Greetings from Turkey! Looks like I’m Junta’s continent-straddling correspondent, and I’ll be bringing you what Turkish cuisine I can fit intothese posts. For starters, this post is about anchovies (stay with me…). In Turkey, anchovies are called Hamsi (pronounced HAHM-see); veteran Food Junta blogger Wills and I made hamsi in Turkey, and we think you should too, anywhere — you’re in for easy cooking and simple, finger-licking eating. Sure, most Turkish dishes meld concoctions of stews and spices, and I hope to post abbreviated, Food-Junta-ish versions of these dishes in the coming months. But for now, hamsi, laden onto a plate, thrust onto a crowded table, will bring plenty of crunchy, fishy pleasure.
Our hamsi came from the styrofoam bin of an Istanbul fish market stall — they were caught that day, and still glistened with brackish water from the Marmara Sea. We were also excited that we walked across Istanbul’s Golden Horn at sunset, Süleymaniye Mosque, casting silhouetted dreams against the evening sky, to find the fish market, and that the Turkish fish-selling man charges us about four bucks a kilogram. How great that this went on, in the same place, two, three, five hundred years ago. And, unlike the endless and titillating experimentation of American cuisine, hamsi and most other Turkish food hasn’t changed.
Hamsi is usually eaten in a
mayhane (MAY-hah-nay), which means “joy/fun house.” It is the second course of an elaborate scheme by Turkish people to sit at a table, eat, talk, and drink copious amount of
rakı for several hours. Turks, especially Ottoman Turks, have been doing this for centuries. The
mayhane is a beautiful, indulgent, drunken ritual that will sadly have wait for another post.
Carrying on centuries of tradition, Wills and I made hamsi in my Istanbul apartment for New Year’s. We and three baudy Turks bumbled around the kitchen for an hour, then stuffed ourselves. The little fish are between three and five inches long, slender, shiny silver. You know, anchovies. They can come cleaned or not cleaned, with all the mini fish-guts intact. Let me tell you, cleaning 3 kilograms of hamsi guts is work. I would go with the already-cleaned variety, though if you want to know your hamsi Michael Pollan-style, any bona fide fish monger can show you how (directions also below). Consider hamsi the tip of a Turkish culinary iceberg. Food is taken very seriously here, regardless of how simple or complex. And trust me, if meet a Turkish person and tell them you made hamsi with
misir unu (MUH-suhr OO-noo), they just might kiss you.
Hamsi Fina: A Simple Turkish Fish Fry
Ingredients
- Hamsi (fresh anchovies) 0.5 lbs per person – 1 cup Misir Unu (corn flour, not corn meal) – oil (anything but olive, we used corn) – salt, pepper, red pepper flakes – lemon and lettuce for garnish – Turkish accompaniment: stiff feta, vine tomatoes, olives, cucumber,
rakı Tools: 1 wide frying pan, newspaper
1. If necessary, clean the hamsi. If your fish-monger hides behind bullet-proof glass at Safeway, do this: at the sink, with sleeves rolled up, take one hamsi. With your no-so-coordinated hand, pinch the hamsi behind the gills. With the other, pinch the head right on the jaws. Twist and pull, like you’re picking an apple. Head and guts should come right out. Turn the fish belly-side up. Now you see a headless hamsi with a white belly made of just flimsy skin. From the head, run your finger through the body cavity and open up the belly. Wash the remaining guts out in the sink, and your hamsi is ready to be floured.
2. Mix corn flour, salt, pepper, and red pepper flakes to taste. Spread paper on the counter and dry mix on the paper. Take each hamsi, lay both sides on flour, then put aside.
3. Heat oil. Pour about 1/4 inch into the pan. When you put hamsi in, no more than 1/2 should be submerged. Put on medium-high heat (gas), but not medium because the fish won’t crisp well. Should be ready in 5 minutes.
4. Lay floured hamsi gently into the oil. You should hear a satisfying sizzling, popping sound. Cook no more than 5 minutes, then turn with a spatula. Cook no more than 4 minutes. Hamsi should be crispy, but not stiff. Lay a paper towel on a plate (or newspaper, as we used in our lack), and place hamsi there to drain.
5. Repeat until all hamsi are done. You may need to top up the oil occasionally.
(fritters on top right are not hamsi)
6. Consume with other people. This is
ev yemeği (EV YEM-ay-ee) or home cooking. Put lettuce on a plate and lay hamsi oh-so-attractively on top. Lemon goes on the side. On separate plates, put feta, sliced tomatoes, olives, and sliced cucumber. Add
rakı, and you’re starting to look a little Turkish!
