THESSALONIKI, GREECE
As a rule, Greek food is for purists and traditionalists, but Thessaloniki, the capital of Macedonia, is an exhilarating exception to the rule. Bridging East and West, Greece’s second city has adapted to its cosmopolitan population over the centuries to develop a fusion of Middle Eastern and Balkan cuisine. Its signature dishes – such as dolmades (stuffed vine leaves) – are full of surprises.
Lying on the ancient trade route linking the Adriatic with Istanbul, Thessaloniki has long been a confluence of cultures. Echoes of its former occupants crop up all over the city, in Roman ruins, Ottoman baths, crumbling synagogues, and Byzantine chapels. The city’s eclectic cuisine also bears the hallmarks of all its past residents. But the most pervasive flavors are those left by the Ottoman empire, whose rule of Macedonia extended to 1913, almost a century after the rest of Greece was liberated. Centuries of Ottoman occupation are most obvious today in the ramshackle Turkish quarter of Kastra, which is a 19th-century time warp. Minarets poke out among apartment buildings; former hammams (Turkish baths) are now cultural centers, movie theaters, or flower stands. Even the city’s most prominent landmark, the White Tower (which isn’t white at all), was built by the Ottomans as a fortress, before becoming a notorious prison. The tower is an evocative monument to the city’s diversity, and has a fascinating virtual tour of its culinary history on the top floor. Thessaloniki’s thriving meze culture owes much to the influence of Asia Minor (the area that now encompasses most of modern-day Turkey). Convivial meals consist of a succession of small dishes designed to be shared, usually accompanied by a glass of ouzo or tsipouro, spirits distilled from the vine. Grape leaves are also used to make one of the city’s most popular meze dishes, dolmades, whose name reveals its origin: dolma is the Turkish word for “stuffed.” These glossy little parcels are also known as yaprakia, from the Turkish yaprak, or leaf. The cooks of Thessaloniki have access to tender vine leaves from the fertile mountains of Macedonia, the source of northern Greece’s robust red wines. The leaves are picked in late spring, blanched and preserved in brine, then rolled by hand. Eating a dolma is like opening a gift – you never quite know what’s inside until the first bite. Tightly wrapped into dainty bundles, they might be filled with minced lamb, currants, and pine nuts, spiced with cloves, cumin, or cinnamon, speckled with mint, dill, or parsley, or bursting at the seams with sardines, fennel, and onions. Yalantzi (Turkish for “fake”) are meatless dolma; sarmadakia uses pickled cabbage leaves stuffed with minced lamb and smothered in avgolemono, a tangy egg and lemon sauce that is almost as tricky to perfect as mayonnaise. The variations are endless, and always delicious.
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