge's eclectic terroir, there's an experimentalism that I find particularly exciting. For instance, the family-owned outfit Memaloose Wines has planted 20 different varieties on fewer than 17 acres of mostly organic vineyards on either side of the Columbia, trying out not only cabernet franc but even lighter reds such as gamay noir. Washington has always balanced its robust reds with a certain nuance, but Memaloose's cabernet franc was a thrilling discovery-even more quiet, and far more delicately perfumed, than others. It showed a side of Washington reds I'd never encountered before; I had to seek out a few bottles to accompany the salmon I still love to grill.

Not far from Memaloose, Alexis and Juliet Pouillon make Rhône varieties with grapes from their own biodynamic vineyard and others. I first encountered Domaine Pouillon's Katydid, a bright, herbaceous mix of grenache, syrah, mourvèdre, and cinsault, on a cold November night last year, just the thing to balance the subtle yet beefy flavors of the grilled tongue I was eating. In an instant Katydid felt familiar: that dusty desert edge and tangy cold-weather fruit, that Washington-ness.

This is just the sort of Washington wine I'd always adored, huddling by the warmth of my Seattle grill. Its charms hadn't gone anywhere. They had just wandered a bit farther afield-to growing regions and styles of red wine that, though new to the state, fit in beautifully.

5 Inventive Fruit Salads

Posted: 21 Jul 2013 10:30 PM PDT

Mango with Cilantro, Coconut, and Chile Powder-photo

We love a sprinkle of salty cheese or a handful of freshly-chopped herbs to bring out the juicy sweetness of melon, berries, mango, and other fruit. Our favorite fruit salad recipes pair ripe, complementary summer fruits with unexpected savory ingredients-crunchy black peppercorns, earthy sesame oil, a dusting of chile powder-for a new twist on the classic brunch and picnic staple.

See 5 fruit salads in the gallery »

Today Recipe

Pages

Tuesday, July 23, 2013