Here on the Mediterranean coast we are blessed to be able to sense the passing of the seasons through the availability of, and conversations about, fresh produce. In springtime, cherries grown in the highlands make their way down to town. In summertime, yeşil erik (green, unripe, sour plums) are devoured by young and old, often straight from the tree. Piles of watermelons are sold at the roadside. Black mulberries stain the streets and pavements. And what would autumn be without the annual olive harvest, which most locals have a connection to, even if it means collecting and preserving a couple of jars worth from the sole tree in the garden? Another ‘foodie’ thing I love about living in Turkey is the drinks that appear according to the time of year. Let me introduce you to a couple of soothing sips that make the shorter days and colder nights that little bit more bearable…
Kış Çayı (Winter Tea)
It’s been a long and wet winter this year. The seasons seem to have shifted forward a month. Early-June brought us scorching heat that we usually suffer in July, and November was much wetter and colder than it ought to be. We live a different life in winter. Brighter days are occupied by firewood management, leaf sweeping, navigating laundry missions between downpours, and discussions of springtime pruning. On gloomy days, we watch the weather approaching from the kitchen window as we make soups, stews, and cups of tea. Kış çayı (winter tea) is perhaps the most beautiful tea to add to your kitchen shelf. It’s an orgy of dried leaves, petals, peels, and spices. A paint palette of colours, which after steeping in hot water for a few minutes, leads to a deep purple brew. The ingredients of kış çayı vary, but most include a combination of the following:
Chamomile - Papatya
Linden - Ihlamur
Ginger - Zencefil
Turmeric - Zerdeçal
Lemon peel - Limon kabuğu
Orange peel - Portakal kabuğu
Cinnamon - Tarçın
Dried apple - Elma
Sage - Adaçayı
Mint - Nane
Kekik - Oregano
Myrtle leaves - Mersin yaprağı
Hollyhock - Gülhatmi
Hibiscus - Bamya çiçeği
Eucalyptus leaves - Okaliptus
Carnation flower - Karanfil çiçeği
It’s been a long, wet winter this year, and rain for us means snow for the mountains, an occurrence that often comes as a surprise to my UK-based friends who presume we have summer climate year-round. When we venture out of the village and reach the main highway we are greeted by a postcard view of the snow-capped Akdağlar (Taurus mountains), the peaks that form Fethiye’s backdrop. When the snow starts to look low enough to access, we make plans to visit the winter wonderland of winter at altitude. Göğübeli, above Seki yaylası (highland), at an elevation of 1850 metres, is our go-to place, and we try to get up there at least once during the winter.
We ventured up the mountain on the third day of the year to take in the whiteness, softness and silence. On the way back down I had a sudden urge to drink salep. A drink with a long history, ‘salep’ is actually the name of the main ingredient, a starch flour made from dried and ground orchid tubers (we’ll come to sustainability shortly). It is boiled with full-fat milk, sugar and topped with a pinch of cinnamon, to make a heavenly winter drink, and is used as a stabiliser in authentic Maraş ice-cream (the long, gloopy ice cream sold by vendors who make a spectacle out of serving it with a sword).
Salep has been enjoyed as a winter drink for centuries. The ancient Greeks and Romans believed it to be an aphrodisiac. The name ‘orchid’ is derived from the Greek word ‘orchis’, which means ‘testicles’, a name born from the fact that the roots of some orchid species resemble male reproductive organs. Conversely, the Ottoman’s believed salep to be a good way of plumping up unmarried girls before they wed. The Ottomans were also, through trade, responsible for the spread of salep to England, where it was named ‘saloop’.
Centuries of ever-increasing demand for this cherished ingredient has, unsurprisingly, taken its toll on nature. The environmental impact of salep production is something I was unaware of until researching for this piece. I’d presumed the orchids were cultivated to meet demand, which they are to an extent (efforts are made to farm orchids in Karamanmaraş, including a venture by popular dessert and cafe brand MADO), but centuries of wild orchid picking for salep production has caused many species to become locally extinct. It’s still possible to buy pure salep starch online (quite rightly, it’s pricey), though if you want to avoid contributing to the harmful demand, the alternative is to buy a carton of readymade ‘salep’ from the supermarket, which likely contains trace amounts, if any, of real salep, and instead depends on artificial flavouring and extra thickening products to replicate the taste. For me the decision is to consume neither. I am happy to bid farewell to the occasional wintertime salep knowing now what a threat orchid over-harvesting is to some of our regions’ ecosystems.
And so, we watch the snow build up, then melt away, the waves of storms and sunshine pushing the weeks along, and the is kettle switched on, and clicks off, on repeat, to make cups of steaming drinks to get us through the colder days. Soon enough, the summer will come, and it will be cold drinks we will be reaching for to get us through the day.
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