Article by Bora Isyar | Photography by Ferhat Elik | Published October 11, 2024
Borlotti/Cranberry Beans & The Raki Table
As spring gives way to summer, midway through May, barbunya (borlotti or cranberry beans) arrive in Istanbul’s neighborhood markets scattered all over the city. And Istanbulites – myself included – are drawn to the heaps of distinctively purple-streaked pods like bees to honey as fresh barbunya (like the city’s other favorite offering, sour green plums) do not have a long life span. So, until the end of the summer Istanbulites from all walks of life procure, consume, and freeze copious amounts of barbunya. (enough to last until the next crop) copious amounts of barbunya. What is so special about this legume that does not even maintain its distinctive purple streak when cooked, you ask? Well, as author Takuhi Tovmasyan puts it, “Barbunya pilaki is the most irreplaceable mezze on any rakı table.” (Rakı – the Turkish national drink – has a set of rituals strictly followed by its adorers. One of these is sitting around a table adorned with mezzes and sipping the night away, sharing the food and rakı while conversing on various subjects. Turks often refer to this as “setting up a rakı table.”)
Legumes have occupied a prominent place in Istanbul’s culinary culture from the earliest days of the Byzantine Empire onwards. So much so that Athanasius I, the Ecumenical Patriarch of Constantinople, from 1289 to 1293 and from 1303 to 1309, referred to Byzantines as kyamafagoi – legume eaters. But barbunya – generally believed to have been first domesticated in Colombia – arrived in Europe around the 16th century and quickly became a fixture of Mediterranean culinary culture. Some of the most famous barbunya dishes include stew with pancetta (Italy), stew with tripe (Portugal), salad with feta cheese and spinach (Greece), stew with shallot and sausage (France), and last but not least, pilaki (Turkey).
A Dish Defined by Tradition and Technique
The word pilaki comes from the Greek plakion, which was used to describes pans or flat skillets made of waterproof limestone. Since the turn of the 19th century, however, the word has come to refer to dishes made ins such pans or skillets. Yet, what gives pilaki its unique character is of course, not merely the pan but the method used in cooking.
Fundamentally, pilaki is the generic name given to dishes cooked using the braising method, with onions, garlic, vegetables, and olive oil as main ingredients. Although different recipes exist, there are some attributes of barbunya pilaki that define it – or, dare we say, bestow upon the dish its authenticity. First, beans should rest in water overnight to attain the perfect texture. Second, granulated sugar has tomust be fried in olive oil alongside chopped onions and garlic because that is what gives Turkish olive oil dishes their rich aroma. Third, a generous amount of cinnamon must be added to the dish, because as the author/culinary expert Levon Bağış asserts, “pilaki without cinnamon is not pilaki.” Last , but certainly not least, patience.
Novelist Mario Levi once wrote that the best pilaki he ever had was in a small restaurant in Istanbul’s historic peninsula: “It wasn’t like any other pilaki I’ve had before, no. It was lukewarm and came in tiny, white bowls. As if it was a plain bean dish. But it was anything but plain! It was glutinous and , oily. I was sure that it was some secret ingredient that made it so delicious.
One day, I asked the owner, Fehmi, what that secret ingredient was. He looked at me, smiled, and waved his hand in dismissal before saying: ‘It’s not about what you put in it, ; it’s about how you cook it. It is a question of patience. Like everything else in life.’” Indeed, it is braising that gives pilaki its delicious flavor. Not rushing, simmering in low heat, and letting vegetables release and cook in their own juices means the tastes of all the ingredients and spices are intermingled. And the end result is a proof that patience is rewarding.
The Rituals of Barbunya Pilaki: From Bazaar to Table
Although ingredients and cooking methods are key, the authenticity of a dish, I believe, cannot be reduced to them as, at least as important is the experience surrounding the dish from the procurement of the ingredients to consuming it. And the experience surrounding barbunya pilaki is as rich as its taste.
The first step is buying the barbunya from the bazaar, which is truly a ritual. It begins by snaking through the stalls, eyeing all the beans, trying to ascertain which vendor has the best. Once a decision is made, the time for bickering arrives; the customer complains about the price, and the vendor agrees that it is too high, but alas, that is what inflation does. So, the customer and the vendor concur, briefly lament for an indeterminate past, and finally, the vendor offers some discount for a bulk purchase. (Which This is why, you regularly see Istanbulites walking with giant plastic bags full of barbunya on days the neighborhood market is set up.)
Then comes the podding stage, my personal favorite. Podding also resembles a ritual and can take one of two forms: individual or communal – that is, together with friends, family, significant others, neighbors, etc. The bags full of barbunya are placed on the kitchen table alongside two large plastic bowls: one for the beans and one for the pods that will be discarded. And, once you start, the act of podding turns into a force of its own, and you carry on podding like an automaton, without thinking about your movements – similar to eating sunflower seeds and the inability to stop eating them once you start. Individual podding allows one to reflect, let her thoughts wander, daydream, or ponder upon anything and everything. On the other hand, cCommunal podding, on the other hand, occasions sometimes enchanting, sometimes serious, and many a time, nostalgic conversations on an endless array of topics: love, politics, football, children, economy, holiday plans, the past, the future…
The final stage: consumption. Barbunya pilaki can be eaten lukewarm or cold; some prefer to add a little freshly squeezed lemon juice; you might sprinkle a little bit of fresh parsley on it or not…However, to truly savor it and, to be genuinely rewarded, you must not rush. As with every aspect of pilaki, taking your time is criticalkey. Relish it – perhaps alongside a cold glass of rakı and preferably in the company of loved ones – as that is what an authentic mezze experience (if there is one) entails.