Have Spatula Will Travel
INSIGHTS that might never occur to you while eating hot yogurt soup in a restaurant in Istanbul suddenly take on a surprising clarity when making that soup yourself in a hotel kitchen there — the combination of the delicate egg yolks, tangy yogurt, lemon and mint evoking both a past where nomadic Turks first turned milk into yogurt and a present where their descendants eat the thick and creamy creation with almost every meal.
Two summers ago, that moment was mine. I stood in an intimate cooking class at the Sarnic Hotel, in Sultanahmet, or Old Istanbul, as the hotel’s chef guided me and four other students (my friend Carla, a Canadian couple also on vacation in Istanbul and a Japanese woman living in the city) through the preparation of a five-course traditional Turkish meal in the Sarnic’s unfussy professional kitchen.
The melding of both culinary and cultural lessons began in the lobby of the lovely Sarnic where Eveline Zoutendijk, the Dutch proprietor and host of the cooking class, greeted us and gave a short introduction to the long history of Turkish food. “The Turks were nomads,” she explained, “which is why they eat flatbread, yogurt, cheese and grilled meats. It was the Ottomans who later used saffron, pistachios, rice and other expensive, imported items.”
In the Sarnic’s kitchen, we tied on our aprons, took up our knives and instantly became prep and sous chefs for the morning. As cooks everywhere in Turkey do, Murat Ozdemir, then the chef at the Sarnic, began his day by deciding which of about 200 Turkish eggplant dishes to serve. He showed us how to shave zebra stripes on the eggplant with a vegetable peeler and halve it lengthwise, making two vessels to hold heaping fillings of onions, tomatoes, dill, basil and mint, and then how to braise them in luxurious amounts of olive oil. Ms. Zoutendijk told us, meanwhile, that the name of this famous dish, imam bayildi, was translated as “the imam fainted” because a certain imam was said to have swooned while eating it and the fragrant olive oil dribbled down his chin.
As the chef demonstrated how to prepare steaming-hot, stuffed vine leaves — and we student-chefs washed and trimmed the grape leaves, rolled them up with lamb, rice and herbs and placed them in the pot to simmer — there was talk of the early Turkic empires and how they borrowed recipes from the kitchens they conquered, such as this originally Persian delight.
By the time the dessert of saffron-rosewater pudding had cooked and cooled, and we had garnished it with pistachios and pomegranate seeds, the Ottoman Empire, with its taste for the most luxurious of ingredients, had come viscerally alive.
We felt a bit like sultans ourselves as we lunched on our own multi-course meal in the hotel’s rooftop dining room, where we could gaze directly upon the magnificent Blue Mosque and even imagine the Hagia Sofia just beyond, its A.D. 537 Christian domes flanked by post-1453 Muslim minarets. On our table, a distinctly Turkish marriage of ingredients from east and west was paired with a glass of crisp white wine. We happily soaked in the sun as well as the fact that we had come to know this city and its incredibly rich history a little better through its food.
Ever since a trip to Vietnam two years ago, during which I toured the exotic food markets of Nha Trang with the hotel chef at the Ana Mandara resort and learned how to make my own rice paper for spring rolls at cooking schools in Hoi An, I have been convinced that there is no better way to get to the heart of any city than through its cuisine. And that means not just eating it, but shopping for it, cooking it and beginning to understand it. Step off the expected tourist track for as little as one morning or afternoon in a cooking class and you can witness and be a part of living history, as kitchens are often the last great bastions of cultural tradition in the modern world.
Planning my trip to Istanbul, on what would be my first visit to the city, I knew I had to find a cooking class. I promised myself that by the time I got back, I would not only be familiar with the food, I would be able to whip up authentic Turkish dishes myself.
I am obviously not alone in my desire to use a vacation as a culinary learning experience. One glance at Web sites for either ShawGuides (cookforfun.shawguides.com) or the International Kitchen (www.theinternationalkitchen.com) and you’ll find an ever-growing list of culinary schools and vacations around the world. These vacations most often last several days and are fantastic if you have the time, money and inclination to take a more-structured trip. But as culinary destinations, hotels like the Sarnic generally require a much smaller commitment—perfect for those traveling with a noncooking spouse or friend — while offering both ease and expertise. Just head to the kitchen and get cooking with a master.
“While there are no statistics on this, we’ve definitely noticed a surge in offerings by hotels in the past five years,” said Erik Wolf, president of the International Culinary Tourism Association. Hotels have taken note not only of the growing interest in cooking but of the popularity of TV shows on the Food Network and Travel Channel that combine food and travel. “But there are a couple different levels when it comes to quality,” he continued, “with some hotels just trying to capitalize on the trend and others doing it really well.”
Regardless of form, all the best cooking classes dish up a little culinary history to accompany the local ingredients and cooking methods. The difference among them has more to do with how they impart that sense of culture and tradition. Some hotels offer an array of classes in the basics of their national cuisine, allowing you to come back for seconds or thirds to learn new things. Others focus on getting you out of the kitchen and into the local market to soak up the full range of the cooking experience. And while some serve their classes family-style, giving outsiders a rare look at how home cooks do it, others offer the opportunity to rub shoulders and knives with culinary stars.
EXPAND YOUR REPERTOIRE
The best part about taking classes in a cuisine you already tend to cook, such as Italian or Mexican, is the chance to expand on your repertoire and see how it’s done in the home country. It’s even better when you can just roll out of bed each morning and tackle a different menu, spending one day on Neapolitan-style pizza and perhaps returning on another for pasta, as you can at the Sorrento Cooking School at the Esperidi Resort on the Amalfi Coast in Italy.
Likewise, in Mexico, you might start with chalupas and end with chiles rellenos, as did Joan Leach, a retired school administrator from Fort Worth, Tex., when she and three friends headed to Puebla last September for what she calls “serious hands-on cooking classes” at the boutique hotel Mesón Sacristía de Capuchinas. Though she admits she doesn’t often attempt the “out of this world” chiles rellenos, she does frequently make both the green and red salsas, the basis for dishes including killer chilaquiles verdes. “Chef Alonso Hernández truly wanted us to leave with the ability to cook the traditional Mexican dishes and with an appreciation for the culinary tradition,” said Ms. Leach, 62, on TripAdvisor. “He succeeded beautifully.”
OFF TO MARKET
Foreign food markets can be otherworldly and overwhelming to first-time visitors, and the excitement of discovering a seemingly endless assortment of new foods can be outweighed by pungent smells, shocking sights and intimidating proprietors.
A guide can turn trepidation into sheer joy as he stops to explain what the crazy-looking dragon fruit is and what you do with it or steers you toward the best soup stall and lets you in on its delicious secrets, as one of the kitchen staff at the Amansara Resort in Cambodia is likely to do during a tour of the labyrinthine Old Market in Siem Reap. Similarly, in Chiang Mai, the foodie capital of Thailand, the Four Seasons Resort begins its class with a venture to one of the city’s legendary markets.
And while it’s hard to top the sensory adventure of an Asian market, Rungis outside of Paris, the largest fresh-food wholesale market in the world since it replaced the legendary Les Halles, promises thrills like no other. Those outside the food trade aren’t normally allowed entry to the 573-acre market, which makes the package offered by the InterContinental Paris Le Grand Hotel a rare treat. This day-in-the-life-of-a-chef experience begins with a 3:30 a.m. visit to Rungis with the chef of the hotel’s Café de la Paix restaurant, Laurent Delarbre (or his assistant). Put your walking shoes on and dive in, winding through the various pavilions, past the 19 varieties of pears, the countless superbly smelly cheeses and the de-haired pigs’ trotters before stopping at the squirming lobsters to choose one for the lobster salad with passion fruit that will be made in class.
FAMILY STYLE
Even though top hotels are justifiably proud of their chefs, they also know that when it comes to the kitchen, Mama often knows best. At the the Oberoi Vanyavilas in Rajasthan, India, guests learn about both resort cooking and home cooking, with one of the chefs who grew up in the area sharing recipes handed down from his grandmother and prepared over a traditional charcoal stove. While in Morocco, guests at La Maison Arabe are taken under the wing of the hotel dada. Generations of well-off Moroccan families have been well fed by a dada, a housekeeper/cook, traditionally from sub-Saharan Africa, who has mastered the art of couscous, and you will be too.
Or you can learn from the entire family at the Amandari resort in Bali. Its one-day culinary immersion takes place in a nearby Balinese village. The matriarch demonstrates how to make spicy sambals, or cooking pastes, and dishes simmer with meat and fruit over a charcoal stove. Just like in the United States, the patriarch will be out back grilling, or in this case spit-roasting a suckling pig, while guests help prepare and present offerings for the family temple. (Is there any doubt the gods will be smiling?)
SEEING STARS
Though “starred” and otherwise acclaimed chefs seldom have time for one-on-ones with devotees, there are some exceptions. The Michelin two-star chef Raymond Blanc, is one example. Though he leaves most of the teaching to his staff at Le Manoir aux Quat’Saisons, his English country house hotel in Great Milton, Oxford, the master does lead a class in Nutrition et la Cuisine Moderne, so he himself can disabuse students of the notion that healthy eating means calorie-counting.
And there will certainly be no calorie-counting at the Michelin one-star La Table du Baltimore at the Sofitel Baltimore Paris, where the chef Jean-Philippe Perol leads guests in the preparation of seasonal dishes such as seabream roasted with olives or saddle of rabbit and a master sommelier guides them to wines
No fewer than three masters step up to the plate for the Symphony of Pasta class at Villa San Michele, a former monastery on a hilltop overlooking Florence. The hotel’s own chef and those of the Hotel Cipriani in Venice and the Hotel Caruso in Ravello bring home the diversity of Italian cooking.
Carolyn Landolfo, a cardiologist from Augusta, Ga., took a course last May that was a Christmas gift from her husband. “We each ground our own flour to make whole-grain pappardelle with sheep cheese and fresh herbs from the garden,” she said. Not only does she still make most of the recipes she learned—including the octopus, which she “never in a million years would have tried at home before the class”— but she also took away techniques for making savory dishes with only a few simple ingredients. “And when I got home,” said Dr. Landolfo, 44, “I planted an herb garden because I felt like I couldn’t live without them.”
Cooking abroad really can change how you cook at home. Carla and I left our Istanbul cooking class and headed straight to the 400-year-old Spice Bazaar, armed with our newly gained knowledge of Turkish ingredients as well as market tips from our teachers and fellow foodie travelers. Though I watched in disbelief as Carla bought a kilo of red pepper flakes (that’s right, 2.2 pounds) and had it vacuum-packed to take home. We also stocked up on dried mint, lemony sumac and long, flat, metal kebab skewers that were worth the extra interrogation at the airport X-ray machine.
I now use those ornate mini-swords for grilling just about everything, but particularly for eggplant, in just one of my now-numerous recipes using Turkey’s favorite vegetable. I fire-roast them, I braise them, I drench them in olive oil, I serve them with yogurt, and I swoon like the imam when I eat them.
“Ellerinize saglik,” or “Health to your hands” I think to myself each time, remembering how the Turks begin a meal not just by blessing the food, but the cook as well. “Ellerinize saglik.”
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