A Turkish Dinner
Worn-out pairs of tennis shoes by the door, a messy desk with a laptop, mismatched furniture and random food items in a small kitchen — Serdar’s apartment resembles a typical student’s residence, except for a couple of oriental rugs on the floor and a bottle of Turkish juice (bottled in Germany) in a refrigerator. Serdar is not at home yet, but his friend, Ozan, who recently joined Indiana University’s folklore department, is hallway through cooking the dinner for himself, Serdar, and another friend from Turkey, Suncem. Ozan, who hates the idea of cooking for himself, initiated ‘community dinners’ five nights a week. Today it’s his turn to cook and he’s making kuru fasülye, a traditional Turkish meal consisting of kidney beans and rice.
As Ozan stirs the kidney-beans, which he prefers to cook in olive oil, he talks about how he learned to cook at an early age by observing his mother in kitchen and occasionally helping her with simple tasks such as stirring the soup or cutting the onions – a “master-apprentice relationship,” he calls it.
While the beans are cooking, Ozan goes out to the balcony, where he lights up a Camel cigarette and begins to tell the stories of his childhood in Ayden, a small town in western Turkey. With much affection, he sometimes refers to the entire coastal region of western Turkey as “my own country.” Ozan remembers the four-day religious holiday, Kurban, during which his entire family, after men attend the Mosque, makes animal sacrifices and spends time cooking and eating together at his grandparents’ house. “It’s a long process and a lot of hard work,” he says. While realizing that animal slaughter may sound “barbaric,” Ozan goes on to say, with a typical softness in his voice, that it is “a good biology lesson.” After a short pause, he adds, “Kurban is also one of the rare times I go to the Mosque.”
Ramazan is another religious holiday Ozan likes to remember. It’s a “sweet festival,” which also includes a lot of visiting by family, friends and neighbours. It lasts for nine days, during which people make brief visits in the morning and afternoon hours to enjoy sweet treats and tea.
As Ozan leaves to check on beans and start on rice, Serdar comes in. Unlike Ozan, who just started at IU, Serdar has lived in Bloomington for six years and is currently working on his doctoral degree in mathematics. Serdar and Ozan met through Facebook, where both belong to Hrant Dink Memorial Group and Peace for Armenia and Turkey group.
“You don’t have a rice-pot,” says Ozan and quickly leaves for Suncem’s apartment next door to find the ‘right’ pan.
“He’s very picky,” says Ozan about Serdar, who objects to the use of just any kind of rice for the dish.
“No, no… you can’t use sticky rice,” insists Serdar. He also likes to use only organic rice. “There is a big difference in how things are processed.”
At this point the room is filled with the smell of frying noodles, sehriye, to which Ozan adds rice. It’s too hot to sit inside, so, naturally, another smoking break; and the conversation veers into history and minority groups in Turkey. Ozan studies Greek and Armenian minorities in Anatolia: their music, dance and other traditions. “There are almost no Greeks in Istanbul, but at least we have a good relationship with Greece and Greek songs are being played in the city,” says Serdar. “There are also Greek-Turkish exchange visits,” Ozan adds.
In the middle of the conversation, Suncem comes home. She is an anthropology student at IU, whose husband is currently completing his mandatory military training back in Turkey. The two men joke about Suncem’s dislike and limited abilities in cooking, to which she proudly responds, “I’m good with finding people who cook.” She lights up a cigarette and looks toward the Bryan Park pool across the street.
All three of them miss fresh produce at home and find Bloomington’s Farmer’s Market the only opportunity to buy fresh fruit and vegetables. “I can’t get used to the huge size of red peppers,” exclaims Ozan. For Suncem, “tomatoes are the highlight of the market.” Meanwhile, Serdar just realized, with disappointment, that he has never seen fresh figs in the United States. Ozan complains about “peaches like stones” at Krogers. “Peaches should be a little bit rotten…that’s when they are sweet,” he says.
Ozan sets up the table, placing a dish with plain yogurt in the middle. “Sorry, didn’t make the salad,” he says. “Next time, please,” teases him Serdar.
The dinner is a shorter version of a traditional Turkish four-course meal, which often consists of borek (pastries), sweets (including baklava), fruits in season, and Turkish coffee. However, it still carries the tradition of the communal and socializing aspects of Turkish dinners.
“While travelling is important to understanding people and cultures, it is also important to maintain traditions, which connect you to your soil. [While here] I’m not losing my tradition,” says Ozan. “Tradition is something very personal: if you feel it and if you live it – it’s yours… But then, new traditions are constantly created; everyone needs people who think the same way you do.”
Suncem rushes away to the next class and Ozan and Serdar move to the balcony to relax and gossip, like they do in Turkish cafes. The conversation moves from US/EU visa issuance in Turkey to this year’s drought, which ruined cotton plantation in Anatolia, to Turkish Student Association (TSA) on IU campus. Serdar looks for his neighbours outside; he sometimes watches them run. “Here he is,” says Serdar. “This guy runs every day. He has a very ‘interesting style.’” The two men laugh. It’s half past five and, once finished with his cigarette, Ozan will leave for work.