EatingAsia

Şükran's Lemon Cake

   Şükran's Lemon Cake with Butter-Poached Apricots with Walnuts (apricot recipe in Istanbul and Beyond)

      On a grey February afternoon we sat on a sofa in Şükran's kitchen, calf deep in bay. As rain lashed at the picture window framing fruit trees, pasture and the roiling Black Sea beyond, a wood-fired stove in a corner gave off heat in waves. The room smelled like potpourri.

     Six of us – Şükran and Dave and I, Şükran's 19 year-old daughter, her sister-in-law her mother-in-law  – sipped tea and chatted as we stripped leaves from the branches the women had cut that morning, from a bay tree in front of their house. When Dave and I stopped by mid-afternoon on a whim after a morning at an old water mill they had ushered us into the formal sitting room at the front of the house before disappearing into the kitchen to make tea. As we sat in silence I heard laughter from the kitchen. I got up, walked to the door and pushed it open into a sea of leaves and branches.

    "Oh no, please wait in the other room," Şükran said, obviously embarrassed by the state of her kitchen. Though we'd met eighteen months earlier we weren't well enough acquainted for her to know that Dave and I couldn't care less about formalities. We sat down, picked up some branches and got to work. Two hours later the six of us were sweeping leaves from the kilim covering the floor into big plastic sacks, which Şükran and her sister-in-law would carry to a nearby soap workshop. They would be paid one Turkish lira a pound for the leaves.

    Dave and I met Şükran the way we meet most people in eastern Turkey, via a combination of accident and good luck. One crisp morning in early autumn Dave, in search of photogenic vistas, drove up an unmarked dirt road that dead-ended in front of the houses of Şükran and her husband and children, her mother- and father-in-law, and her husband's brother and his wife. No one seemed particularly surprised to see us. When we got out of the car Şükran's father-in-law stepped from beneath a fig tree and pressed warm fruit into our hands.

     Şükran emerged from her yard, her toddler aged nephew clutching at her long skirt and a shaggy brown dog following close behind. She smiled and invited us in for tea. An hour later we were in the car with her father, headed for a nearby port to buy fresh anchovies for lunch; back at his house we ate them dipped in cornmeal and fried crisp. After lunch we sat at the picture window in Şükran's kitchen watching the family's black and white cows graze on vivid green pasture. The weather was fine and the Black Sea was blue and placid, waves gently lapping at the shore. I remember the lemon cake that Şükran pulled from her oven, crackly-topped and tangy with citrus. We talked about food and farming, about the price of wheat and dried corn and fresh cheese, and the plump pears and persimmons oozing syrup that were beginning to show up at stalls at the weekly market in a nearby town. Şükran's daughter practiced her English.

     Şükran is fifty years old this year. She has an open face, large eyes and a sweet, soft smile. She laughs easily and she loves to cook. I liked her immediately. But like most homes in rural parts of eastern Turkey hers doesn't have a computer, let alone internet. And who writes letters anymore? I haven't seen Şükran in over two years, and right now I can't say when we'll meet again.

     When Şükran opened the door to us that February afternoon she clapped her hand to her mouth. “Robyn! David! Here you are!" Her daughter, married nine months before and living in Istanbul, was home for a visit. We talked easily, and it felt like we’d been in touch all the eighteen months since we last met.


                                                  The view from Şükran's kitchen window

     Şükran's kitchen is small -- just five or so feet of counter, a sink, a small refrigerator and a wood stove -- but it is as welcoming as a hug. She sets a generous table. After we finished bagging the bay leaves we made supper. Şükran showed me how to make the cake she’d served to Dave and I when we first met, a simple batter flavored with orange juice and zest as a substitute for the lemons that were out of season. While the cake baked we made polenta with the stone ground corn meal I’d bought that morning from the owner of the water mill. When the polenta was almost stiff Şükran turned it out onto a plate and used a spoon to shape it into a ring. She fried eggs laid by her hens that morning in her own fresh butter, slipped them into the middle of the polenta ring, and drizzled browned butter over all.

     We six sat around a low table set between the kitchen’s sofas and ate, dipping pieces of bread into broken yolks and alternating mouthfuls of polenta with bites of green pepper pickle and spoonfuls of tangy yogurt. When the eggs were gone we sliced up the rest of the polenta and ate it with pekmez -- thick sweet molasses that Şükran had made the previous fall with figs from her trees.

     By the time we finished it was dark. I was stuffed, unable to manage even a bite of dessert. So Şükran cut the cake into quarters and laid a piece onto a stack of paper napkins. She tied the parcel with a string and placed in my hands; the cake was still warm. We kissed each other good-bye, once on each cheek.

Şükran's Lemon Cake

I love this simple cake’s intense lemony flavor (yes, you will need all of that zest) and light crumb. I adapted the recipe from one given to me by my friend Şükran, who lives in a farmhouse overlooking the Black Sea. Şükran’s trees give especially fragrant Meyer lemons; juice and zest from regular lemons will also make a fine cake. In winter Şükran substitutes orange juice and zest and adds a handful of golden raisins to the batter.

I like this cake warm, when its top is a bit crackly and the crumb is especially light, but it’s good at room temperature too. It keeps for three or four days, covered.

Preparation time: About 1 hour

Makes one 9-inch by 9-inch cake

16 tablespoons unsalted butter, softened

1 1/3 cup sugar

3 large eggs

¼ cup plus 3 tablespoons lemon juice

Grated zest of 6 lemons

2 ½ cups all-purpose flour

1 teaspoon baking soda

3/4 teaspoon fine salt

½ cup whole milk

1. Turn the oven to 350F (180C) and place a rack in the middle. Lightly butter or oil a 9-inch by 9-inch baking pan.
2. In a large bowl cream the sugar and butter until pale and fluffy. Add the eggs one at a time, mixing thoroughly after each addition. Stir in the lemon juice and zest.
3. In a medium bowl whisk together the flour, baking soda and salt and add to the batter in three parts, alternating with the milk (finish with the dry ingredients). Do not overwork the batter -- stir just to combine after each addition.
4. Pour the batter into the cake pan and place on a rack in the middle of the oven. Bake until the edges of the cake are light gold and a knife inserted in the middle comes out clean, about 30 minutes. Cool the cake in the pan on a wire rack for 20 minutes before serving.

 

 

Where to Eat, Caffeinate, Shop and Stay in George Town, Penang: An Opinionated List (UPDATED August 2016)

 

     

    This post was first published a little over two years ago, and it's been one of the most viewed and shared posts ever since. We're still here in George Town, still eating around and taking in life in the city. Sometimes it seems that things never change here, but of course they do. And over five years after moving from Kuala Lumpur to Penang island we continue to stumble across new-to-us spots. So it seemed time for an update:

    Our experience of George Town is somewhat unique; we've been fortunate to know the city as tourists, a writer and photographer on assignment and for the last three-plus years, as residents. We know what we like as folks living right in the heart of the city, right now. But we can remember well what struck us as observers keen on finding a story, and what we wanted from and liked best about the city as travellers without a mission.

    Every week I (Robyn) receive emails asking for recommendations -- for restaurants and hawker stalls, for hotels, for non-street food places to eat. There's already loads of Penang and George Town info on this blog as well as in articles I've written for the New York Times, SBS Feast, Wall Street Journal Asia, Travel+Leisure Southeast Asia and other publications. But now, as tourism to the UNESCO world heritage site I call home grows by leaps and bounds, it seems a good time to pull some loose ends together into a post that will hopefully insure visitors make the most of their time here.

    If you're planning a visit to Penang know first that George Town is the place to stay. The island's beaches just don't rate, especially when compared with others in the region. Penang is an increasingly urbanized island half of whose coastline is separated from a busy shipping port by a well traversed strait.-- which doesn't make for pristine waters. And, unfortunately,increasingly larger swathes of the island are falling to unsightly development; head north up the east side of the island from George Town past kilometer after kilometer of eyesores and you'll see what I mean. Sure, there are spots outside George Town worth visiting: Balik Pulau, durian farms (in season), Penang Hill (not on a weekend!) .... but all can be done comfortably in a day trip.

 

George Town: a mostly lowrise, very walkable city. Red tile roofs mark old shop houses.

    Despite gentrification and a serious overstock of boutique hotels, cafes and trinket shops -- and the resultant loss of many long-time residents -- George Town is still, somehow, very 'real'. Moreover it is unique in the region for its historically rich (and fairly intact) cityscape, loads of authentic (ie. not designed for tourists) "street theater" (the Hungry Ghost festival is on as I write this) and fabulous food, especially on the street. 

    Best of all, George Town is completely walkable. A reasonably fit individual can walk the heritage site end-to-end (Penang Road to Weld Quay, Prangin Canal to Fort Cornwallis) in less than an hour.

WHEN TO GO

    Penang's climate - much like that of many other places in the world - is a bit screwy: it rains during the dry season, is dry during the wet season. In short, there's really no bad time to visit George Town (even when it rains showers never last all day), though there are some less-good and times than others. Many Chinese hawkers close during the first week, or at least the first 3 days, of Chinese New Year and February, March and April are often beastly hot (you won't want to be out walking between 11:30AM and 4:30 or 5pm). August is a great time to visit Penang, both for the George Town Festival and for Hungry Ghost month, observances of which reach a frenzy in Penang not seen elsewhere in the region. Photographers flock to Penang for Thaipusam (January or February; the festival is several days long and involves a procession from George Town's Little India to a temple on a hill in the middle part of the island) and the Nine Emperor Gods Festival (September or October), which lasts for nine days and culminates in a night-time procession the ends with small unmanned boats filled with offerings being set afire in the waters off Weld Quay. (Dave  published a multimedia of the event here. Turn your sound on to watch.)

WHERE TO EAT

    This list is far from comprehensive, it could extend for pages. I won't claim that any of these spots are The Best this or that -- isn't that a fairly useless exercise when taste is so subjective? -- but they are places that I, and folks whom I refer, consistently enjoy. There's enough here to keep you busy and well-fed for a good 3 days or so. Addresses are listed or are to be found in links.

Tek Sen

These days you'll rarely find Tek Sen this quiet

    Our first meal here was in 2009, back when Teochew-Chinese-Malaysian restaurant Tek Sen was a glorified stall with tables occupying an alley and a five-foot way, before it had a Facebook page and an illustrated menu and a few years before its mention in a Lonely Planet guide made tourists as often seen here as locals. When Tek Sen tripled its capacity by relocating to its current double shophouse premises we feared the worst. But quality has remained high, probably because the family that opened the place 25 or so years ago is still on hand, in the kitchen and the front of the house, to insure that your bacon candy is every bit as savory-salty-sweet-lardy as it should be.

    These days the queues are gruesome (but it's worth the wait, we promise!), so go early (around 6pm), late (around 830pm but beware -- customers are often turned away by 8:45), or for lunch (11 am to 2 pm). After all these years Tek Sen is still the first place we take visitors for a meal, and for good reason. 

    Some of our favorite dishes from a very long menu: Teochew steamed fish with tomatoes, tofu and sour plum; gully tumis; French beans stir-fried with pork; steamed homemade tofu; pork belly with preserved mustard greens; potato leaves stir-fried with sambal or garlic; bean sprouts with salted fish; tamarind prawns; pig's trotters stewed in Chinese black vinegar and of course -- bacon candy (aka double-cooked pork with chilies). Ask about the specials on the white board (written in Chinese).

Foong Wei, Sri Bahari half a block from Penang Road

    After Tek Sen, the dinner spot we recommend most often is this classic oldish Chinese-Malaysian restaurant just outside the core conservation zone. Expect fluorescent lights, red tablecloths and brusque service -- along with very good kind-of-retro (in a non-hipster way) food. We like the mango chicken, prawn spring rolls, roast pork leg and spinach with century egg. You can also ask for recommendations. 

 Toh Yuen, Campbell Street near Cintra

    Go to this old Cantonese spot for the tea and the atmosphere -- plenty of old-timers while away hours here. There is poached and roast chicken rice which is good but not as good as that at Keng Pin (see below), and the odd dim sum and pork buns which are OK. We go for the handmade fish ball soup with greens, and always ask them to throw in a few sui gao (pork dumplings); 'veggie' (blanched choy sum a drizzle of oyster sauce and sesame oil) and kiam chai boi, a sour-spicy soup-stew "leftovers" dish of meat (duck, here) cooked with mustard greens, chilies, tamarind, asam keping ("sour slices") and chilies. Noodle dishes are also excellent -- try the sang har meen.

Nasi Padang/nasi Melayu at International Hotel

Gado gado on the left, pineapple curry and fried tempeh with green chilies on the right, deep-fried fried fish up top 

    Simply the best nasi campur ("mixed rice", ie. rice and curries) in George Town, perhaps on all of Penang island. The owners of this stall migrated a couple decades ago from Sumatra, and the Indonesian island's influences come through in dishes like deep-fried tempeh with green chilies and dried anchovies, long eggplants fried to silkiness and doused with fiery red chili paste, beef jerky deep-fried with red chilies and an addictive sambal made with grilled green chilies and tiny fish. Pineapple curry, whole round eggplant in an Indian-ish curry leaf-flecked curry, papaya leaves stewed in coconut milk, chicken stewed in kecap manis and red chilies and fresh pineapple achar say "Malaysia", and the Chinese touch can be seen in a mild tofu skin-and-rice vermicelli soup. The amazing spread here includes several types of whole fish (look for deep-fried specimens spilling crispy caramelised sambal-rubbed sliced onions), a few different sambals and plenty of vegetarian options including, occasionally, do-it-yourself gado gado. Open till 4 or 5, but this is really a lunch place.

    Go by noon for the best selection, and know that this place gets really crowded (as in No Seats) on weekends. Note: this stall remains open for lunch during Ramadan.

    

Cozy seating and darned fine nasi campur at International Hotel

 

Woodlands, Penang Street about half a block east of China Street, Little India   

    Our beloved Veloo Velas just up Penang Street, which I included in the original version of this post, has taken such a dive in quality that I can no longer recommend it. Happily Woodlands, a fairly comfortable (yet still ridiculously inexpensive) air-conditioned cafe with a friendly staff, is still going strong. We go Woodlands for tiffin, the southern Indian term for morning and evening meals that do not revolve around rice and curries and other dishes but are comprised of deliciously easy-to-digest specialties made with fermented rice batter: thosai, idli, uttapam, etc.  

Nasi Kandar at Toon Leong Cafe

    Is this the famous Penang nasi kandar stall that Anthony Bourdain ate at? NO. It's better. Run by the grandson of its founder, this little stall is parked at a kopitiam (coffee shop) run by the grandson of the guy who opened it over 80 years ago. Service is mornings only, most things are sold out by ten. I became reacquainted with the fragrantly spicy beef curry a week ago and am thrilled to report it's as tender and delicious as ever. Toon Leong's strong kopi beng (iced coffee with sweet milk), surely one of the best in town, is especially nice sipped while sitting in one of the coffee shop's unironically vintage booths. The coffee shop sells its ground coffee in 10-ringgit bags.

Hainan chicken rice at Keng Pin on Penang Road

    Hainan chicken rice may be Singapore's national dish but we're lucky to have a mighty excellent version here in George Town. If you're one of those folks who doesn't "get" this dish try the version here, served from about 1130am (Mondays off) by an intense couple who don't smile much but do know how to delicately poach a chicken to barest doneness and cook rice in the bird's broth with garlic to perfection, grains tender and separate. The sourish chili sauce is nice too. Specify when you order, breast or leg/thigh, with or without skin.

Oyster Omelette stall, front of narrow shop on Carnavon three doors east of Kimberley Street

    This vendor does not get enough love. It pains me to see his stall so unappreciated when the vendor of the 'famous' oyster omelette of George Town, at a coffee shop just two doors down, does a rip-roaring business. Be bold -- skip the famous version (which is really just OK) and try this one, which is really different. Instead of the usually greasy, gummy pile this stall serves of a thin and lacy, crispy pancake of tapioca and rice starch batter layered with egg, and tops it with a mess of oysters fried with chili and bean paste. The garnish of cilantro leaves takes it over the top. The beef noodles soup served at the other stall occupying this narrow (and, admittedly, hot as heck) shop deserves notice too. 

Note: in September oyster omelette and beef noodles will move down Carnavon west towards 1st Avenue shopping mall to a wider and more airy shop on the same side of the street.

Curry Mee (on the same street as "Famous Cendol" -- see below -- off Penang Road)

    Note: as of two weeks ago this curry noodle vendor was on temporary hiatus. I include her stall nonetheless, in the hope that she'll be back soon.

I love Eng, the bubbly woman who runs this stall, and I love her curry mee even more. She used to park her stall on Cintra Street, but moved when the building behind her was refurbished. I thought she was gone forever until we stumbled upon her current location, in front of a cute little shop house whose three tables offer a cool, quiet respite from George Town's hot noisy streets. Be sure to order the loh han goh, an (admittedly pretty sweet) herbal drink made with a dried medicinal fruit that is said to be cooling -- more so if ordered with ice. Read more here.

Lam Mee, just outside pork section of Campbell Street Market, Carnavon Road

    In a town of curries and smoky fried noodles it's easy to overlook this subtle dish of yellow noodles (or rice vermicelli, or a mixture of the two) with bean sprouts, sliced pork and perfectly cooked tender-crunchy prawns in rich meat broth, but I encourage you to give it a try. This stall parked in front of the pork butchers at the back of dilapidated (but lovely) Campbell Street Market crowns each bowl with a flurry of cilantro leaves and offers alongside an unusually (for Penang) fiery chili sauce redolent of fishy-funky belacan (shrimp paste). The noodles here were a recent 'discovery' of ours (if you can call a stall that you've registered while walking past several times a week a 'discovery') and I deeply regret all the years e've passed not enjoying them at least once a week. The adjacent coffee stall serves an excellent traditional Malaysian brew.

Char Siew on Carnavon (corner of Cheong Fatt Tze / Hong Kong Street)

    Arrive to this coffee shop by 12:15 or you'll end up waiting quite a while for your sweet-sticky pork. All hell breaks loose when this vendor, one of the few in George Town to BBQ his pig Kuala Lumpur-style (with a sticky, smoky glaze rather than Hong Kong style, dryish and rimmed in red) arrives at 12:30, unpacks roast pork, char siew and roast duck from his motorbike and hangs the meat in his glass display case. For my money the roast pork is not quite as impressive as the char siew, but it certainly isn't awful. The duck is very good, but nowhere near as tasty as that cooked over charcoal at Kuala Lumpur's old Sek Yuen restaurant. But then again I'm not sure there's a roast duck in Malaysia to match Sek Yuen's. Served with a kickass chili sauce, cucumbers, rice and gravy (if you want it).

Asam laksa at Weld Quay

    Judgment of whether or not an asam laksa is "good" or "bad" or somewhere in between comes down to chilies, tamarind (and/or asam keping, aka "sour slices") and fish. I like my asam laksa spicy, tart and full of piscene flavor. If you do too get your asam laksa at the stall that parks at the corner of Weld Quay and Aceh from around 2 in the afternoon until 5. (Tip: Go late for a more concentrated broth.) Read more here. If you can score a dozen of the delicious battered and deep-fried bananas sold from the stall across the street you have better luck than I do (customers frequently by them by the whole batch).

Cendol on Burma Road at Lorong MacAlister 

    There may once have been a day when George Town's "famous" cendol, located on a lane just off Penang Road, was famous for a reason other than that it's famous, but that day is gone. Watery coconut milk, suspiciously vividly green mung bean "pasta" and sloppy presentation (the latter due, I suppose, to the need for speed to appease the inexplicablly huge crowds that mob this stall) make this version a No-Go for me.

    Do yourself a favor: bypass the crazy queue. Walk right past and take a right at the flyover. Two or three blocks up Burma Road, on your left, you'll find a cart whose owners dish up a cendol much more worth your time and your money. The wait is short, the coconut milk is thick and rich and the gula Melaka is deep and butterscotchy. After 12pm, odd off days. (Thanks to Bee of Rasa Malaysia for this tip.)

CAFFEINATE

    Over the past 18 months George Town has seen a rash of cafe openings. In the last two years cafes have sprouted in George Town like fungi in a pine forest after a long rain. I'll be honest -- after many dismal cups I stopped trying them. Instead I stick with two tried and true favourites:

    The owner of China House is an Australian caffeine addict and her love of the bean comes through in the coffees served at the cafe. Her baristas know what they're doing and the beans are imported from a boutique roastery in Singapore. (Desserts and homemade ice creams are a bonus.) And if you can catch it open, the owners of Ete Cafe, a blink and you'll miss it spot on Lorong Carnavon off of Carnavon Street, lend their uniquely Taiwanese love of coffee to brewing a very good cup. His beautiful French pastries and macarons and her quiche (both trained at Le Cordon Bleu) are a bonus.

Narrow Marrow, run by a young couple who take their coffee seriously and have a great design sense, occupies George Town's narrowest shop house; it's worth a visit just to take in the space itself. We don't get there as often as I'd like, especially now that the cafe is only open on weekends. But the vibe is very friendly, the espresso drinks are fabulous; the also serve fruit drinks and beer. Carnavon Street opposite the entrance to Prangin Lane.

WHERE TO SHOP

Kedai Kek Sunflower, Hutton Lane a bit north of Penang Road

    Kueh lapis, a lovely cake composed of many many super-thin layers that is made by pouring, baking, pouring, baking, pouring baking and so on for each individual layer, keeps and travels well-- making it an excellent gift or edible souvenir. The good version is made with butter, as is the kueh lapis at this little shop where, the last time I was in, you could watch the co-owner make her cakes up front near the display case. Go for the original version -- not chocolate chip or raisin or whatever other flavours they've got going now. Expect to pay around 20 ringgit for a cake, which is justified if real butter is used.

Chop Kongsi, Penang Street next to Ren I Tang Hotel, Little India

    You never know what you'll find at Chop Kongsi, an artist-run matchbox of a shop right next to Ren I Tang (see Where to Stay, below). Malaysian Foo May Lyn does her own thing with needles,yarn, threads, lace, textiles, pen and pencils. A nice change from the same-old same-old items sold in many shops around George Town. Check out Chop Kongsi's wares on its Facebook page. 

Kitchenware shops, Carnavon Road across from 1st Avenue shopping mall 

    Right next to the fruit store at the corner are two side-by-side shops selling almost everything for the kitchen, including new enamel ware (from China, most likely). Be willing to sweat a bit and poke around in the dust for wooden moon cake holds, colourful melamine plates and bowls, patterned ceramic ware and other odds and ends. You'll find many of these items for sale in cute shops nearer the centre of George Town -- for a lot more.

 

WHERE TO STAY

    I live here so obviously I'm not staying at hotels. I include places that I have either viewed several times, that are run by people who have a reputation for being on top of service, or that have been recommended to me by at least three of my street food walk clients. (FWIW George Town's two oldest, and most 'classic' hotels, consistently get the thumbs-down from folks staying there. No need to mention names, but it seems to be a case of resting on laurels.) My bias is towards smallish, unique hotels that are the result of a sensitive/smart refurbishment of older structures by owners who've really put their heart(s) into the project. There's a lot of sub-par refurbishment going on in (formerly) lovely old buildings around town; know when you book a hotel that the word "heritage" in its name guarantees nothing.

 7 Terraces

    Stunning suites with very cool black and white mosaic tiled bathrooms arranged around a long courtyard on the second story of seven rebuilt terrace houses. Very private (only guests and their guests are allowed beyond the bar and restaurant) with a small pool. Read my full review for Wall Street Journal Asia here.

Campbell House

    I included this early comer to George Town's boutique hotel scene in my NYTimes Travel "36 Hours in Penang" piece, which a few years ago was republished in a book of 36 Hours pieces. As such rooms here can be hard to come by but it's worth trying, because Campbell House is small and intimate and the welcome is warm, thanks to the hands-on management style of its Malaysian and Italian owners. 

    Note: Do not be fooled by the copycat signage of the 'Campbell House guest house' opened right next door. It has no association with this hotel.

Ren I Tang

Ren I Tang lobby

    Fabulously located in Little India, which to my mind is one of George Town's main attractions, the rooms at this refurbished Chinese medicine hall are as beautiful as they are comfortable, and are varied in size and configuration so as to accomodate the needs of single travelers and families as well as couples. The cafe downstairs is a great spot in which to cool off (passion fruit soda highly recommended) while people watching.

Sin Keh

    Sin Keh describes itself as a "guest house" but has all the comforts of a hotel; it occupies a stylishly refashioned old shop house sited in a neighborhood not yet pocked with same-same cafes and trinket stores. There's an arts workshop and performance space in the hotel, which makes for a good crowd. The vibe  is laid back and friendly and the roof deck is a great place to relax at sunset with a drink. As one who often finds that the problem with hotels is not the hotel but inconsiderate guests I appreciate Sin Keh's "Quiet at Night" policy.

Lang Hoose

    More than ten street food walk clients have talked up this guest house located on Beach Street opposite Toh Aka Lane. But it's recently changed hands, and I have no idea how that will affect the guest experience, if it does. Still, if you're looking for something a bit more on the budget side of things it may be worth checking out. 

 

***

When we're in Penang I offer private street food walks in George Town, while EatingAsia photographer Dave Hagerman, who shoots for Saveur, SBS Feast, the New York Times and other publications, runs private and small-group photography workshops ranging from 3 hours to 1.5 days. Check out reviews of Dave's Penang photography walks here. I limit walks to two a week, so I'm rarely available for last-minute bookings; Dave is more flexible. For more details contact us by email: robyn[DOTt]eckhardt[at]gmail.com and drhagerman[AT]gmail.com.

AND HEY! We're both honoured to have been nominated for the Saveur magazine 2016 Food Blog Awards. If you're so inclined you can vote for EatingAsia (category: Eat the World) and David Hagerman (category: Instagram) here. THANK YOU! 

 

Drinking Food at the Deserters' Market

 

    'Gaumarjos!' Cheers!

    It is not the best wine I've drunk since arriving in Tbilisi the week before, not even close. Lightly effervescent, with a distinctly sour edge. Also, it is 10 AM, and I'm not a morning drinker. Not so the men clustered around Dave and I, watching with keen interest our every sip, our every nibble from the dishes on the counter in front of us. One shortish fellow with a stubbled head and double chin breathes alcoholic fumes on my cheek, then leans back on his heels and smiles, swaying like a Weeble. 

    I don't know what to make of him, or of this mid-morning liquor-fueled scene in the near-dark of Dezertiri Market's rear recesses. And that pretty much describes my state of mind for most of our short time in Georgia. We'd come from eastern Turkey, a place of big smiles, bigger welcomes, outsized hospitality. In eastern Turkey turning down invites to tea, to lunch, to dinner, to a night or five on the spare bed or couch of a perfect stranger has become normal. In Tbilisi, people smile .... or scowl. Shopkeepers are gracious ... or rude. Trying to smooth the way with a nicety uttered in (my mangled) Georgian are met with a thumbs-up .... or a cluck of the tongue, a roll of the eyes and a shake of the head. They love you or are annoyed by you (some seem to despise you), these Georgians, and it is near  impossible to predict which it will be. But here, in Dezertiri's boozy back room, we are most decidedly welcome.

    Food, of course, has brought us to Dezertiri this day, our last in town. We'd been introduced to the market the morning after we arrived in Tbilisi by a guide named Nadja. When we met Nadja outside our AirBnB morning what popped into my mind was a phrase that my mother uses to describe strong women who exude serious "Don't %#$% with me" vibes: 'She looks like she could chew nails.'

    That day Nadja's nails are painted coral; they match her leather jacket and her dyed hair. She swaggers through Dezertiri's nuts and dried fruits zone with assurance. I follow behind, asking questions and taking notes. Nadja doesn't look like what probably comes to mind when most people imagine a culinary guide, but she clearly loves food, and I understand quickly that she really really knows how to cook. She points out the lighter coloured walnuts used for sauces, tells me how to grind them with unfiltered sunflower oil and seasonings to make a dressing for blanched romano beans. (Save the tough fiber that lies between the walnut halves to flavor cha-cha, she advises.) Oyster mushrooms, Nadja says, should be stewed with herbs. She pinches a plump dried fig and suggests I buy half a kilo to stash away for when I come down a cold  (Georgians soak figs in milk and drink the liquid to cure a cough). She steers me to stacks of folded jewel-toned sheets of fruit leather (made from kiwi, pear, plum, peach, cherry, fejioa...) and stalls displaying churchkhela, garlanded walnut halves thickly cloaked in wheat starch or corn meal-thickened fruit juice.

    "Georgian Snickers!" says the churchkhela vendor, waving a magenta nut-and-fruit log in front of Nadja's face and waggling his eyebrows. She smiles wanly, sighs and turns away to light a cigarette. It's not the first time he's tried to flirt with her and failed, I think.

In the cheese hall, a proud seller lovingly handles with his product

        Dezertiri is a dream of a market, a rambling expanse (20,000 square feet, I think I read somewhere -- though I have no idea if that's accurate) of exposed and tarp-shaded tables, lean-tos and shacks housing permanent and temporary stalls, a parking lot where vendors sell fruits, plum and herb sauces and fresh and dried chilies from bins set up in front of their trucks and a hulking, multi-storied bordering-on-decrepit concrete building with areas devoted to -- among other things --cheese, ghostly pale pink suckling pigs, cured meats and smoked fish and corn meal, for Georgian grits. 

        The Georgian culinary attention to detail, to origin, to regionality is succinctly illustrated in what I call the Corn Meal Corner. In this square room with sandpaper-textured walls the color of extra-fatty cream hung with wood-framed round metal sieves and complemented by pale lavender shutters, men and women stand behind a 'U' of stalls, each displaying exactly the same thing: wide shallow bowls supporting gravity-defying towers of corn meal. Despite appearances each vendor sells a different product -- something you understand when you read the labels (or ask your Georgian guide to translate for you): here is 'Jusuna and Fotola's' corn meal, there corn meal 'watermill-ground from Abasha' and, just opposite, 'Best corn meal from Eliko and Guliver, Kuchukhidze.' (Also for sale: corn silk, to boil with water for a drink that Nadja tells us is good for the kidneys.) 

     

     In Georgia there seemingly is nothing that cannot be pickled; the national ardor for fermented fruits, vegetables and flowers is on exhibit in the warren of lanes directly behind the market building. With a prompt from Nadja vendors offer samples of pickled cucumber and garlic, chilies, cabbage, plums .... My favourite pickles are the delicate, crunchy pickled flowers called jonjoli (second from right, bottom) -- which I gladly encounter again and again in Tbilisi and beyond as an appetiser, served with and without onions, always drizzled with raw sunflower oil. (Good for digestion, says Nadja.)

        On that morning we are a good three and a half hours at Dezertiri Market before Nadja is able to nudge us into a taxi. But today, our last morning, our last chance to take in Dezertiri's delectable vastness, we have no time to spare. We are here to stock up, so we breeze past the persimmon and raspberry sellers (the equivalent of 5 US dollars for a small pail full of berries!) and the scarved Azeri women selling tarragon, dill, cilantro, parsley, purple basil, delicate lettuces and tangles of wild purslane. Unfortunately fresh items don't travel well.     

 

 

        We head instead to the alley off Tsinamdzghvrishvili Street where a taciturn man sells lovely hand-carved walnut cutting boards and bowls. We buy an armful of churchkhela in a variety of flavors, and plastic bags of spices and ground dried chilies from a shop next door run by a woman in black who carries herself with an elegance I've come to associate with Georgian women.

    In the market building we fill our canvas shopping bag with sausages and smoked salmon and cheese. And then, on our way to the stairs leading back to the ground floor, we pass a vendor cooking brunch behind her stall. Nothing special, just potatoes and onions. But it smells tremendous, and suddenly we're very hungry. 

        "Where can we eat?" we pantomime to shoppers and vendors on the ground floor. (First rule of culinary travel: If you don't speak the language get comfortable making an ass of yourself.) "Back there," seems to be the general sign language response, back to the back of the market. So we head out of the building into the pickle alley. No food. We keep asking, making our way further and further into the market's darker sections, and continue to be waved on. Finally, when we are about as far to the rear of Dezertiri as we can go we find a gaggle of men, all with delicate glasses in their hands, standing before a long counter groaning with plates. Drinking food.

        And that is how we end up standing before Nata, a bosomy woman with white-blond hair swept high into an unruly bun who, I learn, is two years my senior.

        "Wine? Cha-cha?"

        We gather that neither option will be of the finest quality, so since even good cha-cha (sometimes compared to grappa, sometimes to moonshine) can be challenging for the novice drinker we opt for the former. Nate siphons golden liquid from a plastic jug, via a plastic tube, into glasses, hands tour beverages to us and sweeps her plan over the counter in a gesture that clearly means EAT.

        There is the Georgian hot sauce ajika, in several versions; and the sweet-sour plum sauces Georgians cook with and eat gallons of; smoked salmon and the Georgian equivalent of bastirma (aka Turkish pastrami); super salty crumbly sheep cheese and another softer, milder cheese; raw onions and garlic; gorgeous tomatoes and sliced cucumbers; preserves and jams. Nate saws at a loaf of bread and lays the slices on a plate; they disappear almost instantaneously. No one speaks English, except for us. We speak no Georgian. But somehow we're communicating with Nata and her customers about food and Georgia and America and George W Bush (Georgians love him; there is a George W Bush Boulevard in Tbilisi), and about how one should eat the salty sheep's cheese -- for one particularly garrulous man, on a slice of bread, marooned in a puddle of plum sauce. 

        Georgia has been a challenge -- a delicious, fascinating, I-could-see-myself-falling-for-this-place sort of challenge. But right now I'm grateful for the warm welcome of these enthusiastic drinkers. "We'll be back," I tell Dave, who is still nursing his first glass of wine while I'm on my second, or maybe third. "We must return to this fabulous city! Sooner rather than later!" It's mid-October, cold and damp, and I have been shivering all week, but I feel a warm glow. 

        It's possible that I'm a little drunk.

        "Gaumarjos!"