Before I returned to New York this fall to start the painful (albeit exciting) process of finding a “real job,” I spent two months on a State Department scholarship, learning intermediate Turkish in Ankara, Turkey. I graduated from Columbia in May, and was happy to get some more travel experience under my belt before taking the on the full responsibilities of supporting myself as a real person in the big city.

I had taken two semesters of Turkish in school, but was nearly incapable of producing a full sentence in Turkish when I climbed into the back seat of my host family’s car on the first day of our program in Ankara. Sure, I knew all of the verb tenses, could explain the accusative case in my sleep, and had already spent hours rhapsodizing about some of my favorite Turkish constructions to my linguist friends back home. But hold any semblance of a conversation? Forget it. As my host mother smiled at me from the front seat, she began to rattle off questions about my flight, if I was hungry, where I was from… or at least that’s what I assume she must have been asking. I was flying down Ataturk Boulevard, on my way to settle in my new home for two months, and my complete lack of listening comprehension was only worsened by the deafening Turkish pop music blaring from the speakers behind me and the distracting sights of Turkey’s second largest metropolis moving past us outside the car window.

That night, it was all nods and smiles. I was on the brink of collapse from the long trip, but they managed to feed me large amounts of food, exhaust my limited knowledge of Turkish, and give me a cake they’d baked just for my arrival. It was delicious, and like the dinner my host mother had prepared, set the tone for my ongoing love affair with Turkish food that continues to this day.

Before coming to Turkey, I fantasized that I’d spend hours in the kitchen, bonding with my host family, and learning how to make traditional Turkish food while learning all about the culture and language of the country. And somehow, I managed to do just that. Although I spent hours in class every day, learning the ins and outs of Turkish grammar, history, and politics, my listening and speaking abilities improved the most when I was just hanging out with my host mother, preparing, eating, or digesting whatever large amounts of food were on tap for the day.

I watched her prepare the beans, chick peas and potatoes, rice pilaf, stuffed bell peppers, and salads that provided the foundation of my sustenance this summer. The more time I spent with her in the kitchen, the more I was eager to learn and the more she was willing to show me. (Because I was a guest in the house, it took me a good two weeks to be allowed to do dishes or to get my own tea after dinner). Once I was able to communicate my love for cooking (and let’s be real here, my love for all things food), she happily set aside times for us to prepare and eat some of the more labor-intensive dishes in the repertoire of Turkish cuisine.

We started with mant, a sort of mini ravioli served with yogurt and tomato sauce, moved on to stuffed grape leaves and lentil köfte (a vegetarian “meatball”), and finished the summer with a dinner party centered around the production of çi köfte, a very popular Turkish dish made from kneading raw meat with spices for about an hour until it’s cooked.

It was in the kitchen, on the balcony, and around the dining room table that I learned the most Turkish. My host mother was my language partner and I was her sous-chef. And when I think back on the summer, it’s the food and the interaction with my family that I miss the most. In many cases, they’re interwoven. Since leaving Turkey, I’ve enjoyed cooking some of the recipes with friends in New York to keep the summer alive and share with them my obsession with simple, fresh, delicious Turkish cuisine.

One of the simplest recipes is also one of my favorites: that for mercimek köfte, a filling and nutritious vegetarian dish that is both easy to make and elegant to serve. I often ordered the köfte in one of the restaurants near the Turkish-American Association, where we took our classes, but of course they couldn’t compare to the mountain I prepared one afternoon in July with my host mother and grandmother. As we sat in the kitchen shaping the “meatballs,” I practiced my Turkish, intermittently stealing scoops of the still-warm mixture to taste before it was shaped. Eating the finished product, with fresh squeezes of lemon juice, was of course even better. My host grandmother ate most of hers before they even reached the serving platter.

Below is the recipe for the lentil köfte, as given to me by my host mother. Because you’re mixing everything together, don’t worry about the exact measurements of all the ingredients. Feel free to taper it to your individual taste and to what’s on hand in the kitchen. And I suggest having a few helpers on hand, whether friends or family members, to add life to your cooking and to speed up the köfte-shaping process once your lentil mixture is complete!

Mercimek Köfte (Vegetarian “meatballs”)

INGREDIENTS:
2 cups red lentils
2 cups bulgur wheat
4-6 cups water
1 head romaine Lettuce
1 small bunch of Scallions
1 small bunch of Parsley
2 small onions
2 small long green chile peppers
2 small cans Tomato paste
Dried red pepper
Salt and pepper
Dried mint
Oil (corn, vegetable, or olive should be fine)

Boil the red lentils for approximately 10 minutes (with salt) at a 2:1 or 3:1 water to lentil ratio. While they’re cooking, finely chop the bulgur wheat in a food processor and put them aside. Wash and chop the lettuce, scallions, and parsley as finely as you can.

When the lentils are cooked, add the bulgur to the pot and mix them in well. Turn off the heat, cover, and let sit for 10 minutes.

In a food processor, mince the onions and the green peppers. Sauté those lightly in a saucepan with ½ cup of oil for approximately 5 minutes or until tender.

While they are cooking, add the crushed red and black pepper to the lentil mixture (to taste).

To the onions and green pepper, stir in the tomato paste, along with dried mint and red pepper to taste. Add this to the lentil mixture, along with the chopped greens. Mix well and let cool.

Once your lentil “paste” is cooled enough to handle it, shape the mixture into köfte with your hands, allowing the spaces between your fingers to create ridges as you go.

Serve the finished lentil köfte with lettuce and lemon wedges. Enjoy!