Milk (34 page)

I
f I had the power to dictate the next all-the-rage ingredient, my first nominee might well be tarhana or one of its many cousins—trahana,
kishk, kashk,
and more. By whatever name, they belong to a large, amorphous family of staple foods that has no good general label. In
Mediterranean Grains and Greens,
Paula Wolfert—who along with
Diane Kochilas has done much to publicize these treasures—suggested “rustic pasta.” I lean toward “proto-pasta,” because tarhana and the rest of the clan undoubtedly existed before any other sort of pasta in the regions that were the cradle of both cereal-growing and dairying. All consist of wheat (or occasionally barley) in some form—crushed, cracked, ground, or as cooked whole berries—combined with a liquid element like milk, then dried enough to be reduced to pellets, granules, or morsels. Once dried and kept dry, they last forever without refrigeration.

If you were to catalogue every variety that exists on earth, the list would stretch from egg barley and Pennsylvania Dutch
rivvels
to Sardinian
fregola
and the many forms of couscous. But probably the oldest members (and for me, the shining lights) of the family are kinds found from the
Balkans far into the Middle East that are made with soured milk, buttermilk, or
yogurt, particularly from goats’ or sheep’s milk. The interplay between tart milk and grain flavor has to be tasted to be understood.

The most varied and complex of the soured proto-pastas were developed in Turkey, where their collective name is “tarhana,” and Greece, where they are called “trahana” or
xinohondros
(“sour cracked wheat,” a Cretan specialty). The simplest kinds consist of nothing but flour and yogurt or soured milk, partly dried and crushed or crumbled to the texture of coarse flour or fine meal. The most elaborate ones are slowly fermented, sometimes with the aid of yeast, and use a battery of other ingredients that may include sweet and hot peppers, tomatoes, and chickpeas, with or without herbs and spices. Some kinds are made into coarse, rough-textured
crumbs, some into bite-sized pieces. There are versions with sour fruit like pomegranate or quince. Every village, indeed every family, used to have its own variation. A version even came to
Hungary as
tarhonya,
though today the name usually applies to a form of egg barley made without yogurt.

The long drying period produces a vividly fused concentration of all the original flavors together. Unfortunately, the drying step will be the chief logistical problem for many people seeking to duplicate this marvelous specialty in the United States. In Anatolia and Greece, the year’s supply was traditionally made from combined sheep’s and goats’ milk in late summer, when lactation was starting to wind down (resulting in scantier but richer milk) and fiercely hot, dry sunlight prevailed everywhere. Those of us in areas of high humidity can expect the drying process to take a day or several days longer than can people in Arizona. Depending on how stubborn it’s being, you may want to finish it off in a home dehydrator. Some cooks suggest an oven at lowest setting, but I don’t recommend this unless you can reliably keep the temperature below 150°F.

The chief use of tarhana/trahana (which is “kishk” or “kashk” in most of the non-Turkish Middle East) is as a kind of porridge, or a soup base or thickener. It also goes into some wonderful fillings for savory pies or stuffed vegetables. Making it from scratch is undeniably the sort of extended project that people either are or aren’t game for, like homemade pasta or sourdough bread. Come to think of it, sour-milk tarhana is not unlike a combination of the two, since sourdough is also a product of
lactic-acid fermentation.

I have successfully made Turkish-style tarhana at home from a recipe in
Özcan Ozan’s excellent
The Sultan’s Kitchen.
I recommend his version to anyone who wants to master this incredibly labor-intensive—but also incredibly good—staple of Turkish cuisine; otherwise, there are several good
commercial brands. For most cooks, the recipe for
Greek-style Sour Trahana
will be a more practical undertaking.

I suggest trying a commercial Greek brand before deciding whether to embark on the adventure yourself. Look for the pebbly-textured Vlaha or Krinos brands of trahana labeled “sour” or “xinos,” meaning that it was made from
milk in soured form. (If it says “sweet” or “glykos,” it was made from unsoured milk—perfectly okay, but not as interesting as the other.) The best, though unfortunately scarcest, imported trahana I know—the coarse-textured Pittas brand—comes from Cyprus and consists of cracked wheat and sheep’s-milk yogurt formed into pieces about the size and shape of Tootsie Rolls.

Tarhana imported from Turkey is often very sharp-flavored, from the complex mixture of vegetables and seasonings worked into the original ferment and left to ripen over a long period. Baktat, Coskun, and Sera are the most common commercial brands here. They are finer than most Greek trahana, a gritty powder with a strong pink or orange-red tinge from red peppers and tomatoes.

In Turkey and Greece, people regularly eat tarhana/trahana as a breakfast porridge. This is one of the most forgiving and foolproof dishes in existence. Allowing roughly ¼ cup of dried cereal per serving, you stir it into about four to six times its volume of boiling water and cook it, stirring occasionally, over medium-low heat until the water is absorbed and you have a thick, well-softened mush or porridge. The time will usually be between 15 and 30 minutes. If the water starts boiling off before the grain is tender, simply add more water and cook longer. If you’ve inadvertently used too much water, turn up the heat to evaporate it faster. Or if you decide you’d like to try it in a soupy condition, that’s fine, too. Serve it with butter, creamy yogurt, crumbled feta or grated Parmesan cheese, or any desired fresh herb. And note that the Greek kinds—especially those using bulgur—make an excellent lunch or dinner side dish for grain fanciers.

Tarhana/trahana is often briefly soaked in water before being brought to a boil, to shorten the cooking time. Another variation is to cook it pilaf-style, briefly sautéing the cereal in butter or olive oil (sometimes along with chopped onions or garlic) before adding liquid—stock instead of water, if you want a rich man’s version of what is in its origins an exceedingly thrifty dish. By all means experiment with tarhana/trahana to thicken and enrich soups or stews; see the recipe for
Turkish Tarhana Soup
.

The most exciting array of recipes using trahana that I have
seen—far surpassing my few suggestions—is presented by
Diane Kochilas in
The Glorious Foods of Greece.

2 cups milk, preferably goats’ milk

2 cups rich, creamy plain yogurt, preferably Greek goats’- and sheep’s-milk yogurt

About 4 cups coarse bulgur

About ⅔ cup fine semolina

1 heaping tablespoon salt

2 to 4 tablespoons olive oil (optional)

Flour or more oil for handling the dough