Weekly Photo Challenge: Reflections … on tea, çay, chai and my personal, globalized reality


An American in Paris, with a Turkish-American life partner after teaching in the Netherlands, with a new boiled wool clementine-colored coat crafted in Tunisia, a favorite self-portrait that gets at my #personalglobalizedreality

Source: twitter.com via Liz on Pinterest

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Early this morning, Esma the hippie puppet woke me with a whisper, saying only “it’s a new day – and you need to reflect on your personal globalized reality.” Helping me to take sips of strong glass of lemony, sugary çay made from Black Sea bred Rize tea bushes she kept repeating “reflection” over and over again. So, I did. And I focused on the muse of the moment, tea. It is not the milky, honeyed tea of my New England youth, usually an Earl Grey, Assam blend or English Breakfast brewed *just so* by my meticulous Mom, obsessed with the rules of proper tea service, even in our eccentric home.

My puppet-delivered çay brings me smooth comfort and a hint of Aegean sun when it is most needed in cold New England months, it has become equal in its comfort currency to the above-mentioned “cuppa” here in this Turkish American household. Deep in the process of sipping shallow swallows from the tiny glass, I consider the other regular teas in my life – the milky-sweet Nepali spiced chai I learned to make from a friend’s Nepali Mum long ago even though the friendship has changed – and the Kenyan chai my brother made, taught firsthand by a Masai family he spent time with in his youth (minus the nip of cow’s blood). Never mind that my bro dubbed that particular chai “the colon blaster” during our mis-spent slacker years…

Turkish Tea

Turkish Tea (Photo credit: joana hard)

And all of this tea reflection reminded me of yet another aspect of my personal, globalized reality. It is much more than the Turkish-American vortex that I have come to reside in – it is much more patchworked and global in nature, as these small sets of words about tea reveal. And that’s when Esma, the hippie puppet with the creative (and hidden competitive edge), hit me with a proposal. “M’lady, she said, “you need to submit to this week’s photo challenge over at WordPress. The theme is reflection. I learned about it on our e-friend Madhu’s blog – you know –The Urge to Wander where she highlights two lovely and engaging photos today.” Shifting in her seat on my shoulder, she pressed on, saying “Remember that photograph you took as a self-portrait last year? You should submit it – it represents your personal globalized reality to a t.” My original caption for this photo was “An ethnically mixed American with a Turkish-American life partner looking at French art deco antiques in a New England market recovering from jetlag after teaching in the Netherlands, wearing a new boiled wool clementine-colored coat crafted in Tunisia” The multiple reflections of me in this photo make this my favorite self-portrait that gets at my #personalglobalizedreality

And so I got up, looked at Madhu’s latest wonders in photography and here I am entering my photo to a contest for the first time in my life. I suppose this could reflect the new leaf that the puppets encouraged me to take yesterday, during their protest against November.

Posted in Puppets on the move around the world, Turkish Food!, Visits from the Karagöz puppets | Tagged , , , , , , | 12 Comments

“Hayır!” and “No!”: The Karagöz puppets protest November


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Image taken by accident by Liz Cameron, and approved by M. as an interesting composition. It seems appropriate for the lack of light that New Englanders experience in the end of November. The puppets crave the light and warmth of south western Turkey in the summer – not this raw blue stuff. They are a bit homesick, you see.

“Hayır!” and “No!” These were the first words I heard this morning.  One in English and one in Turkish.  In choosing to speak both languages, the puppets were embracing their cross-cultural status.  You see, it has been almost a decade that they have been on leave from the Ottoman court and in residence in my head here in Provincetown, Massachusetts.  And today, those puppets were all about the negative.

“We have,” Yehuda Rebbe said, speaking for the group, “had it with November in New England.  We want NO more of it. No more cold. No more raw, damp air.  No more rain that turns to snow. No more brussel sprouts.  No more chilly fingers. No more November. Hayır!” His proclamation met with so many “Huzzahs” that I thought we might have awoken in a Charles Dickens novel, but soon realized it was not the case when I looked up at the top of the window wall across from my bed.  There, in the pre-dawn blue light, I saw a news ticker, words slipping and sliding across the digital cradle in a manner that created mini strobe-lights in the darkened room.

November

November (Photo credit: Cape Cod Cyclist)

As all the puppets clumped together on the windowsills, shivering with the breeze coming in through those ancient windows, Hacivad Bey made his own statement:

“M’lady, much as we love your love of the autumn, we side with the little-known poet, Thomas Hood, in his revolt against November.  We have installed it here in order to celebrate the LAST day of this dratted month in New England.  Perhaps this coming month will be a new leaf for you.”

I could have almost cried for the care and attention from the puppets this morning, as I, too, felt the No! of November, one of the toughest months of my life. And here is what the puppets had programmed into that ticker machine – lord knows where they found that out here at the end of the world!

No!

A poem by Thomas Hood

No sun–no moon!
No morn–no noon!
No dawn–no dusk–no proper time of day–
No sky–no earthly view–
No distance looking blue–
No road–no street–no “t’other side this way”–
No end to any Row–
No indications where the Crescents go–
No top to any steeple–
No recognitions of familiar people–
No courtesies for showing ’em–
No knowing ’em!
No traveling at all–no locomotion–
No inkling of the way–no notion–
“No go” by land or ocean–
No mail–no post–
No news from any foreign coast–
No Park, no Ring, no afternoon gentility–
No company–no nobility–
No warmth, no cheerfulness, no healthful ease,
No comfortable feel in any member–
No shade, no shine, no butterflies, no bees,
No fruits, no flowers, no leaves, no birds–
November!

As my eyes grew used to the sparking digital display, I remembered the poem that my Mother used to read to us every November 30th, and realized the puppets must have found that crevice of my brain, and retrieved the poem.  We always celebrated the end of the dreary – and the start of the festive season, full of love, friendship and hope towards the new year.  Many thanks to my puppets for this end-of-November treat.

Posted in Visits from the Karagöz puppets | Tagged , , , | 7 Comments

Vişne reçeli in my cookie: A “Turklish” twist on Thanksgiving


Adding sour cherry jam to thumbrint cookies for Thanksgiving, Turklish-style

A few days ago, my dear friend J. took me (and my mental Karagöz puppets) over for my twice-weekly physical therapy torture for what Emsa ths hippie puppet calls “my damaged wing,” and the very proper Kenne, Queen of Manners Puppet calls “my rotator cuff.”

By the way, this voice recognition software hears “Karagöz: as “Cairo guys,” and while I thought that the software was off, Hacivad Bey, the Sufi elder puppet, reminded me that Cairo was indeed part of the Ottoman empire from which these puppets come – so I guess the software is more intelligent than I could have realized.

But in any case, there we were, me and the “Cairo guys” puppets, doing all sorts of gentle stretches and weight lifting at the rehabılıtatıon center. And while the “Cairo guys” were curious about the medicine balls, yoga twists and silent war Veterans with tears in their eyes at the pain of their exercises, they were most interested in the conversation that I had with the woman that is my physical therapist.

She is a young American woman, who is really lovely and smart. As I went through my repetitions of weight lifting, we started to talk about my husband as well as her wife, and we started to talk about Thanksgiving traditions. She is cooking her first Thanksgiving this year I think she is newly married and nervous about cooking the turkey for the family first time. And I can relate to that very much.

At this point, one of the “Cairo guys” said “Why is she nervous – do they think Turkey is going to invade United States of America? And of course, I said no, “Cairo guys”they’re talking about the bird, “not the big yellow one,” I explained reminding the puppets about the Robama debate, “the one you roast. And as all of this was going on in my head, the physical therapist turned her head ever so slightly as she asked the question I get at least once per Thanksgiving season:

So, how do people in Turkey celebrate Thanksgiving?”

Drum roll please. Silence. I didn’t expect that from someone so smart and nice. Here’s how the puppets reacted in the moment:

Karagöz himself swirled and jumped while squealing with laughter and said “another dumb American!”

Esma the hippie puppet, well, she just sighed, putting her hand on my shoulder, and said “this is just one of those moments were going to have to kindly explain to someone that they said something really stupid.”

Kenne the Queen of Manners and Maintenance of Ladylike Behavior agreed with that.

Safiye Rakkase, the vainglorious dancing girl puppet was too busy dancing to the music in the boombox there in the physical therapy room to pay attention.

Yehuda Rebbe, the wise Jewish elder puppet looked down put his hands on his religious book and begin to pray.

So, left to my own devices as the puppets waited and watched, I very gently told her that “well, we don’t celebrate Thanksgiving in Turkey as it is an American tradition,” with a hopefully kind smile on my face of course. As she blushed, I ransacked my mental pantry in order to fill the gaffe gap, and told her quickly about all of the Turkish flavor traditions we have woven into our American Thanksgiving. And this is something that many immigrants or immigrant-infused families do, tabı canım.

For us, our “Turklish” approach to the holiday usually involves a bit of sun-dried kekik (thyme) in the stuffing, or pul biber (red Aleppo pepper) rubbed into the butter that goes on the bird, but this year, it was the addition of visne recelı (sour cherry jam), in thumbprint cookies. These ones have coconut on them – and M. says they would be more “Turklish” if it were nuts, but for this year, it’s a blend, just like every other day of our life!

And before I get to that Turklishified recipe, please check out the fascinating blog from which this (new to me) word has sprung – TURKLISH!!!

This is what the final product looks like – we have eaten ours all up, so I only have the pre-baking photos from our batch….

Ina Garten’s Thumbprint Jam Cookies – alla Turca

Ingredients:

3/4 pound (3 sticks) unsalted butter, at room temperature
1 cup sugar
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
3 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
1/4 teaspoon kosher salt
1 egg beaten with 1 tablespoon water, for egg wash
7 ounces sweetened flaked coconut (or nuts, crushed)
Raspberry and/or apricot jam (I used visne receli)

Directions:

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F.

In an electric mixer fitted with the paddle attachment, cream together the butter and sugar until they are just combined and then add the vanilla. Separately, sift together the flour and salt. With the mixer on low speed, add the flour mixture to the creamed butter and sugar. Mix until the dough starts to come together. Dump on a floured board and roll together into a flat disk. Wrap in plastic and chill for 30 minutes.

Roll the dough into 1 1/4-inch balls. (If you have a scale they should each weigh 1 ounce.) Dip each ball into the egg wash and then roll it in coconut. Place the balls on an ungreased cookie sheet and press a light indentation into the top of each with your finger. Drop 1/4 teaspoon of jam into each indentation. Bake for 20 to 25 minutes, until the coconut is a golden brown. Cool and serve.

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Posted in Turkish Food!, Turkish-American Matters, Visits from the Karagöz puppets | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | 15 Comments