Category Archives: Turkish Food!

#DİREN TÜRKİYE! 12 hours of devastation…and resilience

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Child suffering from gas exposure being brought into makeshift infirmary in the Divan Hotel, June 15, 2013 (Photo by Yannis Behrakis of Reuters)

For the past twelve hours, we (me, occasionally M. who can barely stand it, and the entire Karagoz puppet troupe that inhabits my head during this cross-cultural marriage) have been glued to the Internet in order to understand what we can of the exceptionally brutal crackdown on the Gezi Parkı protesters in Istanbul – and of course on the many protesters around Turkey whose stories are not being covered.

We have seen the EU Turkish Minister explain that all who go to Taksim Square/Gezi Parkı will be treated as “terrorists.” Hacivad Bey the Sufi elder puppet lets out a distinctive sigh of shock at this statement.

We have seen photos and live feed of children, elders and families engaging in peaceful protest in Gezi Parkı. Soon after, we heard reports of police warnings amplified over the crowd, suggesting that children and elders leave the park, as it was about to be cleared. The protesters resisted by chanting slogans back at the police. Esma the hippie puppet chants along with them whenever we can get a live feed.

We have seen a sudden police action circa 8 p.m. involving water canons laced with chemicals from the TOMA (Panzers) and yet again scads of tear gas. We have seen photos and videos of people writhing in pain, people vomiting, people with great red welts, horrified children who cannot breathe and their terrified parents. We have seen great clouds of tear and/or pepper and/or vomit gas hovering over most of the city – even miles from Taksim Square. Even Karagoz, the oppositional trickster cannot speak about this.

We have seen protestors taking cover in the Divan Hotel, a fancy hotel where in the past, I often stopped to buy fistikli lokum - they make the best in the city – for my father, who loved it. We usually had a glass of Çay on the terrace before we left. We have seen that hotel turn itself into a shelter for protestors – and into a voluntary infirmary. We have seen police fire tear or pepper gas into that hotel – and to storm that hotel. Now, at 5 a.m. Istanbul time, we see those peaceful protestors sleeping on the carpet in the lobby of that hotel – afraid to leave as the police have threatened to arrest all who do so. Zenne, the nervous nelly like a glass of quivering quince jelly puppet, wrings her hands in anxiety at this.

We have seen the TOMA (Panzers) shoot the same chemical-laced water on people attempting to enter Istanbul’s Aleman Hastanesi (German Hospital), thwarting their attempts to obtain help. Celebi, the modern lover puppet, can only cover his eyes.

We have seen M.’s home street, Sıraselviler Caddesi bombarded with tear gas, bashed up by anarchist protestors – the lunatic fringe perhaps – still trying to fight the police. (Archers of Okcular, I welcome debate/opinion on that one). The chorus of little dancing ladies begin banging their pots and pans again at this.

June 15, 2013 arrests in Istanbul (Image from Europeans Against the Political System’s Facebook Page)

We have seen increased protest, arrests and fighting and resistance to police brutality in M.’s 80 year-old Aunt’s neighborhood, Şişli and so many other areas. So far, she is fine, she has lived through a lot, but we are still worried about her. Kenne, the Queen of Manners, demands that we call her at 5 a.m. her time to make sure she is safe, but M. nixes this idea and hopes that she is sleeping.

We have telephoned, Facebooked, Tweeted and Skyped friends who express the same range of emotions – devastation, anger, sadness, frustration, confusion, anxiety – and in the end, resilience.

In the last conversation of the night, I asked my very dear friend about her day. Mostly, she said, it was punctuated by fear about not knowing the location of one of her three sons for too many hours. When I asked her whether people buying her (truly delicious) Börek at one of her Börek Online franchises (still open and ready for business) she said “yes, business was good.” Continuing, I asked whether her customers spoke of what was going on – she stopped and thought. I watched her face for a while on our fuzzy Skype connection as silent but long deep tears appeared to slide down her face. She was tired, but more sad than tired. Finally, she said “no, we didn’t, we have to keep it like normal. We have to pretend like normal, or we go crazy.”

At this, the whole troupe of Karagoz puppets weep.

And while it is not normal to experience any of the horrors described above (Börek excluded), our only wish tonight is for the people of Turkey to find their inner resilience and to keep on going as they seek to find some balance and some peace between all parties.

Turks crossing one of the two bridges that span the Bosphorus Strait – from Asia to Europe (Image from Europeans Against the Political System’s Facebook Page)

And just when I thought that I could not look at Twitter one more time tonight or my heart would break, I did, and I began to see reports and photographs from trusted friends of thousands of people crossing from the Asian side of Istanbul, across one of the city’s two continent-spanning bridges, to support the protestors in Taksim.

And with that, the puppets begin a never-ending whisper of a chat as we try to sleep – #DirenTurkiye!

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Keşmekeş II: When life gives you limonlar…

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20130220-124119.jpgYet again, Slowly-by-slowly has been off the grid with major health problems with pain that has made it hard to read, write or do much of anything. Without wallowing in self pity too much, I must say that my life is still somewhat described by the Turkish word keşmekeş. You can read a little more about that by clicking here. Yesterday, my doctor talked to me about the concept of “radical acceptance” – So here I am!

…And so it was with great jubilation a few months ago that I opened a large heavy box sent to me by my family in the Southwest – to find about 25 lemons! In the United States we have a saying, when life gives you lemons, make lemonade! What better antidote for keşmekeş? Given the keşkemeş that’s rolling in our beloved Turkey right now, may this be a diversion. I’ll do my best to post on that tomorrow as I’m so tired of being tired, done with isolating myself and pained of being pained as I wait for a big & unexpected surgery! No whingeing allowed, as the Brits might say!

So, back to the limonlar, as trite as this saying may be, and it has become an overused phrase, seeing the lemons tumble out across my dining room table sure gave me a giggle (or three). And my family knows that I am always up for a cooking challenge. One of my major coping mechanisms is to cook like a whirling dervish (when İ can manage it, which has not been for months) as my husband puts it. And in February, with these lemons rolling around on my table I had the perfect opportunity to go the limon crazy!

But I was not the only one to go limon crazy…Karagöz, well, he went wild as well. Why, you may ask, would Karagöz go wild at a box of lemons? Well, in traditional versions of the Karagöz Oyunlari, as some of you may know, there is a longstanding feud between Karagöz and Hacivad – about anything and everything.

In my own world of Karagöz puppetry, these two generally steer clear of any puppet battles (you can read about some of my puppet battles by clicking here). But they do erupt once in a while. And these lemons were the start of it all….as the tension between Karagöz the oppositional trickster and Hacivad Bey the learned Sufi elder had been brewing for some time (from opposite ends of the house, usually)…it was ready to rock. And it started like this:

20130220-124146.jpgKaragöz began the banter, saying “finally, something fun to play with – let’s have a futbol match” while kicking the lemons around the table, some of which dropped on the floor and got bruised. Our dog came up and sniffed them before determining that they were not good to eat.

Hacivad Bey entered the room with a gallant leap down the stairs “Stop ruining these regal citrus fruits – we must put them to good use!” careening around the table after the futbol-mad Karagöz, Hacivad Bey proclaimed “I will be a human shield for these, our fruity brethren and sistren!”

Karagöz and Hacivad battle over lemons (Image by Liz Cameron)

Karagöz and Hacivad battle over lemons (Image by Liz Cameron)

Karagöz hooted – “Oh – you old softy – what antiquated language you are using – why do you care a whit about lemons?” And before I could say a word, Hacivad Bey was covered in a pile of lemons, with only his legs showing, if you really looked hard. Meanwhile, Karagöz did a headstand on top of the pile.

Soon, the rest of the puppets ensnared Karagöz and rescued Hacivad Bey – only to engage in a debate about what to do with the lemons.

 

20130220-124225.jpgChoosing an egalitarian route, the lemons were used proportionately to the votes of all the puppets:

10 lemons went to a lemon souffle (see recipe here)

5 lemons went to a lemon glaze for lemon zest muffins (see recipe here)

5 lemons went to lemon-almond shortbread cookies with lemon glaze (see recipe here)

5 lemons were squeezed into ice cube trays for use throughout the rest of the winter season

And then, all were full of limon goodness, and fell asleep in a happy pile.

So thank you once again, family, for sending me this magic box of sunny yellow happiness! I know that it got me through some of the worst of my keşmekeş!

The Karagöz puppets return…with a kabak and some çapak for my Turkish lesson

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Kabakler - a number of squash (Image by Liz Cameron)

Kabakler – a number of squash (Image by Liz Cameron)

Early yesterday morning as I lay sprawled out in bed, I felt a tap on my shoulder. It was the learned Hacivad Bey Puppet who for once, oddly enough, was standing right next to the Karagöz puppet himself. These two usually do not get along – so their presence together made me sit up and take notice.

“Bey efendiler, what are you up to so early in the morning,” I managed, my voice horse with sleep.

“Well, M’lady,” Hacivad Bey began, “we have come to determine two things, that you need to lighten up a bit and move away from this fear-related writing for now and also that you need to kick it up a few notches on your Turkish learning – your friend over at Turklish has some great ideas about infusing Turkish into your everyday life. This, of course, will help you feel less afraid to walk around the city – and probably will help M. as well.”

“Hell,” Karagöz inserted, pushing Hacivad Bey out of the way rather rudely, “and you just need to have some more fun! Enough with the deep conversations on gender, class, culture and violence against women – get up, go out with your husband and have fun with him – and work on your Turkish!!!”

“Fun,” I thought, rubbing the çapak out of my eyes, “how am I going to be FUN when I’m not feeling very FUN these days? And FUN in TURKISH? Sigh” And as I took the tissue from my bedside to remove the çapak from my eyes – or what my Mother referred to as “the sleep” and yet others referred to as “eye boogers,” it hit me. My relationship with speaking Turkish began with this very word – çapak. If I am to re-invigorate my attention to learning more Turkish, let’s start there.

This was the first word I learned in Turkish, oddly enough. Way back in 2004, M. met me for coffee early in our courtship and said “Oh, you have some çapak in your eye,” and gently brushed the crusty nugget of sand-sized material out of my left eye socket.

Here is a çapak - or a common bream fish

Here is a çapak – or a common bream fish

“Hmmm,” I reflected, “çapak. That’s an interesting sounding word.” After reciting the Turkish alphabet to me, began to rhyme in Turkish – you know – çapak, tabak, kabak…in other words, eye booger, table and squash. At this moment, Mercan Bey, the Arabian Spice Trader Puppet called out from somewhere, likely the kitchen, as he is re-arranging our spice shelf these days. “don’t forget that çapak also refers to sea bream – a fish!”

Later that night, I sat on the couch with M. to watch our secret, guilty pleasure – “The Bachelor.” This is a television show in which one man or one woman takes his/her time in assessing 25 marriage candidates only to eventually choose one with whom to tie the not. Aside from the obvious gender commentary that runs rampant on our couch as we scream at the television, we are obsessed with what this television puts people through from a group psychology perspective – forget even getting as far as problematic gender imagery. And as we sat there, along with the Karagoz puppet troupe lined up on the couch behind us, M. cracked and munched, cracked and munched his favorite roasted pumpkin seeds – aka the ones from the kabak mentioned above.

As I had been working on my Turkish the whole day, I turned to him, jubilant, and exclaimed “Kabak!” I, of course, thought I was showing my ever-increasing knowledge of Turkish. M., on the other hand, nearly spit his kabak seeds in my face as he laughed out loud. After a kiss on the cheek, he explained his intense mirth – “Canım (dear),” he explained, “to say KABAK to someone means – well – they are a simple minded, not-too-rich-in-the-brains-department kind of person, um, in other words, an idiot!”

And so goes another day in the life of a Turkish American couple where the vernacular is usually the devil in the details.

 

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