Please Don't Call It 'Turkish Pizza'

   

    At the end of January, on our last day in Istanbul before flying to the USA, we lunched at Kadikoy institution Halil, producer of a quite spectacular lahmacun. Lahmacun, if you don't know it, is basically a wood oven-cooked flatbread with a thin shmear of spicy meat paste.

    'Turkish pizza', some call it -- but why? Yes, lahmacun and pizza share a composition of dough with  topping. They are both baked. There the similarity ends.

    I understand the desire to make familiar unfamiliar foods. Really, I do. I struggle with it as I write recipes  for this Turkish cookbook Dave and I are working on. While some dishes in the book (hummus, dolma, cacik or yogurt with cucumber) will no doubt be familiar even to those who've never traveled to Turkey, others -- dried corn and collard greens soup and black-peppery bulgur orbs swimming in oregano-flecked yogurt sauce, for instance -- will likely be unknown even to many of those who have.

    Some cooks (and cookbook buyers) are excited by unfamiliar dishes. Others are put off. I don't want anyone to look at my book and be put off, not least because I'm convinced that this food is Really, Really Good.

    So how do I convince the timid cook to go beyond his or her comfort zone? Should I resort to what I'll call the Turkish Pizza Method and call a dish what it is not in order to convince readers that they will be cooking and eating something familiar when in fact they won't?

    That loose, almost soupy herb, yogurt and bulgur dish --- maybe I should call it a 'risotto' because it's a dish of grains cooked with sort-of liquids that, like a true risotto, ends up spoon-able and creamy and so delicious that you can't stop eating it. Maybe I should name it a 'risotto' because that might convince cooks for whom the combination of yogurt and bulgur would otherwise give pause.

    No. I don't think so.

    'Don't pander,' my editor said to me when we met a few weeks ago to swoon over Dave's photographs, talk recipes and ponder design and cover shots. (Cover shots! Yes, it's all seeming very real now.)

    A chickpea durum (flatbread wrapped around chickpeas and herbs) is not a 'Gaziantep burrito'. Ayran is not a 'Turkish smoothie'. Manti is not 'Turkish ravioli'. (It is a Turkish dumpling.) Simit is not a 'Turkish bagel'.  And if you follow my recipe for that bulgur, herb and yogurt dish? Well, you won't end up with a 'risotto'.

    The problem with the Turkish Pizza Method of describing and naming dishes is that it often ends up distorting the final product. Set a Google alert for 'Turkish restaurant' and you'll see photographs of lahmacun -- usually described on menus as 'Turkish pizza' -- that would make a Turkish eater from the south east (where it originates) cry. Thick discs of pale dough burdened by way too much chunky meat, sometimes cheese -- this is what the non-Turkish diner expects when a menu item reads 'Turkish pizza'. And all too often, even in restaurants owned by Turks (and even in Turkey! see Sultanahmet/Istanbul Old City), this is what a lahmacun is.

    This is what a lahmacun should be (with some regional variation): about 60 grams of sturdy dough rolled into a thin disc, lightly spread with two or so tablespoons (sometimes even less -- see the dough peeking crust peeking through the topping in that photo up top?) of meat minced to a true paste with chili, some onion and perhaps other seasonings, baked in a super-hot oven (wood-fired, preferably) until it's blistered on the bottom. The way Halil makes it, a lahmacun's bottom crust cracks as you fold it in thirds over stems of parsley anointed with a few drops of lemon.

    Lahmacun is lahmacun. I'm convinced that anyone reading this post would adore this Turkish dish prepared as it is in its native place. It's even easy to pronounce -- LAH-mah-joon. There will be a recipe in our book. I won't call it 'Turkish Pizza'. 

Halil Lahmacun, Güneşli Bahçe Sokak (in the market area across from the ferry terminal), Kadikoy, Istanbul. Silly cheap. Enjoy your lahmacun with a glass of fresh ayran. 

Comments

[D.A.]

I won't, but mostly because it's not Turkish.… You may have had this dish in Turkey, but it's Syrian/Lebanese.

[sf]

My one and only experience with it was in Amsterdam where it was wrapped about salad greens. Delicious.

[e]

Amsterdam is probably one of the worst places in the universe for lahmacun, where they wrap it around chopped iceberg and tomates soaked in Indonesian sambal sauce and garlicky mayonnaise. Even the spices in the topping are wrong and neither the dough nor the topping have anything to do with Halil's lahmacun, or any other lahmacun made and sold in Turkey.

[LoulaMa]

In Watertown, Massachusetts there were Armenian bakeries that sold lahmejuns, topped with lamb. There were bakeries in the Armenian quarter of Jerusalem that baked them as well.

[sunflowii]

Agree so much with your sentiment! I made paella for my sister and her family once. When I brought it to the table and announced that it was paella, her husband (the chef!) told his kids that it was seafood risotto. Thankfully after several years, my nieces, although not extremely adventurous, are at least not timid when it comes to strange food.

[Martin]

It looks delicious. I will try to make it myself!

[Alison @ B-Kyu]

At first when I saw 'Turkish Pizza', I thought of the pide style. In Sydney, a restaurant will advertise Turkish Pizza and that is what you will get, either the flatter style kiymali or the enclosed one filled with egg, cheese and sujuk. You could almost call it Turkish calzone, but I think that would just make you cry!

We also see 'Lebanese Pizza' (manoush) here, which I think is what your earlier commentator might be getting confused over.

[Robyn]

D.A. -- Thanks for reading.

From Turkish-Australian chef Somer Sivrioglu's new cookbook, called 'Anatolia':

"The idea of putting spiced mince on a disc of dough would have occurred to human beings long before there were nations called Italy or Turkey -- or for that matter Armenia, Greece or Syria -- all of whom have claimed to be the originators of [lahmacun]."

To be honest I would much rather spend my time documenting, cooking and eating foods like lahmacun than arguing about who 'invented' them.

[Robyn]

sf and e -- I'll try anything once but I think I would end up preferring Halil's version. :)

Loula Ma -- I was in Watertown at the end of January. At Arax Armenian grocery I purchased every single ingredient I needed to develop/test recipes for this book over the first few weeks of Feb (except for mahlep). Which in itself says something about the intermingled origins of food in Turkey and surrounding nations.
Unfortunately it was Sunday and the bakeries were closed. I'm sure I'll return at some point and I hope to check out an Armenian-style lahmejun when I do.

sunflowii -- thanks for reading. These kinds of comparisons are unavoidable I'm afraid but it would be great if we could all be more aware of them. I'm going to start calling pizza Italian Lahmacun. ;-)

Alison @B-Kyu -- Thanks for your comment!

In Turkey 'pide' can be either a not-so-flat plain flatbread (dimpled, with the fingers, or a boat-shaped pizza-reminiscent (oops, yes I did write that -- what I mean is open on top) pastry with thicker crust, kiymali as you describe (with minced meat), or with cheese, either can be with or without an egg. Here's a photo:

http://eatingturkey.tumblr.com/post/43492254678/first-pide

Anything enclosed and calzone-shaped is etli ekmek ('meaty' bread), or sembusek (and perhaps others I'm not aware of), but meat and cheese are never mixed inside.

To further complicate things there are many types of etli ekmek in Turkey, one of which is comprised of dough into which meat and spices have actually been kneaded (see link below).

http://eatingasia.typepad.com/eatingasia/2010/06/mardin-etli-ekmek.html

[Elaine]

I love the idea of lamacun with sambal...talk about synthesis! Isn't that what we're all after in this new world?

The everpresent journalist quandary - do you dumb down to make familiar, or just go for the jugular and trust your readers' smarts and sophistication? Will be looking forward to this book

[Caitlin]

This is a straw man argument since lahmacun is not usually called Turkish pizza. The term "Turkish pizza" usually refers to stuffed pide. Admittedly the lahmacun looks more like Italian pizza than pide, but it is still pide that gets the pizza label. And it's not because Westerners are stoopid - the term "pizza" is used by Turks in the diaspora to describe their pide.

[Robyn]

Hi Elaine -- thank you. Oh I don't have a problem with lahmacun and sambal and as I said I'll try anything once. But I can't imagine preferring the combo over a brilliantly prepared lahmacun served as it is in Turkey. I have a problem with "over-condimenting" in general, along the lines of the "Sriracha is great on everything" trend.

[NJSpice]

This was a favorite in our family, my Armenian grandmother always made it with lamb. The same grandmother also made a mean "tomato pie" in a rectangular pan with tomato and mozzarella! My other Grandmother, an Italian (and also an excellent cook) did not make any kind of "pizza" as far as I know, so I guess the Armenians had the corner on that.

[Robyn]

Caitlin thanks for your comment.

I've been subscribing to a "Turkish restaurant" Google Alert since September 2010, so I've seen a *lot* of round-the-world Turkish restaurant write-ups/reviews and menus. The 'Turkish pizza' moniker is used for both lahmacun and pide.

Even if your statement about the term 'Turkish pizza' not being used for lahmacun were accurate, I would make the same argument for pide.

Why not just call pide 'pide'? From my Google Alert, I know that many pide/Turkish pizza served in restaurants outside Turkey are an abomination, so thick of crust and heavily laden with cheese and meat as to be ..... a pizza. Pide in Turkey are not gloppy with cheese and meat.

That's my point. I used the 'Turkish pizza' example to illustrate that when we label foreign (unfamiliar) foods with familiar terms, expectations of what they are and should be are altered. And that's too bad, in my opinion, because diner/cookbook reader-user misses out.

Of course Turks in the diaspora call pide and lahmacun 'Turkish pizza'. If they used the terms 'lahmacun' or 'pide' most non-Turks would have no idea what they are referring to. Just as Taiwanese might call gua bao a 'Taiwanese hamburger' if they were speaking about the dish with a foreigner unfamiliar with Taiwanese food.

I didn't write this post to make Turks happy, but enough have responded positively to this post to indicate that some Turkish citizens would prefer 'lahmacun' be known as 'lahmacun'.

I don't think foreigners are 'stoopid', and I don't think I implied that at all. In fact, my argument is to the contrary -- that we (foreigners) are smart enough to learn terms (like 'pizza' or 'ravioli', which after all were at one time unfamiliar terms to most non-Italian Americans) .... and that we (foreigners), most of us, have broad enough palates to be willing to try foods that are not necessarily described in terms of foods we know.

And that's my point, in case you missed it: There's no need to pander.

Thanks for reading.

[Molly]

Halil makes good lahmacun, but after undertaking a fair amount of lahmacun study in Kadiköy and greater Istanbul last fall my favorite is Borsam Taş Fırın, just down the street from Halil.

I've tried to make lahmacun now that I have moved back to the U.S., but have had difficulty getting the dough right. I suppose I'll have to wait for the cookbook for a definitive recipe?

[Robyn]

Molly -- thanks for the tip! We will check out Borsam next time we're in Istanbul.

I'll be putting recipes from the cookbook up here on the blog, and elsewhere (you'll know if you follow on Twitter ... and if I remember to mention other publishings here on the blog) beginning in a few months, probably, and lahmacun will probably be one of them.

Thanks for the comment!

[Ljubljana Slovenia]

I never call anything Turkish ever since I visited Greece. I just point my finger. :-) Love your blog.

[Laura]

It looks very tasty, regardless of what you call it. I'm definitely looking forward to the recipe and the cookbook.

[JoJo]

I've never cared for foods that people give names to make it seem like it's an ~exotic~ version of more familiar food. I think a good example would be people calling gulab jamun "Indian donuts" which really doesn't do those justice!

[John]

This bring back the sweet memories savoured at Halil Lahmacun. And the vivid memories a classy city. Istanbul is forever in my heart! Great recipe.

[Smiley]

I agree with JoJo use the proper names. It is like Shepards Pie is never made with beef it's made with lamb. Cottage Pie on the otherhand is made with beef. Food broadens the mind if people do not have the opportunity to travel.

[Robyn]

JoJo -- Exactly. I agree about gulab jamun!

Smiley -- that is beautifully put. And food can only broaden the mind if it, and what it's called, isn't dumbed down to taste like one's home country's food.

[Leo Sigh]

I've eaten something similar in Amsterdam as well, and agree with the person who said it was delicious. It was. It may not have been particularly 'Turkish', but it was still very satisfying :) Great photos, btw

[Qin Xie]

I love your pursuit of authenticity though it's hard for people to get an idea of something unfamiliar. It's like most people know kimchee so they use it to describe Chinese pao cai.

[Robyn]

Thanks Qin Xie -- So why can't we just describe things using a broad category instead of a specific food? Eg. lahmacun is a meat-topped flatbread. And paocai is a type of pickle.
'Pizza' was once an unfamiliar word to Americans. So was 'tostada' and 'taco'. Let's treat 'pao cai' and 'lahmacun' similarly, add them to western vernacular, and broaden some minds in the process. :)
Thanks for reading!