Süt Cenneti (Milk Heaven)

In Kars, made from milk: kaymakli koymak on the left, çeçil peyniri up top

Since arriving in Kars we've been swimming in milk.

This province, sidled up to Armenia in northeastern Turkey, is a cow-raising, milk-producing behemoth. In this part of Turkey, where the deep snow of long, hard winters gives way to impossibly lush, electric green pasturelands, hayvanlar (which means "animals" in Turkish -- but here in the northeast is more likely to mean "cows) are a source of barest sustenance and vast wealth. They give the meat that is eaten by some and the milk that is consumed in all forms, by everyone.

Cruising the streets of the capital city, which is also called Kars, we pass peynirci (cheese shops) after peynirci, their windows displaying mammoth wheels of emmenthal-like gravyer and stubby rounds of creamy yellow kaşar, a softer cheese with a mild cheddar-like butteriness.

Outside the city it's all dairy all the time, or so it has seemed to us -- heart-stopping, mind-blowingly rich and delicious foods made with the white stuff from the cow.

In villages, where most every household owns at least one cow and some own forty or fifty head, we never eat beef. Instead, there are slices of kaşar and loose piles of çeçil -- string cheese that's milky and springy when fresh and dry, salty and deliciously pungent when left to age and blue in an animal hide -- plus creamy-salty white village cheese. There is milk just hours from the cow, strained and warmed on wood fired stoves and, a milk a day from the cow, cultured into yogurt. There is fresh unsalted butter and kaymak, an impossibly unctuous, partially solidified cream whose taste often bears an intriguing bit of tang, to spread on bread. That kaymak in turn enriches many of the sweet and savory breads that accompany our cheeses. Sometimes there are wild greens plucked from spring meadows and brined in the whey left over from making cheese.

After a week swimming in milk, eating deep in a food culture dependent on the fat of the cow, we thought we'd reached the apex several times over. Then, in a village not far from the deserted Armenian city of Ani, we ate köymak. 

The recipe for köymak is simple: take the richest product of the cow -- kaymak -- and make it richer by placing it over a hot fire, bringing it to a boil and reducing it by half. Add flour, stir continuously until the flour browns and then add some water, bit by bit. Stir and stir and stir until the kaymak releases all of its oil -- which, of course, is essentially butter.

Serve your reduced dairy fat in a pool of its own butter in a bowl. Sprinkle with sugar. Spoon onto bread.

Enter the gates of süt cenneti.

Comments

[Ptipois]

Oh God.

[Ling]

Gasp. And I thought kaymak or clotted cream was the food of the gods...!

[Magda]

This is so incredibly interesting. I have to try koymak. I will be making it soon, I'm so excited!

[Eurasian Sensation]

Wonderful. I think reading your description of koymak is the clincher that ensures I go to Turkey one day.

..."their windows displaying mammoth wheels of emmenthal-like gravyer"

"Gravyer" is I believe actually derived from "gruyere", as with the Greek "graviera" cheese.

[Andrea]

Oh wow, that sounds too good! I would love to try this kind of thing but have no idea when or if I'd ever come across it. *sign*

[Robyn]

Ptipois: Ha! That's just about what I said with my first bite.

Ling -- I would still go with kaymak first. But this was great.

Magda - let us know how it goes.

Eurasian Sensation -- you're right, but the cheese is emmenthal-ish rather than gruyere-ish. Not really sure why.

Andrea, you can make a reasonable kaymak substitute by combining mascaropone with heavy whipping cream. (Yes, it's that rich). Kaymak's consistency goes from pourable to thick as cold mascarpone. For this recipe I'd go with a thick but pourable consistency.

[thyme (sarah)]

Wowsers. I am just trying to imagine what biting into that piece of bread with that köymak slathered on top. I really just can't imagine the richness of it. Love the photo of the milking of the cow...great angle! Always great stories. I love seeing Turkey through your blog. I'm still planning our trip to Istanbul! We're thinking March...

[Lisa in Toronto]

Sometimes I dream of that string cheese and Turkish breakfasts. Turkish Airlines meals include quite decent olives even in economy class. OK I was coming from olive-free countries so maybe they were not so great, but they were just what i needed.

[Kalyan]

The kasar in the first pic looks a lot like the chhana or cottage cheese made in Bengali housholds. It is alse the base of the famous Bengali sweet ---rasgulla...the chhanas at home are not as yellow though. Possibly because the milk here is low on fat

[Robyn]

Hi Kalyan - that's not kasar at the top but cecil, a sort of string cheese. It's dry and salty. It's also placed in a hide and stored for winter ... it turns blue (and acquires a roquefort-ish flavor) in the process.
Indeed, the cows in this part of Turkey produce fairly high-fat milk.

[Natalie]

I was in Kars last week and wonder if I ended up in the same village as you. We went there as my Turkish friends were looking for a mosque, so while they were praying, I wondered around the village and the locals served me some very refreshing Ayran. Home made of course.

Also tasted the cheese in Kars as I was told it was meant to be one of a kind. Really did not pick up any distinct taste from it though. Thought it to be quite bland.

[Robyn]

Hi Natalie -- were in many villages in Kars as well as Ardahan and Artvin provinces, so hard to say.
Most cheese sellers in Kars hold the good stuff back unless you are quite insistent. I would suspect you were given young kasar to taste. It's very mild, like the mildest cheddar, and cheese sellers tell us it's preferred by women and children (and tourists). Unless you specifically asked for eski kasar ("old" kasar) they wouldn't have given it to you just to taste.
(BTW -- those same shops selling honey will never give you the really good stuff to taste or to buy unless you are really peristent. And right now last year's best would be long sold out.)
Just ate some of our eski kasar for lunch. It's slightly dry, sharp and tangy and nutty. Really good stuff. Definately not bland.
Thanks for reading.

[a malaysian in chicago]

Why do they hold the really good stuff back? Don't they want to do business? I'm a little concerned about that... In general, is there any way you'd recommend to figure out whether a food shop is holding something back that one might be interested in?

And I know you're famous already, but anyhow, great blog - love the intimate, unpretentious accounts of food and the people and places they come from.