Every cuisine in the world has flavor profiles that define it. Some are defined by sweetness or saltiness, while others are known for their love of spicy flavors. Recently, the renowned historian Massimo Montanari visited Istanbul to deliver a lecture at Özyeğin University. He is a leading authority in Europe, particularly on the history of agriculture and food in the Middle Ages. Montanari has notable theories about the historical evolution of Italian cookery and how food became an important element of national identity. He also heads the committee preparing the application file for Italian cuisine to be included on the UNESCO Intangible Cultural Heritage list. He has therefore conducted in-depth research tracing the origins and symbolic meanings of iconic dishes that are now considered representative of Italian cuisine, from pizza to pasta with tomato sauce.
Bitter or sour?
On our first night in Istanbul, we met Montanari together with Professor Özge Samancı and had the opportunity to talk about the flavor profiles of different countries. Montanari has written a book titled “Amaro” about the importance of bitter flavors in Italy. Amaro is the Italian word for bitter, which we define as the bitterness of quinine. Indeed, when you think about it, herbs, foraged greens and vegetables such as artichokes and chicory that contain bitterness, as well as bitter-tasting liqueurs which are drunk as digestifs or aperitivos, all fit this definition. Recalling our conversation with Montanari, I remembered a previous discussion with Claudio Chinali, an Italian chef based in Istanbul. He had commented that sourness is the dominant flavor in Turkish cuisine. Indeed, that is correct. We hardly ever have a meal without yogurt, pickles are always on the table and vinegar is always at hand. We almost always squeeze lemon into many dishes and soups, our favorite soup tarhana has real tang, so do yogurt-based soups. Tart fruits such as greengages, unripe almonds and plums and sour cherries are our foremost choices. We use sumac spice to sprinkle on kebabs, we love sour pomegranate extract to drizzle on salads and mezes and many of our regional dishes start with the word “sour.” However, when it comes to bitterness, we hesitate. But when we give it some thought, there are those hidden bitter tastes that we're rather fond of, particularly one secret bitterness that we can't seem to let go of.
Science and Cooking World Congress
Some spices and aromas can instantly transport us to a particular place. When we think of basil, for example, we think of Italian cuisine; when we think of curry, we think of Indian cuisine. While discussing countries' flavor profiles with Montanari, I couldn't help but consider the subtle bitter flavors in our own cuisine. This idea formed the basis of my presentation at the 6th annual Science and Cooking World Congress (SCWC) in Spain. The congress brings together researchers, scientists and chefs from around the world at the University of Barcelona. Each year, there are talks, presentations and tastings based on a selected theme, which was aromas and flavours this year. The driving force behind the congress is Pere Castells, the chemist who worked with the renowned Spanish chef Ferran Adrià, a leading representative of molecular cuisine. Participants also include the founders of the Food and Science programme at Harvard University. With a strong presence from Latin American countries, the congress features a variety of fascinating topics. As the Turkish delegate to the congress, my topic was about that hidden secret bitterness in our food palette.
Secret mystical flavors
Two lesser-known secret flavors of Turkish cuisine are mahlep and mastic. These flavors, which we take for granted, instantly change the aroma of many foods. Name most of the bakery products that come to mind, such as poğaça, çatal çörek, kandil simidi, including festive tastes like Paskalya çöreği aka Easter bread, mahlep cookies and so on… The secret to most baked goods that come out of the oven, whether sweet or savory, is mahlep. Mahlep has a bitter almond taste. This is because it is actually tiny almonds, or kernels about the size of lentils, found inside wild cherry pits. The wild cherry tree (Prunus mahaleb) fruits are impossible to eat, too astringent and almost with no flesh, but the kernel is valued as a spice. It gives every food it is added to that subtle, yet elusive, bitter almond taste. Mastic, on the other hand, is the resin of the wild pistachio tree. A characteristic of this species, also known as the mastic tree (Pistacia lentiscus), is that it only produces resin in trees growing on the island of Chios and its opposite Turkish shore, Çeşme. The taste of mastic is also a resinous flavor containing a subtle bitterness. However, when added to milk-based desserts, especially ice cream, it imparts a unique scent and aroma. When chewed on its own, mastic has a slightly bitter taste. Interestingly, when these two surprising flavors — one from wild cherry and the other from wild pistachio — combine, their effect is even more powerful. When used together in flavors like Easter bread, they create a magnificent, almost mystical aroma. So nostalgic, so romantic… Maybe because flavor and aroma are not only about taste, but about memories that come along with it. These two bitterish tastes always bring sweet memories of the past in a geography that spans from the Balkans to the Middle East, actually, the former Ottoman geography. It carries the markers of our shared culinary heritage, which bonds us beyond boundaries.
