Wednesday, July 14, 2021

Meeting in a playground + Fred's Bread (Ankara Style)


         Today is Bastille Day, July 14!  Salutations to France and to all French and Francophile readers.


14 TEMMUZ 2021: FRANSIZ ULUSAL BAYRAMI KUTLU OLSUN! 

14 JUILLET 2021 : BONNE FÊTE NATIONALE !


         Here in Turkey we’re heading into an extended holiday period.  Tomorrow, July 15, is Democracy and National Unity Day, the country’s newest holiday, remembering the overcoming of the attempted coup d’état five years ago.  



Next week comes a major Muslim holiday, the Feast of the Sacrifice (Kurban Bayramı, more and more frequently called by its Arabic name, Eid al-Adha).  This holiday will last 4 ½ days, Monday afternoon (the eve of the holiday) and Tuesday through Friday (the actual holiday).  As you can imagine, the government has declared Monday morning a holiday, too, thereby creating a holiday of nine days, if one counts the weekends on either side.  And who will be working this Friday, July 16?  Many will be taking that day off, too.   

         Crowds of people from Istanbul and interior cities are expected to head toward the Aegean seaside resorts.  The traffic will be horrendous!  And what about the beaches in this time of Covid?  I shudder to think. 

         For those of us staying put, the holiday means no mail service and no office support.  But the campus will be delightfully quiet and peaceful.

* * * * * * * * * *

         We’re definitely in summer now, with sunny, clear, and dry days. So far, not too hot, but temperatures are predicted to jump this weekend to 99 F (37 C).  Time to get out the electric fans. 

         Summer was late in coming.  Til the end of June we had frequent thunderstorms and rain.   This isn’t unusual.    The storms are typical for Ankara in May and June – no complaints about rain, by the way.  As an Ankara friend once told me, summer never really begins in Ankara until July.  For the moment, the campus is green.  Wildflowers abound; the frogs in the drainage ditch by the Middle Campus are croaking away.  I even saw a fox the other morning, light-colored with a bushy tail, emerging from trees and bushes and racing across the road. 

* * * * * * * * * *

One month ago, in full thunderstorm season, we attended an official dernek meeting in the city.  Dernek is Turkish for an association, society, or club.  The government, no matter which party in control, has always been suspicious of derneks as possible hotbeds of subversive activity, so there are detailed regulations about their organization, officers, membership, finances, and activities.  In recent memory, the screws were severely tightened after the coup d’état of 1980.  The rules have relaxed, but nonetheless, they must be followed.  This particular dernek holds a formal board meeting every three years, no longer with a government representative in attendance, but with an agenda strictly observed and a report submitted to the government.

Because of Covid-19 restrictions, we couldn’t meet indoors.  In fact, the meeting had been officially postponed, in the hope that we eventually could.  That proved not possible, so the government approved a meeting outdoors, with masks, social distancing, etc.  We gathered in the playground of the Basın Şehitleri Park, in Çankaya.  Basın Şehitleri, “press martyrs,” refers to journalists who have been killed. This is a professional risk for journalists everywhere, but Turkey has had prominent examples, notably Uğur Mumcu, a high-profile investigative journalist who worked for the center-left newspaper, Cumhuriyet.  He was killed by a car bomb in 1993. 


In the playground, under menacingly dark clouds, we held our meeting.  The rules were followed scrupulously.  Participants signed the list, to indicate that the necessary quorum of members was present.  We stood for one minute in silence in homage to Mustafa Kemal Atatürk, the founder of the Republic of Turkey.  The meeting continued with formal reports on finances and activities.  The floor was then opened for comments and suggestions about future projects.  After one hour, we were finished.




Since most of us knew each other, we took great pleasure in being able to get together, even with masks (removed for drinking tea or coffee and eating cookies, both sweet and savory in the Turkish manner), exchanging greetings and news of what we had been doing these past months.  How nice it was!

* * * * * * * * * *

Outside our apartment are two black mulberry (Turkish: karadut) bushes, or small trees.  These past weeks, both have been abundantly producing ripe berries.  Although they stand only 3 meters apart, one yields delicious fruit of the highest quality, whereas the other is merely good.  Why the difference?  I have no idea.   Sunlight, soil, and water are surely the same. 



The top quality bush has developed a reputation.  People whom I have never seen before, even children, come by, inspect, and help themselves.  Because this bush is just outside the building where I live, I feel a certain proprietary sense.  This bush is ours!  These berries are mine!   But share I must, and I try to feel joyful that this bush and its companion are giving pleasure to many.  

* * * * * * * * * *

One of the things I have been doing during this pandemic is making bread.  My favorite store-bought bread in Ankara is the “rustik ekmek” (country bread) sold at Çağdaş market in the Kent Park shopping center.  It’s a dark sourdough bread, and I find it fabulous.  But I haven’t set foot in this shopping center since March, 2020, and instead began to explore other possibilities.  Our local Meteksan market sells a variety of flours, normal and organic.  I have been buying basic white (in Turkey, this is made from durum wheat); whole wheat; rye; oat; corn (= corn meal); “German mountaineer’s mix” (Alman Dağcı Karışımı), which is a mix of dinkel wheat (= spelt, an ancient form of wheat) with seeds and sourdough; and einkorn (Turkish siyez), one of the earliest cultivated wheats, now a rarity from Kastamonu province used for bulgur and bread.  It has a wonderful rich, hearty flavor.  I have been mixing these flours in different proportions, getting different results, all delicious.



The recipe I now favor is a modification of one given to me in the late 1980s by Fred Williams, a student of Classical and Near Eastern archaeology at the University of North Carolina—Chapel Hill.  I have no idea what happened to Fred, but his recipe for bread has served me well.  Here it is, in case you would like to try it. This will make two loaves.

 

Fred’s Bread (Ankara Style)

Ingredients (American measurements, with metric equivalents)

2 cups (500 ml) regular white flour, suitable for bread.

1/2 cup (125 ml) or 1 cup (250 ml) corn meal. 

3 1/2 cups (875 ml) – if 1/2 cup corn meal used; or 3 cups (750 ml) -- if 1 cup corn meal used: a mix of your choice, any proportions, of any of the following flours: whole wheat, rye, oat, einkorn/siyez, German mountaineer’s mix, etc. 

Dry yeast: 2 small packages (approx. 2 tablespoons = 2 soup spoons)

Granulated sugar: 2 teaspoons (= 2 dessert spoons)

Salt: 2 teaspoons (= 2 dessert spoons).  Add more salt if desired.

Honey: 1/3 cup (70 ml).  More is OK, if wished: 1/2 cup (125 ml)

Olive oil: 4 tablespoons (4 soup spoons).  I use light olive oil (Rivyera type, in Turkey).

Warm water: 2 1/2 cups (625 ml)

Optional: anise seeds (Turkish: rezene).  1 tablespoon (= 1 soup spoon)

Optional: flax seeds (Turkish: keten tohumu).  1 tablespoon (= 1 soup spoon)

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1)    In a large mixing bowl, mix the dry yeast, the granulated sugar, and 1 cup of warm water (temperature approx. 105 F = 40 C).  Let sit for 20-30 minutes.  The yeast will be activated and will froth.

2)   Add the salt, honey, olive oil, the remaining 1 1/2 cups of warm water, and, if desired, the anise seeds and/or flax seeds.  Mix (an electric beater works well).

3)   Add the 2 cups of regular white flour.  Mix with an electric beater for 5 minutes.

4)   Add the remaining 4 cups of flours (corn meal + the rest).  Mix by hand until the flour is absorbed in the liquid.

5)   Cover the mixing bowl with a damp cloth.  Let sit for 2-3 hours.  The dough will rise.

6)   Punch the dough to release the gas that has developed. 

7)   Sprinkle a countertop with some regular flour.  Take the dough from the mixing bowl, place it on the countertop, and knead it for 10 minutes.  Sprinkle more regular flour on the countertop whenever the dough gets sticky. 

8)   Prepare two loaf pans, greasing them with some olive oil or butter (to prevent sticking).

9)   Divide the dough into two.  Form each part into a loaf shape and put in the loaf pan.

10) Cover and let the dough rise again.  Or:  Tip (especially in the colder months): heat the oven to 125 F / 50 C.  Put the two loaf pans with dough in the oven, uncovered.  After 15 minutes, turn off the oven, but leave the loaf pans in the oven for another 45-60 minutes. The dough will surely rise by the end.

11)  Remove the loaf pans.  Heat the oven to 375 F / 190 C.  Return the loaf pans to the oven and bake for 40 minutes.

12) Remove the loaf pans; cool on a rack.  After 15 minutes or so, remove the bread loaves from the pans, place them on the rack, and let them continue to cool.

 

 

 

Wednesday, June 16, 2021

Vaccinations, car in a ditch, and marul (Romaine lettuce)

        A year has gone by since I last posted on this blog.  I thought I had nothing to say.  I haven’t gone anywhere or taken part in unusual activities.  Yet in recent weeks I have felt an urge to report on the ordinary.  So here I am, back again, and I hope regularly in the months ahead.

        First, from a journal entry for March 21:

        Yesterday we went to the Bayındır Hospital for our second shot of CoronaVac, the vaccine from the Chinese company, Sinovac, which is what the Turkish government is now offering, free.  I had that Rip van Winkle effect, or the Seven Sleepers of Ephesus.  Since I hadn’t been beyond the immediate environs of Bilkent University for one month, when we emerged to get our first vaccinations, I felt I was waking up, my eyes blinking in the bright light, and all was familiar but at the same time strange.  Weekend restrictions have been lifted here in Ankara, but even so, the traffic at 9:00 am, Saturday, seemed heavy.  What were all these people doing on the road?  The hospital was full of hustle and bustle, too.   

        The vaccines were given in orderly fashion.  After our shots, we duly waited 30 minutes, without any ill effects.  I looked at people walking through the central hall.  With their faces partly hidden by masks, I paid attention instead to shapes of bodies, ways of walking, and clothes.  Most were seniors, like me, for we are the ones called up now for vaccinations.  Some were middle class, westernized; some were more villager-like, to judge from their clothes.   

        I watched the big TV high up on the wall at the far end of the central hall.  The president had just fired the chief of the Central Bank, an act that will no doubt lead to a further fall in the Turkish lira against the dollar and the euro.  Also in the news: Turkey has announced its withdrawal from the Council of Europe Convention on preventing and combating violence against women and domestic violence (= the Istanbul Convention).  This move is ironic, since this convention was opened for signing in Istanbul, and Turkey was the first country to ratify it, in 2012.  The Turkish government claims it can protect women perfectly well without the solidarity of the European Union.  It also claims the convention promotes homosexuality and undermines Turkish family values.  Not everyone in Turkey agrees with this view; there are bound to be protests.  As for violence against women, it is hard to see how withdrawing from the convention will improve things.

        After waiting our 30 minutes, we left the hospital and went to get our car.  This time, we parked in a regular parking lot (fee: 15 liras).  One month ago, when we came for our first vaccination, I had parked on the street, near a deep gutter, a small ditch.  There was some ice, but I thought nothing of it.  When we returned to the car after the vaccinations, we found the front of the car in the ditch.  Apparently the ice below the tires had melted while we were in the hospital, which caused the car to slip forward into the ditch.  We couldn’t back it out. The back wheels spun furiously on another ice patch.  Rubber pads placed beneath the tires gave no traction but were immediately thrown forward by the spinning wheels.  What to do??  Well, this is Turkey.  Three young men appeared from nowhere, and set themselves to getting the car out of the ditch.  Lifting, pushing, cardboard under the wheels – nothing worked.  Then one, perhaps an employee of a nearby parking lot, came back with handfuls of salt.  Soon the crucial ice patch began to melt and the car was freed and ready to go.   We thanked the men profusely.  They smiled, hopped into their van, and sped off. 

        Back to yesterday: returning from the hospital, we stopped at Migros, the biggest market in our neighborhood.  Our visits to Migros, normally frequent, have been rare this past year; they have become adventures.  But I had a sudden and uncontrollable desire to buy marul (Romaine lettuce), which our on-campus Meteksan market is not selling now.  We walked into the shopping center, gave our HES numbers (tracking number for virus cases) to a guard, held up our wrists to a temperature-reading device, and went through a metal detector.  Migros is a market chain, and this particular store is well furnished.  Imported pineapple was on offer; we took some.  Dried mushrooms of various sorts are sold; we bought a little package of morels.  Olives?  Migros has a big selection.  I had to get some green olives for breakfast; I particularly like çizik (cut on one side, for the curing process).  And some bread with flax seeds, not sold at Meteksan (which does have its own marvels, I hasten to add).  With beef for our main course, we left Migros with much more than the Romaine lettuce we first thought of.