Near Lahich, Azerbaijan—Kebabs of lamb and potatoes grill over a wood fire. This was part of the feast when I picnicked for a second time with the guys from the apple orchard (see Feasting in a Garden of Eden).
On my first trip to Georgia, in 1989, I traveled by car from Tbilisi to Borjomi, about a five-hour drive in those days. I was with a young Georgian woman named Nino and her father. We passed a number of roadside grills, and eventually we stopped at one for a bite of lunch.
The meat we ate had been cut into small pieces, not like the larger chunks of today’s more prosperous times (see Marinated Pork Kebabs and Wine-Country Beef Kebabs). It came to us on skewers hot from the grill, with bread (see Boomerang Breads) and simple pickles alongside.
In the West, we are apt to use the Turkish words kebab or shashlik for meat cooked on
skewers over coals. The Persian culinary region has many different words. In Armenia, a skewer of grilled meat is khorovats, meaning grilled; in Georgian, it’s mtsvadi; in Azeri, shishlik; and in Kurdish, shishe. In Iran, shashlik refers to large pieces of meat, kebab to smaller ones. And here, as elsewhere, tending the fire and grilling the meat is usually a man’s job.
The cooking method seems to have arrived with nomads from the north and the east: Kurds, Seljuks, Mongols, Ottomans, and other peoples who came even earlier and whose identity is unknown. It’s practical, requiring no pot of water, just hot coals and skewers. But like any cooking, it does take some practice.
At its simplest, grilling starts with chunks of meat and calls for very little else, apart from a sprinkling of salt and perhaps sumac. An alternative when the meat is tough is to grind it, spice it, and then wrap it onto skewers (see Persian Café Kebabs). Or instead tough meat may be marinated, which tenderizes and also adds flavor (see Pomegranate-Marinated Kebabs).
A favorite kebab in Azerbaijan is made with pieces of turkey that are first marinated in vinegar with onion (see recipe). The marinade and the grill transform the turkey into something special. You can use the same approach with chicken.
This basic kebab is served at little café-eateries all over Iran. It’s always the least expensive kebab on the menu, and the most tender, since it uses ground meat rather than chunks. The meat is flavored with grated onion, salt, and pepper. Fancier versions of koobideh kebab may also include dried mint or a little tomato. It’s sprinkled with sumac as it grills and served with grilled tomato on the side. Make sure your ground meat is not extra-lean: Fat helps the meat cook evenly.
The most important ingredient is a set of flat metal skewers. Wide ones work better than narrow ones, but I’ve found that even narrow flat skewers work fine if the meat is chilled so that it holds together on the skewer.
If you don’t have skewers, you can use this recipe to make patties, panfried or grilled over gas or charcoal. Instructions for these are given here.
Serve with supple flatbreads and grilled tomatoes, along with wedges of raw onion if you wish. Leftovers make great sandwiches.
Serves 4 as a main course, 6 to 8 as an appetizer
1½ pounds ground lamb, goat, or beef (about 25% fat)
About 1 cup grated onions (2 medium onions)
1½ teaspoons sea salt
½ teaspoon freshly ground black pepper, or to taste
About 1 tablespoon ground sumac
Grilled Tomatoes (recipe follows)
Flatbreads for serving
2 lemons, cut into wedges (optional)
Wedges of raw onion (optional)
Put the meat in a food processor, along with the onions, salt, and pepper. Pulse for about a minute; if the meat rides up the sides of the bowl, use a spatula to push it back down. (If you are doubling the recipe, or if your processor is small, divide the meat and onions into two batches to process and then combine them.) Turn the meat out into a bowl and knead it for half a minute. It should be paste-like.
Cover the bowl of meat and refrigerate it for at least 30 minutes. This makes it easier to shape, and it will adhere to the skewers better too.
Preheat a charcoal or gas grill. Put the ground sumac near your grill, as well as a plate or platter to hold the cooked skewers.
To make the kebabs, scoop up about ¼ cup of the chilled meat mixture in one hand, pick up a skewer with your other hand, and press the skewer against the mound of meat in your palm to embed it. Smooth and squeeze the meat along and around the skewer so that you have a long, skinny kebab. Set aside. Shape the remaining skewers the same way. You will have about 12 kebabs.
Place the skewers about 4 inches above the coals or flame and cook, turning several times, until lightly tinged with color or until done the way you like them; sprinkle with the sumac partway through cooking. (As the meat cooks, it will shrink a little, which may mean that it no longer grips the skewer, and if you’re using narrow flat skewers, it will tend to slide around. If that happens, use tongs to help roll the kebabs over.) Remove from the heat. You can serve the kebabs on the skewers or slide them off onto a serving platter. Put out the lemon wedges and onion wedges, if using, and tomatoes, and serve hot.
To shape the meat mixture into patties, scoop up a scant ¼ cup of the meat, shape it into a ball without squeezing it tightly, then press down lightly to flatten it a little. Repeat with the remaining meat. You’ll have about 15 patties.
Grill the patties or grease a heavy skillet with a little oil and cook them over medium-high heat. Turn the patties after about 3 minutes and cook until the second side gets touched with brown, or to your desired doneness. Lower the heat if necessary. Sprinkle on sumac shortly before they are done.
Plan on serving a skewer of grilled tomatoes—say 3 smallish tomatoes—per person. Use Roma or other fleshy tomatoes; you want the tomatoes to be firm enough that they won’t become soft and mushy when grilled.
Thread the tomatoes on skewers and grill, turning them frequently, until softened, a little shrunken, and touched with black here and there. Sprinkle with salt and serve hot or at room temperature, heaped on a platter.
Tehran, Iran—An old covered bazaar in the center of the city is busy with customers shopping on their way home from work in the late afternoon.
Pomegranate-Marinated Kebabs, with Herbed Persian Rice (see recipe), a side of thick yogurt, and some pickles.
The combination of walnuts and pomegranate molasses is classic in Georgia, and also in northern Iran. This Persian marinade serves two purposes spectacularly. First, it makes the meat extremely tender. Second, it gives it an extraordinary flavor. And there’s a bonus, because the remaining marinade can be cooked up and used as a sauce for the rice.
Although my first choice for these is lamb, I often make some with beef also to accommodate those in my family who prefer it. Serve with rice and a plate of herbs, as well as a chopped salad if you wish (see recipes here through here).
Serves 6 generously
1 cup walnuts or walnut pieces
½ cup pomegranate molasses
1 teaspoon sea salt
2 garlic cloves, mashed or minced
2 tablespoons sunflower or extra-virgin olive oil
½ cup minced fresh flat-leaf parsley (optional)
2 pounds boneless lamb or goat shoulder, or boneless beef top round or hanger steak, cut into approximately 1-inch cubes
Sugar (optional)
Fresh tarragon leaves (optional)
Herb Plate (see recipe): scallions and sprigs of fresh mint, tarragon, or basil
Basic Persian Rice (see recipe) or another plain rice (see Note)
To make the marinade, place the walnuts in a food processor and pulse to chop them to smaller than raisin size. Add the remaining ingredients and pulse to blend. Transfer to a large bowl. (Alternatively, very finely chop the walnuts and pound to a coarse powder in a large mortar. Transfer to a large bowl, add the remaining ingredients, and stir to blend thoroughly.)
Add the meat to the bowl and stir, turning to make sure all surfaces are coated with marinade. Cover and set aside to marinate for at least 1 hour or as long as overnight; refrigerate if the marinating time is more than 2 hours.
Bring the meat to room temperature before grilling.
Preheat a charcoal or gas grill.
Brush off most of the marinade that is clinging to the meat and reserve the marinade. Thread the meat onto metal skewers so that the pieces are barely touching each other, not crowded together; this helps the meat cook evenly. Place the skewers 4 to 5 inches from the coals or flame and grill, turning occasionally, for 7 to 12 minutes, depending on the heat of your fire and the desired degree of doneness.
Alternatively, you can broil the meat: Preheat the broiler with a rack about 5 inches below it. Line a baking sheet with parchment or lightly oil it. Place the pieces of meat on the sheet and cook for 8 to 10 minutes, turning the meat at the halfway point and checking it for doneness after 7 minutes.
While the meat is grilling, or once it comes off the grill, pour the marinade into a small saucepan, add about ½ cup water, and bring to a boil over medium heat. Cook for a few minutes, stirring occasionally. Taste it and season with salt if you wish; if it is too tart for your taste, stir in a teaspoon of sugar or more to taste. You might want to stir in some tarragon leaves once it comes off the heat. Pour into a small serving bowl.
If you grilled the kebabs, you can either remove the meat from the skewers or simply serve it on the skewers. Put out the platter of herbs, the rice, and the sauce for the rice.
Note on Rice: The classic combination of rice and kebab in Iran is called chelo-kebab, but in fact any rice, plain or flavored, is a great partner for these kebabs.
Tabriz, Iran—Kebabs grilling street-side: The lamb kebabs in the foreground are a mix of meat and, to keep them moist, small pieces of fat. The aroma drifted down the street attracting customers, including me.
The desert city of Yazd is a mesmerizing place, with a labyrinth of lanes and bazaars, many of them roofed for coolness from the sun. In the markets are stalls selling mountains of fresh herbs, vivid green in the shade, and little eateries offering drinks and sandwiches. But there are also small, almost seedy cafés that have a simple menu for people who find themselves far from the comfort of a home-cooked meal. They offer a variety of kebabs, served with flatbreads, rice, chunks of onion, and grilled tomatoes.
My favorite meal at a little place I went to several times for lunch was the liver kebab: small pieces of liver lightly grilled and perfectly matched by grilled tomatoes and a plate of fresh herbs. This is a great way to convert friends to the pleasures of eating liver.
Serves 3 or 4
1 pound liver: young beef, calf, or sheep
About 1 teaspoon sea salt
About 1 tablespoon sunflower or extra-virgin olive oil
Grilled Tomatoes (see recipe)
1 medium onion or 2 shallots, thinly sliced
Herb Plate (see recipe)
Rice, such as Basic Persian Rice (see recipe) or Barberry Rice (see recipe), and/or flatbreads
Wash the liver and trim off and discard any tough bits. Cut into 1-inch pieces and put in a bowl. Sprinkle on ½ teaspoon of the salt and set aside for an hour.
Preheat a charcoal or gas grill. Thread the pieces of liver onto skewers, allowing 5 or 6 per skewer and not crowding them. Brush the kebabs with oil and place 5 inches over the coals or flame. Grill for about 2 minutes on each side, until browned on the outside but still pink inside; sprinkle on the remaining ½ teaspoon salt as they cook.
Remove from the heat and serve with the grilled tomatoes, sliced onion or shallots, herb plate, and rice and/or a stack of flatbreads.
Shiraz, Iran—Inside the dome of Hafez’s tomb.
The arts of Persia, from poetry to painting, celebrate beauty and historic events, and they also celebrate pleasure. Writing and painting are often intertwined, for the manuscripts of works by the great poets of the past have been copied and recopied by hand (rather as the Bible was in medieval Europe, by monks) and, like illuminated scriptures, those copies were decorated with paintings.
What we see in those paintings, finely detailed and in miniature, is often a world of courtiers and ease. Poets recite to their rulers, people sit talking and picnicking on carpets. All this is strongly echoed today, as Persians still have a special love for gardens, flowing water, picnicking, poetry, and music. Other paintings show daily life in all its busyness and give us glimpses of earlier times that still resonate: A baker works at his oven while his customers wait to buy bread; a street-side cook tends a brazier on which skewers of meat are grilling; gardeners tend plants and trees; lovers sit together at a picnic. It’s striking how often food and pleasure feature in the paintings.
The works of many of the great Persian poets of long ago (Hafez, Saadi, and Omar Khayyam, among others) celebrate wine, women, and song, and beauty of all kinds. The eleventh-century poet Ferdowsi is revered for his epic Shahnameh, which recounts the history of Persia from earliest times. The great poem helped revive the Persian language, which had been in retreat following the Arab conquest in AD 651.
All this poetry is still alive and well in Iran. The poets’ tombs are places to visit not out of duty, but for a treat. They are set in cool green gardens, with fountains, trees, flowers, and inviting places to sit. The day I visited Hafez’s tomb in Shiraz, couples and families and singles were there, strolling, chatting, and enjoying the day. An older man sat down near me and began to read aloud. Soon a small group had gathered. Even without understanding Persian, I could see the pleasure that everyone was taking in the poetry.
Georgians have a meat-grilling tradition with roots in shepherd life, but it also probably owes something to the raiding and conquering peoples who swept across the country over the centuries. Because so much of the population of the Persian culinary region does not eat pork for religious reasons, this is the only recipe in the book that features pork. The meat is marinated in vinegar and pomegranate juice; use wine if pomegranate juice is not available, or substitute pomegranate molasses diluted with water, as suggested below. Note that the pork marinates for at least 12 hours, and up to 24 hours.
Serves 6
2 pounds boneless pork loin or shoulder roast, cut into 1-inch pieces
2 medium onions, thinly sliced
¼ cup red wine vinegar or apple cider vinegar
¼ cup pomegranate juice or red wine, or 2 tablespoons pomegranate molasses mixed with 2 tablespoons water
About 2 teaspoons sea salt
Boomerang Breads (see recipe) or flatbreads
Cucumber Salad with Sumac and Mint (see recipe)
Herb Plate (see recipe)
Red Ajika (see recipe)
Place the pork and onions in a nonreactive bowl. Mix together the liquid ingredients, add 1 teaspoon of the salt, and pour over the pork, stirring to make sure all surfaces are exposed to the marinade. Cover and refrigerate for 12 to 24 hours. Bring the meat back to room temperature before grilling. Prepare a medium fire in a charcoal or gas grill; you don’t want a quick surge of heat, but instead a lower temperature so the meat has time to cook through.
Slide the meat onto metal skewers, not packing it tightly. Grill the meat about 5 inches from the coals or flame for 10 to 15 minutes, turning the skewers frequently to prevent burning, until the meat is cooked through or to your desired doneness. Keep an eye on them—if you have flare-ups from fat dripping into the flames, the meat will char and blacken. Sprinkle on the remaining 1 teaspoon salt as the meat cooks.
Slide the pork off the skewers and onto a platter. If you wish, serve with breads, the cucumber salad or another salad, and the herb plate, along with red ajika.
Picture a snowcapped wall of mountains about fifteen miles in the distance, visible through the green-leafed fruit trees by a farmhouse. And imagine a fire made of grapevine clippings, the flames hot at first, then dying down to graying embers. That’s what it was like the day I visited Irakli Nikolashvili’s uncle’s place. He and Irakli have an organic vineyard in eastern Georgia, across the Alazani River Valley from the town of Telavi. Their wine is delicious, especially their Saperavi.
The food we had at lunch was as good as the wine. Irakli’s aunt made khachapuri, and she and her husband grilled large kebabs of tender baby beef. They did nothing to interfere with the taste of the meat: Other than a little salt, their wonderful flavor came from the meat itself, and from the fire of vineyard trimmings.
As with any simple recipe, the quality of the ingredients is important. Look for baby beef, or ethical veal, with its fat on, preferably grass-fed. Make a fire from hardwood or charcoal if you can. Wait until the flames have died down, so the heat is even. Serve with red wine and a salad of leafy greens or some chopped cucumber or tomatoes.
Serves 8
2½ to 3 pounds boneless baby beef (flank steak or sirloin) or ethical veal, cut into 1-inch chunks, at room temperature
About 1 tablespoon sea salt
Red Ajika (see recipe)
Cheese-Filled Quick Breads (see recipe)
Preheat a charcoal or gas grill.
Thread the meat onto metal skewers, leaving a little space between the pieces. Sprinkle with salt. Grill the meat about 5 inches from the coals or flame, turning the skewers frequently, until done as you like it.
Slide the meat onto a serving platter and serve with the red ajika and cheese-filled breads if you wish.
Tucked away in the Caucasus foothills above Lahich, in Azerbaijan, is a lovely Garden of Eden. I walked up there one morning in late September. The barberry and sea buckthorn bushes by the grassy track were laden with colorful berries, and sheep grazed on the hillside. Around a curve in the path, I suddenly came upon several hundred, maybe more, mature apple trees loaded with fruit, apples in every shade from pale green-yellow through pink- and orange-tinged to deep, almost wine red. I sampled apples until my mouth was raw.
A horseman came by, his horse carrying large wooden panniers. We exchanged a quick “Salaam aleikum,” and he cantered off. Sometime later, I heard a laboring engine, a strange modern sound in that peaceful orchard, and around the corner came an old Lada.
Several men emerged from the car. One of them, lean and bony, in his seventies, with a high-cheekboned face and a smile, came over and shook my hand as he said, “Salaam.” He invited me to join them for a drink of tutovka, mulberry “vodka.” “No, thank you,” I said. But then he mentioned shashlik. Ah, well then, I thought. . . .
We gathered dried bits of twigs and wood, and Ajdar, for that was the thin man’s name, made a fire. As it burned down, he threaded pieces of lamb onto long, wide metal skewers, arranged two rocks on either side of the fire, and placed the skewers across the embers. He also buried some potatoes to cook in the coals.
As he felt the embers get too hot, Ajdar would sprinkle water on them, and sometimes onto the meat, to cool things down a little. The other men laid cardboard on the ground as a table and placed glasses and napkins on it. They opened the bottle of tutovka as well as jars of pickled tomatoes and homemade yogurt, then sliced one of the flat loaves of bread they’d brought.
Soon Ajdar brought over the first skewer and slid the meat onto a plate. Then came the others, making a heap of beautifully grilled lamb that had been flavored only with salt. As we started eating, a man came walking down the hillside. It was the horseman who’d ridden past earlier. He too was included in the feast.
This readiness to share food and drink with a stranger is part of the culture in rural Azerbaijan, as it is in Georgia and Armenia. In North America and Europe, people seem to be less open, but in the Caucasus, a place where people have suffered a lot from war and change, there’s a hospitable generosity.
Near Lahich, Azerbaijan—The rugged foothills of the Caucasus Mountains are veined with streams and rivers that run in steep-sided valleys. Winters can be harsh, but fruit trees such as this apple tree can thrive in sheltered areas.
Clockwise from top: Cucumber Salad with Sumac and Mint (see recipe), Turkey Kebabs, a bowl of sumac powder, and Tart-Sweet Apricot and Raisin Relish (see recipe).
Until I went to Azerbaijan, I had never eaten, or even seen, turkey kebabs. They’re a big thing in Azerbaijan. Now that I’ve made them at home for friends, we all agree that it’s our favorite way to eat turkey.
Use boneless leg or breast meat, whichever you prefer, or a mixture. You might take the opportunity to put some eggplants on to grill.
Serves 8
3 pounds boneless turkey (see headnote), cut into 1½-inch chunks
2 medium onions, grated
¼ cup verjuice, cider vinegar, rice vinegar, or white wine vinegar
About 1 tablespoon ground sumac
About ¼ cup sunflower or extra-virgin olive oil
About 2 teaspoons sea salt
Cucumber Salad with Sumac and Mint (see recipe)
Herb Plate (see recipe)
Pomegranate-Coriander Sauce (see recipe) or Green or Red Ajika (see recipes here and here)
Basic Persian Rice (see recipe)
At least 3 hours before you want to grill, rinse the turkey pieces, pat dry, and put in a large bowl. Add the grated onion, verjuice or vinegar, and 1 teaspoon of the sumac and stir and turn to expose all surfaces of the meat to the marinade. Cover and refrigerate to marinate for at least 2 hours, and as long as 5 hours; bring back to room temperature before grilling.
Preheat a charcoal or gas grill; you want moderate heat.
Slide the turkey pieces onto skewers, leaving a small space between each piece (discard the marinade). Brush lightly with oil and sprinkle on a little salt. Place the skewers on the grill and cook, turning them frequently, until the meat is touched with color and cooked through, about 15 minutes. Partway through cooking, sprinkle on about 2 more teaspoons sumac and 2 teaspoons salt.
When the meat is cooked, remove from the grill and slide off the skewers, heaping it on a platter. Serve with the salad, herb plate, sauce of your choice, and rice.
This roast chicken is stuffed with a walnut-rich mixture of onion and tart fruit and bathed in lemony saffron butter or oil. It roasts for an hour wrapped in foil (which keeps it very moist) and then another hour or so with the foil open, so that it gets good color. You can make the stuffing up to a day ahead if that’s more convenient. A stuffed bird takes longer to cook; put the chicken in the oven a full 2½ hours before you want to serve it.
Serves 6 to 8
2 tablespoons sunflower oil, butter-ghee, or extra-virgin olive oil
1½ cups chopped onions
½ cup walnuts or walnut pieces, coarsely chopped
¼ cup dried barberries (see Glossary), soaked in warm water for 10 minutes and drained
¼ cup coarsely chopped dried sour cherries, or sour plums, or fresh or frozen cranberries
¼ cup pomegranate molasses
One 3- to 4-pound chicken, at room temperature
About 1 teaspoon sea salt
2 tablespoons butter, melted, or sunflower or olive oil
About 2 tablespoons fresh lemon juice
1 tablespoon Saffron Water (see recipe)
To make the stuffing, heat the oil or ghee in a large heavy skillet over medium-high heat. Add the onions and cook until nicely golden. Toss in the walnuts, lower the heat to medium, and cook, stirring, for a few minutes. Add the barberries and other fruit and the pomegranate molasses, reduce the heat to low, and cook for 5 minutes, stirring occasionally. Set aside to cool. (The stuffing can be covered and refrigerated overnight; bring to room temperature before using.)
Preheat the oven to 400°F.
Rub the chicken all over, inside and out, with the salt. Combine the melted butter or oil, lemon juice, and saffron water in a small bowl; set aside.
Figure out an arrangement for wrapping the chicken completely in aluminum foil: I use two long wide pieces, one laid at a right angle across the other in an X. Place the cross of foil on your roasting pan, and then the bird in the center of the foil. Stuff the chicken with the stuffing and use a large needle and thread to stitch the cavity closed, or pin it closed with one or two small skewers. Stir the saffron-lemon liquid and pour it over the bird. Fold up the ends of the foil and seal the foil: Pull up the inner sheet of foil, align the ends, and fold them over and over to seal the foil firmly around the bird. Repeat with the second piece of foil. (If you feel that there’s not enough overlap of foil and that the packaging might leak, add a third length of foil on the diagonal and fold it up around the bird in the same way.)
Place in the oven and roast for 1 hour. Open and fold back the foil to expose the breast of the chicken. Baste the bird with the liquid that has pooled in the foil. Place the chicken back in the oven to roast for another 45 minutes; baste it once more halfway through. Test for doneness by trying to wiggle one of the legs: If the joint is still tight, the bird needs another 15 minutes or so. Remove from the oven and let rest for 20 minutes or more.
Transfer the bird to a rimmed carving board or platter. Pour the juices from the foil into the roasting pan and heat gently; set aside in a bowl.
If you stitched the cavity closed, cut through the stitching; if you used skewers, remove them. Use a spoon to scoop the stuffing into a small bowl. Carve the bird at the table or in the kitchen and arrange the meat on a platter. Drizzle the sliced chicken with the warm pan juices.
Left: Tbilisi, Georgia—A street stand selling sunflower seeds and sunflower oil, the standard cooking oil in the region.
Right: Yerevan, Armenia—Plums at the market.
