Passport & Plate - Turkish eggs
Turkey | Thursday, March 5, 2015 | 4 photos
Ingredients
Two large eggs
1 tin of tomatoes (chopped or not, doesn't matter)
1 sweet pepper
1 red pepper
1 green chilli
1 white medium onion
Handful of cherry tomatoes
Handful of olives (no stones!)
Garlic clove, finely chopped
Fresh coriander
Teaspoon of smoked paprika.
Salt and pepper- to taste
Fresh bread, to serve (I use walnut loaf)
How to prepare this recipe1. Chop all your veg- onions, peppers, chilli, and cherry tomatoes.
2. Oil a deep baking tray or deep skillet (I used a cake tin) and pop on the hob to heat.
3. Throw in the garlic, onions, chilli and peppers. Let them gently cook on a low flame until it starts to look juicy.
4. Add the halved cherry tomatoes, olives and a few ripped up bits of coriander.
5. Pour in your tinned tomatoes, season to taste, and tip in your smoked paprika.
6. Chill out for a bit while your tomatoey goodness turns into a little pool of flavours, letting the liquid reduce. Chop your bread into chunks, sneak a few olives when no ones looking, etc. Stir occasionally.
7. After about ten minutes on a low heat, use a spoon to hollow out two holes in the mixture.
8. Immediately crack one egg into each hole
9. The eggs will poach in the tomato juice- turn the heat up a little and give it four-six minutes depending on how runny you like your eggs.
10. Take the whole baking dish and pop it onto a wooden chopping board, garnish with more coriander and serve.
Scoop the mixture up with your bread, share with a friend, and enjoy.
The story behind this recipeWide-eyed, my first solo trip was to Turkey. I'd naively accepted a placement out in the sticks of Fethiye, with big plans to hitch hike and day trip and become more worldly during my work breaks.
I spent most of my shifts struggling to communicate with the grumpy staff of the hotel I was cleaning. I was desperate to befriend these stoic Turkish women, but like the mute Cinderella I was, spent most of my time mopping up around them while they grimly prepared luxurious breakfasts for the paying guests. I'd see bags of spices being tipped into great frying pans, catch glimpses of the local farmer delivering today's eggs, and stir my warm soggy cornflakes forlornly as great troughs of fresh fruit was laid before twiggy women who asked for a black tea instead and fed the cooked meats to their fluffy dogs.
Not one to be deterred by palpable food envy, I preyed over the shoulders of the chef- the comically matronly woman whose only words to me were "you mop now"- trying to curry her favour and maybe even learn a thing or two.
After a week of making beds and shooing away stray turtles, I realised that I hadn't been allowed to leave the hotel grounds- not even once. Dreams of trekking across the Turkish landscape were dwindling, so I took it up with my boss. I wanted a day off. Her reaction, oddly enough, was to be mortally offended and demand that I pack my bags and leave, immediately.
So, thrust into Turkey's tourist district with no money and certainly no clue, I had to make the rest of my trip manageable on a meagre budget and possibly Turkey's shoddiest single bed hotel room. No longer being fed three times a day by my lovely, grumpy chef, I faced my single hob and single baking tray with all the passion of a Michelin trained cook.
I copied the bits I could remember, with paprika lifted from a souvenir gift set and whatever I could afford from the Fethiye Saturday market- single green chilli, single red pepper. It was the best breakfast I've ever tasted.
