Braised lamb in peach gastrique with sweet potato scallops, baby eggplant, and poached pears

That's right, there's French in the title. We're getting fancy this week.

Actually, this dish isn't nearly as difficult as it sounds. It's certainly time intensive -- requiring a little more than three hours altogether, from start to finish -- but for the most part you're just chopping things up and then throwing them in a pot of simmering liquid. Also, it's relatively cheap and uses lots of fresh, seasonal produce, with the only semi-expensive item being the lamb shank. I don't know about you, but I can certainly appreciate an entree that constitutes a full meal in and of itself -- no soups, sides, or salads needed to round this one out.

I recommend you cook this on a lazy Sunday afternoon, reading a good book or playing vidja games during the recipe's downtime (of which there is quite a bit). Use it to impress your boyfriend/girlfriend/platonic life-mate while saving the money you might have blown going on a date to a fancy restaurant.

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.