Baked Sea Bass in Paper

If the picture looks familiar, that's because you've seen it before, in my Asparagus Salad with Sweet Balsamic Vinaigrette post. As promised, here's how you make the entree I paired it with.

This one is another gem I picked out of a Turkish cookbook while living in Ankara. It's quick and easy, requiring only about 20 minutes of prep and 20 minutes preparation -- earning it a place on my weeknight cooking rotation -- and tastes wonderful. My mother claimed it as a new favorite and immediately asked me for the recipe, for what that's worth.

As every cook recognizes, preparing any meat dish requires a touch for retaining moisture. Too much time or heat can result in a dessicated fillet with not much flavor or texture to its name, while too little risks undercooking the meat and leaving you susceptible to all kinds of nasty food-borne illnesses. This recipe sidesteps the dilemma in a unique and effective way: by baking the fish inside a parchment paper packet. Done right, this method keeps all the flavors and moisture trapped inside the steak while cooking it clean through -- resulting in a delicious entree that will earn you many compliments!

This dish is also pretty quintessentially Turkish. Turkish recipes all tend to draw from the same basic group of ingredients and seasonings: lemon, parsley, thyme, red pepper flakes, cumin, tomatoes, onion, and olive oil (making us 6 for 8). Simple, but effective -- just because it's foreign doesn't mean it has to be exotic.

Recipe after the jump:

Mantı: how the Turks do meat dumplings

I'm seeing an alarming lack of good ol' fashioned MEAT dishes on this blog. Also, I promised in my first post that you would see some authentic Turkish dishes from me, so here you go.

Mantı ("dumpling"), pronounced MAHN (as in
"Ma" and "Pa") tooh (as in "woof"), can be found all over central Asia and even into the former Soviet bloc and Northwest China. As might be expected, it is a touchstone of classical Turkish cooking. However, it's not the sort of dish you will find readily in the restaurants of Ankara or Istanbul. That's because mantı, despite being a relatively straightforward food to make, tends to be rather time-consuming and labor-intensive if you want to do it right. The only occasion that I ever had the pleasure to sample this dish in all its home-cooked glory was when one of my Turkish co-workers invited me and some other American teachers into her Ankara apartment for a traditional Turkish dinner.

When you think of mantı, you should picture an assembly line consisting of a Turkish mother and her daughters (and in some cases, her sons) in the kitchen on a Sunday afternoon, laughing and gossiping and talking about the events of the week as they patiently knead the lumps out of the homemade dough, pound out and roll the pasta into thin sheets, and assemble the dumpling pouches with precision and dexterity. For many Turks, the dish is just as much a socio-familial institution as it is a culinary one; that's half the fun of preparing it. It's very much akin to baking a cake/pie or grilling steaks in American culture -- the sort of thing you do with family and friends on a lazy Sunday afternoon.

Perhaps the best thing about this dish is how much mileage you can get out of the leftovers. While assembling the mantı is time-consuming, cooking them is not: like any pasta, all you need is to boil some water and prepare a quick sauce. Many Turkish families will spend their Sundays preparing a week's batch of dumplings, storing them in the fridge or freezer to be served on those nights of the week when no one has the energy to cook anything else. I suggest that you do the same -- if your family doesn't gobble them all up like mine did!

So without further ado, here is my personal recipe for mantı, collated from the tips and tricks of my Turkish co-workers and prepared -- in the spirit of the dish -- with the company of my mother.