Monday 16 October 2017

Y is for Yemen

Y is for Yemen

Once again, shame shame shame on me for taking an age to write this little entry. As I mentioned in the last post for X and W, I definitely cooked Y before my birthday rolled around – I did, honestly, you can check Instagram if you don’t believe me – but a veritable avalanche of work has prevented me from writing the corresponding blog entry. Now, here I sit on an unusually sunny October day (oi oi climate change, whatcha playin’ at??) and have decided to eschew my current translation in favour of telling y’all a bit about Yemen.

When you look at an alphabetical list of all the countries in the world, it certainly looks like folk just sort of ran out of steam towards the end: things get a little crazy around S, but from there onwards, only the true mavericks pushed on to the end of the alphabet when naming their countries. It’s for this reason that I was once again faced with a single option when it came to cooking Y: Yemen. For anyone who has ever watched ‘Friends’ (if you haven’t, I’m judging you), the name Yemen can never really be uttered without the addition of “Yemen Road, Yemen” or perhaps “When we get to Yemen, can I stay with you?”. My apologies if you have zero idea what that’s about, but it’s your own fault for not watching ‘Friends’! Anyway, for the scriptwriters of said TV show, it appears that Yemen was the perfect combination of being in people’s realm of consciousness, yet so utterly far-away and “foreign” that it lent the storyline (a character claiming he was moving to Yemen to avoid a deeply annoying girlfriend) an extra comedic boost than if the character were to just claim he was moving to, for example, Canada. Times have indeed changed since then, and sadly Yemen is now more likely to be discussed within the framework of hunger, political crisis and civil war. As I have maintained throughout the course of this project, it is not my intention to provide a deep and studied insight on the current situations – good or bad – of the countries I write about: I am in no position to do so, and I shall write this post under the same condition. Right here, it’s all about the grub.

Bish-bash-bosh, it's bisbas
So, where the blimmin’ heck is Yemen? To be honest, I didn’t know before doing a bit of research on the place, but now I can tell you - with all the authority of someone who has looked on Google Maps - that it is right down there at the end of the sticky-out bit of land known as the Arabian Peninsula, squashed under the heft of its big fancy neighbour, Saudi Arabia. While it may be officially a Middle Eastern country, it is quite a bit closer to a handful of countries on the Horn of Africa than many of the other places sitting pretty on the peninsula. Over the years, Yemen has forged closer historical and cultural ties with Somalia, Eritrea, Djibouti and Ethiopia, lending Yemeni cuisine a very distinct character when compared to the food served up in Oman, Saudi, Qatar and so forth. I have to say, this is something which brought me great personal joy: as much as I like typical Middle Eastern food, there is not a huge amount of variation between the individual nations. God knows I like a good plate of rice and grilled meat as much as the next person, but I relish the chance to try something new. And so, step forth, Yemen!

Just skimming over the very long and complicated history of Yemen, it’s clear to see that this country has seen its fair share of foreigners bowling in and trying to stake a claim to it. It’s been part of a trading state that comprises parts of modern day Ethiopia and Eritrea, the Ottoman empire got in there for a while, and those power-hungry Brits made their presence known, too. Not only that, but various religious groups have jostled for domination for centuries, ultimately leading to the conclusion that administration of Yemen has never been easy. Although all these foreign guys and gals certainly had something of an influence on the food being chomped on in there, the cuisine in general is fairly homogenous: there is a slightly heavier Ottoman influence in the North, and a Mughlai Indian influence in the South, but all in all, the folk all across this not-as-little-as-I-thought land tend to dine on very similar things.

Base of ma saltah
As one would probably expect, the bulk of the protein in a Yemeni diet comes from chicken, goat and lamb. Beef is a pricey luxury and as such is not a regular feature on the menu there, as is indeed the case in many of the neighbouring countries. Fish, on the other fin, is a big hit, especially in coastal areas (I know, UNBELIEVABLE eh?). When it comes to getting a vitamin fix, the fruit and veggies on offer are not as wild as in, say, Thailand – no absolutely HEINOUSLY stinking durian to be found here, thank goodness – but who needs fancy and unrecognisable when you’ve an abundance of trusty potatoes, tomatoes and onions to hand? Well, them there lot down in Yemen certainly don’t. Of course, there are other fruits and vegetables doing the rounds, but those are ‘the big three’, so to say. However, these seemingly plain ingredients are not simply enjoyed as nature would have it - no no, they’re often dolled up in a whole host of herbs and spices before making their grand entrance at lunch time (the main meal of the day). One of the most beloved jazzy outfits for a humdrum bit o’ meat and veg – and, oddly, coffee - is a spice mix called hawaij, which includes aniseeds, fennel seeds, ginger and cardamom. If you’re feeling really crazy, you can even chuck in some cloves, caraway, coriander...I mean, basically anything, as long as it results in absolute taste party.

For my dish of choice for Y, I felt, as always, the lure of the bread section. Yemen has got it going ON in the bakery, friends, and the flatbread situation there had me reaching for the flour before I knew what had come over me. However, if there’s one dish that seems to be synonymous with Yemeni cuisine, it’s saltah, and so, with a heavy heart and a click on the ‘x’, I got rid of the page with all the beautiful breads (weeping all the while) and instead went on a little quest to make me some saltah.

The green blob of hulba
Some claim that the world itself is derived from the term salatah, which is like a jolly little medley of vegetables…otherwise known to you and I as – wait for it – a salad. That was an anti-climax, eh? The general belief is that the word made its way over to Yemen with the Turkish troops on one of their very many forays into Yemeni territory over the years, but to be honest, any allusions to the history of saltah are shrouded in vagueness and as such, to be taken with a very generous pinch of salt. One thing I can say for sure is: a salad it ain’t. First of all, it’s supposed to be cooked, and done so in a clay pot – tell me, when was the last time you popped a lettuce, cucumber and tomatoes in a clay pot and cooked it all for 45 minutes, and still called it a salad? Precisely. Secondly, it’s often based on a brown meat stew called maraq­ – again, not a typical salad ingredient, I think we can all agree. Thirdly, and crucially, the most vital component of saltah is a fenugreek froth known as hulba. If I ever go to a restaurant and order a salad (which I will NEVER do anyway – it’s a waste of an order), and it comes with a crown of froth, I’ll be sending it straight back to the kitchen, I can tell you. Anyway, I think you get my point: saltah may well have its origins in the humble salad, but it’s come a long way, baby.

And so, to the cooking. As I have often done throughout this project, I decided to make a vegetarian version of this Yemeni classic, with potatoes, tomatoes and aubergines - buying lamb here makes me too sad, paling as it does in comparison to British lamb (soz dudes, it’s true). The main bulk of the dish is definitely not fancy, featuring a fairly tame stew spiced up with some cumin and coriander. The real fun starts when you get to making the froth, hulba. This, hmmm, condiment, I guess you could say, is pretty simple IF you can get your hands on some fenugreek powder. Sadly, this key ingredient is apparently not priority number 1 for the discerning palates of Braunschweig, so I had to improvise a little and use dried fenugreek leaves to try and get at least the flavour a bit right. The other vital ingredient to hulba is a herb mix called bisbas­, made of chives, coriander and cumin seeds, green chilis and water. These components, all lovely in their own right, are smashed together to form a paste, which is then added to the fenugreek froth that normally would result from soaking the powder and then whipping it up. In my case, I got as much flavour as I could out of the fenugreek leaves, then just dumped everything in a blob of plain yoghurt – not totally traditional, but needs must. Surely a blob is the next best thing to a froth anyway, right? Right. With the stew all cooked and the green blob ready to go, there was nothing left but to chow down. Well, had it not been for the hulba, this stew would have been nice, of course, but the punch of chives and green chili, and the rather pathetic flailing of fenugreek, certainly lifted it beyond your bog-standard vegetable stew. I would be very intrigued to try it again with a proper frothy hulba, but until the folk of Braun Town tap into the secret joys of Yemeni cuisine, it may be tricky. Sadly, I think it’s going to be a pretty long wait!

Saltah, yehhh