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Dear Turkish Food:

a love note for a kitchen

semi-overcast -1 °C

Dear Turkish Food,

I am sorry if this is forward but there are a few things I need to get off my chest. First of all, I can't stop thinking about you. I wake up in the morning and all I can think of is when I will be with you again. When I fall asleep at night it is you I dream of. I think I am in love with you.


As soon as we met I knew this was different. I've never felt this way before, and never so fast. You're the most amazing kitchen I've ever been with. You can be so sweet as a fresh baklava glowing with honey and delicate like the first frost of the year, then the next moment shake me up as a spicy little eggplant of sass. Surely you know how amazing you are; locals refer to your pilav-stuffed eggplants as Imam Bayildi, literally the Imam fainted. It is no surprise that Holy men are in awe of your power.

This is no superficial infatuation, Turkish Food. My love for you has been forged in the fire of traditional ovens and will stand the test of time. We have tested some boundaries and experimented with kokoreç, and Turkish Food, roasted sheep intestines have never made me feel so alive.


Even in your quiet moments when you're a simple cup of steaming çay you exude a simple elegance worthy of a 3-part Shakespearean tragedy or symphony.


I know we have something special, Turkish Food, because I can see you are also intrigued by me. It is indeed a delight to see you watching me from the bazaars as glowing piles of lokum and nougat, taunting me with your beauty and trying to lure me closer.

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I feel you trying to hug me with your scent of fresh balık ekmek in the fish markets and by the port. You tempt me even in the early hours when a fish sandwich is the last thing I would normally want. And if the day has been long you are there to comfort me as simit, the street bread that is baked into a circle but I know was meant to be a heart.


I now understand how Hades lured Persephone into becoming his Queen of the Underworld for half the year. I too, would be unable to resist the love of your pomegranate, eventually causing my mother so much pain from my absence that winter would descend on the world for the first time.


If you love me too then fret not, Turkish food, for I long for you with every ounce of my being. I have never been the kind of girl to stay with just one kitchen but with you it is different. If you will give yourself to me I will give you everything I have in return. I will provide you with the finest china and offer you silver every day - nay, three times a day. I will never leave you behind or let anyone else close to you. We will be deliriously happy together.

You will be mine, all mine, forever.

Posted by LeiCran 21:13 Archived in Turkey Tagged food

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Dear little sweetheart,

Please, please, please send me some of that Turkish Delight. I promise I wont "waist" it. The mind "blog"gles, the taste buds "twitter", the stomach and intestines "goo(r)gle" and all the senses are held in suspended animation awaiting the delectable saliva stimulating pleasure that is being so deliciously denied . . .

Marie Antoinette said, "Let them eat cake": Obviously she had no idea of the Turkish Delight in your kitchen.

Show me De Light !!!!

luvya, prouduvya,

big (especially around the waist) daddy-o

by big daddy-o

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