Do you like bread?  I do too.  When I travel internationally, I always check out the bread.  One of the breads that I discovered on my recent visit to Turkey is called Gevrekci.  It is basically a ring of bread covered in sesame seeds.  One of the unique things about this particular bread is that it is sold by street vendors all over Izmir and typically enjoyed in the morning.

On my last day in Turkey, I decided to explore Izmir’s Kemeralti Bazaar.  Kemeralti is Izmir’s tiny version of Istanbul’s Grand Bazaar.  Although tiny in relation to The Grand Bazaar, this maze of shops and wandering vendors can become a labrynth in which you lose your bearings.  On a mission to find a scarf for my sister, I decided to explore the bazaar.  Since I would be flying back to the States via Istanbul early the following morning I decided to leave all important documents and valuables in the hotel safe and headed out armed with just my camera and a pair of sunglasses.

Along the 15-minute route from my hotel to the bazaar, I snapped photos of some of the city’s landmark’s:  The Konak Yali Mosque, The landmark clock tower of Izmir, and a Gevrekci stand.  I had been capturing shots of the various street vendors throughout the city whenever I had an opportunity and found the perfect shot of one of the omnipresent bread stands.  I snapped the photo, put my camera back into my pocket, took a few steps, and was abruptly flanked by two men who started asking me where I was from in Turkish-accented English.  Having been primed by my Turkish colleagues the night before, I replied that I was from France, complete with French accent.  My friends in Izmir suggested that I may have a more enjoyable time at the bazaar if I were to pass as a European, partly since few Turks speak French so it would be easy to extricate myself from a conversation in which a pushy vendor might be trying to unload unwanted wares on me.  It became quickly evident that this was a bad time to be pretending anything…the two men immediately produced police badges and began asking for my passport.  Of course, my passport was (foolishly) safely tucked in the hotel room safe.  After a few more minutes of questioning I was quickly ushered into a police car that had quietly appeared behind me.  Now I was scared.  Not understanding WHY I was being asked to get into the car, I was reluctant to do so.  The alternative of dodging the two armed men in the midst of the bazaar was no more appealing, so in I went. 

The two men (different from the two original ones who stopped me on the street) asked me where I was from.  I decided this was no time for stories, so I said “The United States”.  They also asked for my passport, which I couldn’t produce.  They then wanted to know what my problem was.  I explained that I had been taking pictures when I was stopped by the other two guys.  Then the car started to move.  We were now driving into the bazaar.  The car was moving at a snail’s pace surrounded by throngs of people.  We had driven too far, but had made several turns, before the car came to a stop and I was invited to exit the vehicle.  I was greeted by the two original guys who were then joined by the two drivers and a fifth man who formed a circle around me.  As they all spoke in rapid Turkish to one another I discerned that we were at least standing in front of a police station and not some unmarked hole-in-the-wall building in which I would disappear forever.  This did little to calm my nerves though since I still didn’t understand why I was suddenly the subject of a police interrogation.

Now it became clear that they were all interested in the photos that I had been taking.  So I produced the camera and began scrolling through the images.  They kept going back to the shot of the bread guy.  I found it so strange.  Then they started asking me questions about whether I’d heard about the most recent bombing in Istanbul.  Of course I had; I was just in Istanbul a few days prior to judge a cake contest.  This did not help my case.  Now the questions about why I had photographed this particular bread stand became more insistent.  They pointed out a man in the background who turned out to be an Interpol agent.  They mistakenly believed that he was the subject of my photo and that I was making him (and the landmarks I had photographed) the target of another bomb attack!  Me!  A cake designer from Chicago.  I think by this time I looked so panicked that they realized that there was no way I could be involved in something like this.  So, after 20 minutes of questioning, I was released.  With the instruction to be careful of whom I photographed while in Turkey.  Suffice it to say that the gevrekci photo you are looking at now represents the last photo I shot on this trip.

On this visit to the bazaar I was reminded of an important travel tip: always carry your passport.  Had I had it, this entire episode may have been cut short.  My visit to Kemeralti will be burned in my mind…forever.

I recently had the opportunity to travel to Turkey for a product development project for Turkey’s largest bakery franchise company, Ozsut.  While Turkey has never been at the very top of my “places to go” list, I found myself excited at the prospect when the opportunity arose.  The journey itself was the longest I have made in a single flight to get to a work destination–15 hours door to door.  I flew from Chicago directly to Istanbul then switched flights to continue on to Izmir, where I would spend the bulk of the next two weeks. 

The team with whom I worked most directly comprised 4 people, 3 Turkish-speaking chefs and one English-speaking production manager, Sena.  Sena was able to help facilitate communication among us most of the time.  During the brief periods where she would be called away to tend to other matters, communication became a game of charades mixed with the few Turkish words and phrases that I had picked up.  I can now at least list off 90% of the ingredients required for most cakes and icings without thinking.  Now if I can just learn how to order food in a restaurant, I will be all set!

The purpose of my work was to help develop some new flavor profiles and products for Ozsut’s cake line, which will be launched this Fall.  The first challenge was taking American-style products and modifying them to fit the Turkish palate; then we had to tweak the formulas to allow for differences in ingredients available in Turkey.    All in all the project was a great success and I am looking forward to many more visits to Turkey where I will continue to work with Ozsut on future projects.

While I was in Turkey, the “Cows on Parade” project came to Izmir.  Imagine my surprise to see something so Chicago on the streets of Izmir.  Ozsut even sponsored two cows, one of which is pictured here.

As you might imagine, some of the foods that I encountered were a bit different from what we consider staples in the States.  One that I enjoyed immensely is called “kokorec” (pronounced coco-wretch).  Kokorec is a plate of barbequed sheep intestines served with hot peppers and tomatoes.  I admit that I was a bit reluctant to try the kokorec as the description conjured up visions of a squishy mass with an unpleasant texture.  I couldn’t be more wrong.  The kokorec was served as a sandwich and was bursting with amazing flavor.  Adnan, the technical director at Ozsut and my primary contact there, took me to what he considered to be the place for the best (and cleanest) kokorec.  Adnan was always extremely conscientious in ensuring that I ate nothing that would make me sick during my visit to Turkey.  So, on that note, for every street food that intrigued me, he took it upon himself to find a reputable restauranteur who offered that food where I could sample it without fear.

One of the most memorable meals that I enjoyed in Izmir was at the fish market.  Adnan took me to an open-air market where we selected our fish of choice, sea bass and shrimp.  The fish were no more than 3 hours old, on ice, and sent directly to one of the restaurants behind the market where the chef prepared the fish to our liking.  I enjoyed lots of fresh fish during my stay in Turkey, but eating such a fresh catch sitting on the edge of the Aegean was nirvana.

Enjoy these photos from my recent visit…and tune in next time for stories about the cake show I judged in Istanbul and my visit to the bazaar!

I arrived at O’Hare with cake in hand and proceeded directly to an agent to check in, bypassing the self-service kiosks.  Having labeled the cake box with fantastic “Wedding Cake” labels, the agent began asking excited questions.  I figured that if everyone believed I was carrying a wedding cake instead of a simple birthday cake, more care would be given to the handling of the cake.  As soon as the agent realized that I had planned to take the cake on board with me, she insisted that I would have problems at TSA.  I assured her that I had already checked it out with a TSA agent in person at O’Hare on a previous flight as well as by phone with the airline and wasn’t too worried.  Just to satisfy her own concerns, she walked me and the cake over to the security area, cake in hand, to inquire about any special handling required.  The TSA agent she asked saw no issue, so we returned to the ticket counter to complete my check-in.  Still concerned that I would have problems with security, the ticket agent escorted me back to security, passing through the same line where she had gotten the thumbs up a few minutes prior and waited–partly to make sure I made it through, and partly in the hopes that TSA would make me open the box so she could see the cake.  No such luck for her.  I whizzed right through as though I had no luggage while agents feverishly searched an elderly woman with a container of yogurt in front of me.

Once on the plane, I placed the cake on the floor under the seat in front of me so I could keep an eye on it.  It was a little wider than my allotted area, but there seemed to be no one in the seat next to me…until about 2 minutes before our scheduled departure time.  At that point, I needed to find a better spot for the cake.  I asked one of the flight attendants if there was any way to find a safe spot somewhere on the plane for it.  Thanks to the wedding cake label, he was more than happy to try to accommodate my request.  Miraculously, he did find a compartment that was essentially the same size as the cake box, so my “wedding cake” could ride in peaceful solitude all the way to France.  He labeled the outside of the compartment “Wedding Cake: DO NOT TOUCH” and taped the door shut. 

Once I arrived in Paris, I was starting to wonder whether the passport control agent or the customs agent would give me any grief over the unusual box.  Not even a glance.  I was through passport control, collected my luggage and past customs in a matter of minutes.  As I started the long trek from the arrival gate to the RER gate to catch the train into the City, I quickly realized that there was no way that I would easily be able to manage the cake box (which seemed to be getting heavier with every step) along with all of my luggage (which contained everything I needed for the next two weeks along with the fragile sugar flowers for the wedding, I mean birthday, cake) alone on the train.  Well, on the train would be no problem.  It was the stairs and turnstyles that were beginning to make me nervous.  So, I decided to opt for a taxi to get from the airport to a friend’s apartment near the Bastille where I would spend the night before catching my train to Lille.  While convenient in terms of not having to maneuver the turnstyles or stairs of the train, or navigate the change from the RER to the Metro at the Gare du Nord, the taxi ride took nearly two hours due to the ridiculous traffic in Paris that day. 

I had forwarned my gracious host about the girth of the cake box I would be storing at his place so he had cleared out an entire shelf in his little refrigerator for it where it spent the night.  Having heard about my sugar flowers on many occasions but never seeing one in real life, Xavier wanted to see the ones that were packed away in my luggage.  I opened both boxes of gum paste orchids only to discover that one box had been packed a bit too loosely and had sustained some casualties.  Par for the course with something so fragile, but disheartening nonetheless. 

The following morning, feeling rested and wary of another too-long taxi experience, I headed to the Metro with cake and luggage in hand.  I made the trip down the stairs in two trips, wedged my way through the turnstyle and got my way to the Gare du Nord where I would catch my train to Lille.  The trip to Lille was a simple one, about two hours.  About 90 minutes into the trip, my phone rang with a text message from Stephane, the other friend who would be picking me up at the train station in Lille.  The message indicated that he was stuck in traffic and could nto get to the train station, that his father would be coming instead.  Having never met Stephane’s father, I had no idea how this would go down.

As I was getting off the train in Lille, my phone buzzed again.  Once I made it off the train and found a spot to set the cake down, I looked at the call log to see that the call I had just missed was from a “mystery number”.  It was a cell phone number from France, so I assumed it must be my ride.  I dialed the number back, reaching Stephane’s father.  He told me that he had just dropped his wife off at the train station to find me…that I should exit the train station, find the fountain out front, and look for a 60 year-old woman wearing a brown jacket.  Do you have any idea how many 60 year-old women wearing brown jackets there are in front of train stations in Lille?  More than one.  Fortunately for me, she was on the lookout for a guy with a giant cake box so I was easily found.

Once in the car, Stephane’s parents explained to me the plan: drive to their place where I would hide in the garage with the cake and await Stephane who would drive me to the party venue in Menen.  Confused about the garage piece I had to ask…turns out that the whole ruse for the surprise party was a dinner at Stephane’s parents.  So, Laurent, the guest of honor, was also on his way to their home.  Obviously he could not arrive to find me there or the surprise would be spoiled.

I was never so glad to see Stephane shortly after arriving at his parents home so the cake and I could escape the confines of the garage and begin the last leg of what was suddenly feeling like a very long journey.

In the end, Laurent was extremely surprised with the party…and everyone loved the cake. 

My travel story provided much conversation and laughter that night.  And a reason for me to never agree again to tote a cake with me on a plane for anyone.

The competition is exhilarating to witness.  Since each of the six required elements is completed live, spectators have the rare opportunity to watch the world’s top pastry chefs in their element.  Camera crews also project close ups of individual teams’ work onto theatre screens in the front of the hall for easier viewing.

Each competing country selects its own team using guidelines specified by the World Pastry Cup.  Teams test their skills during a 10-hour live competition in six areas including:

1. chocolate dessert
2. frozen dessert
3. plated dessert
4. sugar sculpture
5. chocolate sculpture
6. ice sculpture

An international jury assesses each element of the team’s performance: 60% of the total score is based on tasting, 20% on presentation of the chocolate & sugar centerpieces, and 20% on work ethic (including kitchen cleanliness and organization).  At the end of the two-day competition scores are tallied and bronze, silver, and gold medals are awarded to three teams.  In January 2009, Team France was the winner of the 11th World Pastry Cup.  ITALY came in second, and BELGIUM came in third.  Japan was the winner of the best chocolate showpiece; Team USA was the winner of the best Ice Sculpture.

If you would like to know more about the Coupe du Monde de la Patisserie (World Pastry Cup), visit:

www.worldpastrycupusa.com/theCompetition.html

www.cmpatisserie.com/2009

During the tour, I was impressed by the level of knowledge possessed by our guide (one of the family’s sons).  The photos below show the sugar cane in the field followed by the old ox-powered machine formerly used to extract the juice from the cane and the family patriarch cooking and casting the sugar into usable form.

If you find yourself in Costa Rica’s Cloud Forest (Monteverde) look up the “El Trapiche” tour for an enjoyable and educational afternoon.  http://www.eltrapichetour.com/Trapiche/Welcome.html

Crêpe stand at an open market in Paris.

Each time I return to France, I make it a point to sample as many crêpes as possible. Although crêpes are often considered to be a French delicacy, crêpes originated in Brittany (Bretagne), where they were used as bread. Brittany, a separate country until 1491, still has a very unique culture and cuisine.

In 1491, when Anne of Brittany, who had inherited the duchy of Brittany, married Charles VIII, king of France, Brittany was temporarily united with France. The union became permanent by treaty in 1532, during the reign of the French King Francis I, who had married Claude, daughter of Anne of Brittany.

The word crêpe is French for “pancake”. Crêpes were originally called galettes crêpes, meaning “flat cakes”. Today, the term galette refers to a savory crêpe served as a main dish, usually made with buckwheat flour. A crêpe is usually made with wheat flour and is generally sweeter than a galette.

The word crêpe refers both to the individual “pancake” as well as the filled product. Fillings for dessert crêpes include a wide variety of foods from fresh fruits, nuts, and chocolate. My all-time favorite is the classic butter and sugar crêpe…but I would never turn away a banana and chocolate crêpe either.

Crêpes Suzettes at Le Pharamond in Paris.

To make sweet crêpes at home, use the following recipe.

Dessert Crêpes

2 large eggs

1 C whole milk

1/3 C water

1 t vanilla

1 T rum, Cointreau, amaretto, brandy or other liqueur to match filling (optional)

2 T butter, melted

2 T sugar

1 C all-purpose flour

Beat the eggs lightly. Add the pre-combined milk, water, and vanilla followed by the liqueur and butter. Whisk in the granulated sugar and finally the flour. Mixing the batter at least 30 minutes before it is needed will allow any remaining lumps to dissolve and any unwanted froth to dissipate. Crêpe batter may even be stored overnight in the refrigerator for use the following morning for a sweet breakfast treat.