Zimmer: The Red Ones & The Blue Ones with a Side Order of Spiced Kofta...

15

Renate had rung earlier that morning asking if Amelia might have a moment to spare to collect a parcel before the dinner party later that evening. The feast Amelia had to prepare demanded most of her attention in the kitchen that morning, but Amelia had promised Renate she would swing by getting the groceries in town.

Consulting Bellamy’s book and checking her list three times over, she was off first to Buschle’s Boutique and then to the market, the wine merchants and the butcher’s.

All dressed and ready, she was out the door, calling farewell to the cat. Taking her grandfather’s old fiat, she was at Renate’s store minutes later.

“Oh dahling! I have a little treat for you… Something I thought you could use for tonight.” She beamed at Amelia, pleased as punch with herself, before presenting her with a large gift box wrapped with black silken ribbon on the shop counter.

“Open! Open!” She clasped her hands together beneath her chin in anticipation, looking pleased as punch with herself and almost girlish.

“Oh, Renate, your beautiful mosaic was too much already! You shouldn’t have...” She blushed in gratitude and again feeling shy for being the centre of so much attention.

Delicately, she untied the silken ribbon, revealing a dazzling pair of formal flats in size 4. She held them aloft, marvelling at the craftsmanship and how very dainty and pretty they were.

“Now, those, my dahling, are true vintage, 1920’s era slippers decorated with only the finest of crystals. Cinderella, eat your heart out as an American might say! But there’s more, so do on,” she pressed Amelia.

Amelia turned her attention back to the box where wrapped with silver gift paper was yet another item of intrigue. Peeling back the silver gift paper, she exposed a shimmer of deep green velvet. She removed the item from the wrapping, to find a figure hugging dress, lined with black and covered in dark forest green swirls of velvet. A high necked dress trailing into a mermaid’s tail at the bottom, she turned it around to find an evocative plunging back, simply stunned by the garment’s elegance.

“It is the perfect colour for your fair skin, dahling, and by my trusty instincts precisely your size as the crystal slippers... You will have to look the part of the sophisticated hostess this evening, no?”

Amelia’s arms still laden with the shoes and the dress, she rushed over all the same to hug Renate with heartfelt thanks. Perhaps she was indeed her fairy godmother. And truly, she was sure she would feel nothing short of a princess in this spectacular get-up.

“But,” she suddenly felt herself clamming up, “don’t you think maybe it’s too much... For me I mean... Too fancy?”

“Well, it is Spring after all... And you are more the glorious blossom in bloom than I think you know... And one should never waste an opportunity to dress up! Now, don’t overthink, just wear! Off with you! I’m sure you must have a busy day ahead... I’ll be seeing you this evening. Shoo! Shoo!” And just like that Amelia was whisked away and out of the boutique with a wave of Renate’s expertly manicured hands, gift box in tow.

Back home, she decided first to tackle the Italian dessert as it needed the most time to rest and marinate. Though the recipe had stipulated 24 hours ahead, she hoped 12 would suffice as she had simply been too exhausted the day before. For once, she was willing to leave some small risk to chance and to pray and hope for the best. She checked that she had all the ingredients properly measured out and at hand, simple as it was.

6 large oranges

225g of sugar

250ml of water

6 cloves

4 tablespoons of orange liqueur

With an orange zester she pared the rind from the oranges, making sure to trim off any of the white pith. She placed the strips into a small saucepan and barely covered with water. Bringing to the boil, she simmered over a low heat for a further 5 minutes. Draining the strips, she set them aside, making sure to reserve the water. She went on to cut away the pith from the remaining oranges with her sharpest of knives. Then she cut horizontally into four slices each.

Reassembling them and holding in place with wooden cocktail sticks, she arranged them in an oven proof glass dish. Once that was set aside, she added the sugar and the water to a heavy based saucepan with the cloves. Bringing to the boil and simmering gently, she eventually had a thickened syrup beginning to colour, continuing to cook until a light golden brown.

Quickly removing it from the heat, she carefully poured in the reserved orange rind liquid. This was again placed over a low heat until the caramel had fully dissolved again.

Removing it from the heat, she added the orange liqueur then poured the citrusy syrup finally over the oranges and covering with clingfilm, set them aside until cold, and to refrigerate until later, making a mental note to spoon the syrup over the oranges routinely throughout the day and to remove the cocktail sticks before serving. There, that was done and next it was onto the lamb mixture for the kofta of the evening’s main course.

She turned to the appropriate pages in Bellamy’s book.

Lamb Kofta

Every delicacy has its origin story has its origin story and in this, kofta are no different. The first kofta recipes come from some of the earliest Arabic cookbooks ever discovered. Early recipes show us that kofta originated as a lamb dish with rich, minced lamb and Middle Eastern spices rolled into balls the size of an orange and then glazed in egg yolk and saffron before cooking. Since these early recipes, kofta have evolved and continue to evolve as new cultures and home cooks and chefs give them their own twist.

Loosely speaking in its etymology, the word ‘kofta’ actually comes from the Farsi words ‘kofta’ and ‘koftan’. The Farsi ‘kofta’ refers to a rissole, a circular ball of savoury, minced meat stuffed inside a pastry. ‘Koftan’ is a verb meaning ‘to grind’ or ‘to pound’. From there, we get kofta as a meatball-like dish.

Of course, kofta is a bit more complicated thatn your everyday meatball. In fact, kofta patties and kofta kebabs (or kabobs if you prefer). This dish also spans across continents and shares a plate with a wide range of sauces and side dishes. From the spelling to the mince to the mix of spices, kofta takes on a new form wherever it travels.

As for the name itself, kofta, kefta, kafta, or kufta… The spelling variations are endless. Given the number of variations across the globe, it’s little surprise then that the word itself has so many variations. In fact, certain cultures actually have a preferred spelling. In Jordan, they pronounce the word kafta, while in Morocco they prefer kufta. Ask for kufta in Israel and you’ll be served a dough dumpling instead!

Regardless for all the names and never-ending variations, no matter how you want to say it or spell it, kofta will always be a delicious, culturally rich dish that’s a must have on my table at home when I want to serve up a feast for all the delicious side accompanying dishes I love to serve with it. For this very reason, this particular recipe of mine is followed with an exquisite pistachio dip, a recipe for a dish known as ‘the red ones with the blue ones’ in layman’s terms, and as if it goes without saying, my minty pomegranate twist on a tzatziki classic, and finally, the always appreciated addition of toasted, warm flatbreads.

Amelia roughly chopped up the jalapeno and red bell peppers and set them on a baking tray in a drizzling of olive oil to gently roast in the oven for though Bellamy insisted it wasn’t necessary, she promised it would deliver a greater depth of flavour and for the honoured dinner guests, this hostess was taking no short-cuts today on the banquet for later. Similarly with the garlic she placed three whole cloves, skins and all, into the oven to roast alongside the peppers and jalapeno.

In the meantime, she toasted the pine nuts and blanched almonds until golden brown, adding them next to the pestle and mortar to crush, before setting them aside in a glass bowl for later. Then the coriander and cumin and fennel seeds were lightly toasted, a scintillating spicy aroma filling her kitchen and feeling like a warm embrace from the inside out. They were then set aside in the pestle and mortar and given an invigorating pounding.

She added some cinnamon and cardamom and cloves to the mixture and pounded yet again until her spice mix was good and ready.

Her roasted peppers and jalapenos and garlic done and ready, and skins removed, she blitzed them in the food processor together with fragrant bunches of mint, flat-leaf parsley and coriander.

Once this was blitzed in a minced mixture and not yet a pulp, she squeezed out the excess juices in a clean muslin cloth. At long last but worth the effort she was sure, in a large mixing bowl she combined the nuts and blitzed herbs and spices to the lamb mince, combining dutifully with her hands and kneading until it was all good and ready to be set aside until the koftas were shaped and skewered later that evening.

Sinenkiye Skrasnekimi (Eggpant & Tomato Salsa or ‘The Red Ones with the Blue Ones’)

This particular dish is a treasure to me. Some scribblings in pencil on an index card amongst my recipes today all but faded for all I now know it by heart, this pearl was given to me by a dear friend and has its origins in the food she grew up eating in her Babushka’s kitchen, being of Jewish Soviet descent. A perfect pairing with lamb or even on its own with flatbread, while it can be made using a gas stove, there is something about the smokiness absorbed by the flesh aubergine on a real open fire that makes it all the more delectable later, complementing the creamy eggplant.

As per the recipe’s gentle insistence, Amelia readied a wood fire in her outdoor fireplace. Once the flames had almost diminished but the heat of the hot coals remained, Amelia placed her three aubergines on the grill and turned them again and again until the skin had blackened and then left them to one side to cool while she got on with finely dicing a couple of tomatoes, then grating one onion, while finely dicing another. Next she crushed two garlic cloves, relishing in the smell on her fingers. While some may have found it too pungent, Amelia had come to adore the scent of fresh sharp garlic on her fingertips.

When the aubergines were cool enough to handle, she scraped the flesh from all three, coarsely chopping them and transferring them to a bowl. Adding the tomatoes and garlic and onions to the bowl she stirred it all together with a wooden spoon, finishing the dip off with a drizzling of extra virgin olive oil and a bit of seasoning. She covered the top and placed it aside for the evening’s to-do later.

Next she began on the pistachio and feta cheese dip, again recommended by Bellamy as an excellent pairing with the lamb kofta she would later grill on the outdoor fire. Pulsing a cup and a half of de-shelled pistachio nuts in a food processor into a fine paste with two cloves of garlic and a glug of olive oil, she added a small handful of dill fronds and a larger handful of coriander leaves and tender stems and when that was blitzed smooth, the last addition of the two cups of cubed creamy feta and a cup of yoghurt. It was truly the prettiest of soft green hues.

Spooning the mixture into a serving bowl, and decorating with a few pops of pink with pomegranate seeds and some whole pistachios and fresh leaves of dill and coriander, she placed it in the fridge, another accomplishment of the morning’s work. She couldn’t help but wipe a finger against the rim of the mixer before setting it aside in the sink, savouring the salty and zesty dip.

There was now only one last dip to make, with Bellamy’s minty, pomegranate tzatziki. Mixing some tahini and Greek yoghurt in a bowl, Amelia moved on to grating the cucumber, squeezing all the excess juice in a clean dishtowel, juice that would later serve the arrival drinks of cucumber and mint martinis, pulling out all the stops for this particular celebration. Juices all but completely extracted, the grated cucumber was added to the yoghurt mixture with two cloves of crushed garlic and some mint finely chopped with her prized mezzaluna and some lusciously pink and jewel-like pops of pomegranate. Seasoned, it was set aside with the oranges and the pistachio dip in the refrigerator with nothing left to do but ensure she looked her best. All that would need doing was grilling the flatbreads and kofta once all the guests were suitably seated and hopefully famished.

It had been a fine and productive morning Amelia congratulated herself as she ran a warm bath and selected an old CD of her grandfather’s with Tony Bennett Duets. Some classic music, and a shared love of theirs to ease her into the afternoon of pampering that lay ahead. Thankfully the weather outside was a showy Spring day, if ever there was, the skies gloriously clear. She couldn’t wait for her guests to see her outdoor area, decorated in fairy lights and scented candles as it was.

Not unlike a child with a brand new toy, or a Christmas outfit, Amelia could hardly wait to show it off to her handful of favourite people. She looked at her now slightly besmudged to-do list on the fridge and then took in all around her, how it had all changed so in these last few weeks. Grabbing a green fineliner on the kitchen counter, Amelia marked a resolute tick next to each and every item on her list.

Every day, in one way or another, she had taken joy in her kitchen and learnt to take pleasure even in dinner for one. She had not murdered a single one of her plants since they had been in her care, admittedly with a little help from the professor, but no small feat all the same. She had made of her entire home, a space bright and charming and homely and bedecked with art. She had a wardrobe full enough for now of at least a few luxurious items thanks to Renate that would serve her well for the sporadic occasion or when she simply felt like indulging herself.

And in the end, and most importantly, she had made not one but three very good friends indeed. If anything, she knew now that if they were smiling down on her, she’d made her grandparents and her mum proud and maybe she was as her namesake promised and more striving and industrious than she had ever realised before.

Summer Mood, Eggplant & Tomatoes by Anastasiya Kharchenko