In Mardin, A Meal to Remember

Etli ekmek, fresh from the community oven

Last night in Mardin, a hilltop town not far from the Syrian border in Turkey's southeast, we dined at Cercis Murat Konağı, a restaurant occupying a lovely old stone house. The mezze platter was, in Dave's (accurate) words, 'mind-blowing' -- a selection of perhaps a dozen dips, spreads, and nibbles based on ingredients like bulgur, garbanzo beans, tahini, walnuts, and pomegranate molasses with flavors that bounced from full, round, and nutty to bitingly spicy (from crushed dried red peppers) or sharply sour.

Yet it's not the meal we'll remember most from our time here. Service varied from patronizing ('No reservation?' we were asked, disbelievingly, upon our arrival; the dining room remained 2/3 empty throughout our meal) to AWOL. The dishes that followed our mezze were unremarkable. And the bill was outrageous -- almost twice the price of a raki-fueled mezze-based dinner at one of the restaurants on Nevizade Sokak in Istanbul.

While we're very much about food, for us it's the context that makes the meal. Bad vibes -- whether from annoying fellow diners or snooty wait staff -- cancel out deliciousness. And the right company and setting can raise a humble meal to heavenly.

 

A table with a view: Mardin's market

Late this afternoon we had that sort of meal.

We met Yusuf on our first morning in town, at a cay evi (tea house) in Mardin's lively market. Tables were few and he took a seat at ours. We began talking about this and that, and the conversation meandered for a couple of hours.

What can we say about Yusuf? This 60-year-old gentleman is so easy to be around. He's smart and thoughtful, knowledgeable about his hometown, and has a wonderful sense of humor. He speaks slowly and clearly (a dream for someone like me, struggling to unearth Turkish buried for more than a decade) -- not as if he's speaking to a slow learner, but as if most everything he says carries some import. And it does. 

This morning we met again at the tea house. He offered to show us an often overlooked local site and we took him up ib it. Afterwards he invited us to meet him at his shop in the market later for etli ekmek.

Yusuf, like most everyone in town, has his etli ekmek baked at a community fırın or oven -- usually the wood-fired contraption anchoring the local pide shop. Few homes have their own ovens and even if they do summer temperatures (above 90F these days) discourage their use.

It works like this:

Yusuf purchases 1/2 a kilo of lamb. He takes it home, minces it with pul biber (dried red pepper), salt, and a mystery spice (kamun -- translations welcome), then drops it off at the pide shop. There, they knead the meat into an equal weight of pide dough, form the result into 4 thin dough ovals, and pop them into the oven for 10 minutes.

Yusuf pays the pide shop 1 US dollar for the dough and the oven time. (If he were having something like  güveç -- a sort of meat stew -- baked in the fırın it would cost perhaps U$ 1.30, to cover the 3 to 4-hour baking time.)

We arrived at Yusuf's shop at 4:30. The etli ekmek came out of the oven at 5 and were delivered to us within 5 minutes. The ekmek was fantastically delicious, meaty but not overwhelmingly so, a bit spicy, and with a texture reminiscent of a freshly baked cookie: crispy on the outside, soft and chewy within.

With the bread we ate cacik (chopped cucumbers mixed with yogurt), and then finished the meal with glasses of tea (delivered from the tea house) and juicy fres cherries.

While we ate, perched on stools at the entrance to Yusuf's shop, we talked about Islam and Christianity, the quality of lamb in Turkey and the preponderance of rice in Asia, pork ('Do you eat it? What does it taste like?' Yusuf asked), languages and America, marriage and children, kismet (fate), the evil eye, shoes (Yusuf sells them), and Ataturk.

'This is just everyday food,' Yusuf told us. Yet from our time in Mardin, this is the meal we'll most remember.

Comments

[Robin from Israel]

I would bet that kamun is cumin - it's the same word here in Israel (Turkish and Hebrew have many words in common) and is also a popular spice in Turkey.

[MM]

It might be cumin:

http://www.uni-graz.at/~katzer/germ/Cumi_cym.html

[Jodihenley.blogspot.com]

That's pretty cool. :)

[maya dabbagh]

Kamun is the arabic word for Cumin. Normally the Turks call it Kimyon but Mardin being near the Syrian border, they use quite a bit of arabic!

[Fizdal]

Kamun in Arabic is cumin - could be the same in Turkish?

Never commented before but have to say that I love your blog! Best kind of virtual tourism, the kind with food. Thank you for your tasty and regular updates.

[Alex]

This was a beautiful post, thank you for sharing this meal with us.

I always look forward to reading your blog- perhaps even more so recently since I'll be taking my second trip to Turkey next month. Thank you for such thoughtful work.

[Jen]

I think it is ingenious that they have a community oven! By the way, the etli ekmek looks magnificent! It is the 'everyday food' that makes every culture so special; thanks for sharing this experience :)

[Erichbenoit]

Would the kamun be kamun aswad, which is nigella seed? i'm quite a fan of the spice myself...

[Michelle@TastyThailand]

Cacik is one of my favorite dishes. A Turkish friend in LA makes it for me every time I visit and it's just perfect. I've also bought it here a few times in Bangkok, but it's just not quite the same :0

Lovely photos, BTW.

[a visitor]

kamun is just cumin (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cumin)

[bob]

Way to dig up the interesting low down on Turkish food - would like to go back .. and follow suit! The pides are really nice - I've found.

[Migration Mark]

It is so true that the ambiance and company can raise a humble meal to heavenly, especially in a culture not of your own.

This setting, neighborhood, and market looks like it was glorious.

I appreciate this awesome story and amazing photos.

[c]

this is such a lovely post..great for a bread lover like me! *grin*

[Hande]

kamun is cumin in dialect - I remember hearing it from some of my relatives in Antep.

[Edinburgh]

This was a beautiful post, thank you for sharing this meal with us.

[Sarah]

probably cumin as robyn suggested. I also bought turkish lavash bread from a Bukharian baker, it was wok shaped, brittle and filled with cumin. It reminded me a bit of my grandmother's kurdish flat bread but thicker, almost like a cracker.

[Jon W]

I was so taken by your description (as I am by many of your posts) that I made this dish tonight. Of course, I imagine it was not nearly as good - store bought lamb and a conventional oven with a baker's stone . . . but it still came out decently. I used a standard risen Pita bread recipe, punched down, kneaded the bread and spiced lamb together and then rolled out after 10 minutes. Delicious, if not nearly as crispy or as "connected to the setting" as yours. Served with Lamb Kofte and salad. Thanks for the dose of inspiration.

[Robyn]

Thanks to everyone for your comments.

Cumin it is then, but there was another spice as well. We tasted it in another dish and never identified it. Cardamom, perhaps? Something not-quite savory....

Jon - that's great, thanks for sharing that! Makes me happy to know a post of ours inspired some kitchen activity.

Sarah - interesting, thank you! BTW was your grandmother's Kurdish flat bread a wheat bread? We found many wheat breads (of varying thicknesses) in Van.

[Venice]

Kamun in Arabic is cumin - could be the same in Turkish?