Similar celebrations...

One of the things World Blog Surf Day does is show how cultures have lots of things in common holidays are no different. First there is the cooking and baking that must be done. Some things prepared in advance, others closer to the time but all according to secrets passed through the generations. Second is the cleaning. Everything must be cleaned, dusted, polished; ready for the next step. This is the visiting. Aunts, uncles, grandparents or parents must be visited and visitors must be welcomed into shining houses smelling of baking and delicious food.

In Ireland Christmas is the biggest celebration. Pudding, cake, trifle and mince pies prepared in advance; turkey, ham and roast potatoes on the day. My mother washing the kitchen floor at 1am when everyone else is in bed waiting for Santa Claus to arrive. Visiting my aunt and then on St Stephen’s Day the whole of my mother’s family coming for dinner. My mother spent both days in a panic of cooking and only rested by leaving my father to do the washing up!

In Turkey there are two celebrations that require similar preparation; Ramazan Bayram and Kurban Bayram. Ramazan Bayram marks the end of Ramazan, the Muslim month of fasting and is an orgy of food and sweets. Children must kiss the hands of their elders to celebrate the day and receive their allotment of sweets. Family visits are mandatory and can take up all three days of the holiday. My daughter was born on the first morning of Ramazan and as I struggled to keep some dignity the hospital board visited the ward giving chocolates to all the new mothers. I think it was the only time I ever turned down chocolate. There is Turkish delight, lokum, chocolate, boiled sweets, and of course baklava, layers of paper-thin pastry brushed with butter, sprinkled with nuts and drenched in syrup. The days beforehand involve terrific cleaning and preparing stuffed grape or cabbage leaves, borek a savoury pastry, and lots of dishes that can be served with tea.

Kurban Bayram is the sacrifice festival when animals are slaughtered and the meat divided between family, neighbours and poor people. Accompanying the sweets neighbours drop in with plates of fresh meat. While the councils set up special slaughter houses, some people prefer to do it themselves, killing animals on roadside verges, roundabouts and any other common ground. Inevitably some animal makes a break for it, causing havoc as it runs through crowded city streets.

Now on to Martin at Bulgarian Silvatree for the next stop on the World Blog Surf Day.

Thanks to Karen, an American expat blogger last seen in Prague, for being the World Blog Surf Day reporter. The Wall Street Journal said, "Her blog, Empty Nest Expat, makes a fun read for anyone looking for reassurance that change can be a wonderful thing--and also for anyone interested in visiting the Czech Republic.

And of course a big, big thank you to Sher at Czech Off the Beaten Path for arranging the World Blog Surf Day.

A scone, a goat and the Conor Pass

Food has memory. Each mouthful transfers those memories directly to the sense centres in the brain, allowing the entire body to engage with the taste. As an expat I started to build these memories of Turkish food later in life, and initially looked on in amazement as my friends went wild for a dish that may not be appetizing to look at or eat. It happens in the opposite direction too.

Now there should be a picture of a scone here, but it being a hectic week I didn't have time to make any. So use your imagination and picture a golden brown bun studded with raisins, the firm crust masks a butter-yellow, springy inside. It smells of warmth and tastes of comfort. The mouths of anyone from Ireland or the British Isles should be watering.

Handing a plate of these to a Turk, smiling proudly at how close they resemble my mother's scones, there is a moment of anticipation before they take one. It's obviously not like baklava, the layers of buttered filo pastry and nuts, so soaked in syrup it melts in the mouth. It's not like simit, the teatime standard, a ring of twisted bread covered in sesame seeds. Perhaps it's a little more like poğaca, soft pastry enclosing cheese or olives. The closest would be kuru pasta; sweet or salty bite-size pastries. So they bite the dry scone and nod faint approval, though it's hard to know do they approve of the scone or the fact that I baked them myself.

I cut my scone in two, lather on butter generously, spread strawberry jam and then, to amazed stares, I top it all with a dollop of sugary whipped cream. As the butter melts I bite and am eleven or twelve years old again. We are in a hotel, sitting down to afternoon tea by a large bay window overlooking Dingle Bay in the southwest of Ireland.

We have been driving past corry lakes and green cliffs on a steep mountain road. In spite of the remoteness of the area there is traffic, slowed further by the narrowness of the road. We have made our way from Tralee, I think, past Castlegregory and Mount Brandon to climb over the Conor Pass. We stopped cautiously at the top of the pass looking south towards Dingle Bay and north to Mount Brandon. Our caution had nothing to do with the many cars and caravans constantly pulling over without regard for pedestrians. It was to do with goats. Years before we stopped here just as a herd of goats was roaming by. My mother decided to take a photo of myself and my sister beside one of the goats. We posed, two skinny-legged kids in shorts. And as the camera shutter clicked our goat friend turned and butted my little sister squarely on her hip. The scene is re-enacted with my little brother as the goat, much to my sister's disgust.

And finally my father asks are we hungry. He has been talking about these scones all day; it will be a big treat, the hotel is famous for them. And in spite of our pre-teen skepticism, he is right: they are the most delicious scones, served at just the right temperature with homemade strawberry jam and magnificent whipped cream. We devour the lot and possibly even order more.

I look up to find my Turkish guests with quizzical looks on their faces. I choose not to tell them my recollections, let them make their own memory of scones - eaten with cream by the foreigner with a wistful grin.

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Here's Corinne, the next post in the World Blog Surf Day list. And the WBSD link list, just in case.

Thanks to Sher for arranging World Blog Surf Day and to Anastasia as offical Twitterer for WBSD. Anastasia Ashman (Thandelike) is an American cultural producer based in Instanbul, and is a creator of Expat Harem, the anthology by foreign women about modern Turkey. Her Tweetstream focuses on women, travel and history, and she shares resources for writers/travelers, expats, Turkophiles and culturati of all stripes.
Twitter Home Page: Thandelike

Attention, please..

I had great plans to write a wonderful post today but after a night of interrupted sleep and a child with a rash to think about my mind is not fully focused. Instead I'll just get to the point!

Photo credit: NASA, public domain

I'll be participating in World Blog Surf Day on Saturday. Thirty-one expat bloggers will blog about 'Food', linking to each other in a chain. All organised by Sher. Thank you very much. Anastasia Ashman will be tweeting about the posts.

So check in here and you can travel around the world from your armchair!