The literal translation of the Turkish dish ezme is ”smashed” or “crushed,” and I recommend ordering a plate of it at Selda Mediterranean Kitchen and keeping it on hand for the duration of your meal. Paired with a pumped-up pita and a sauce or dip, Selda’s ezme is sensational, but can be ladled over almost anything but baklava.
Every Turkish kitchen will have its own version, but all start with finely chopped tomato, onion and garlic, adding in cucumber and peppers, garlic and a Turkish chili paste. In this case, the dish also includes the miracle drug that is pomegranate molasses, which offers a touch of sweet-sour complexity. I’d like to think there was also a hint of dried, dark and brooding urfa chili. Or at least Aleppo pepper.
A topping of pomegranate molasses also figures in Selda’s grilled halloumi cheese, served on a bed of pureed, roasted peppers and finely ground walnut. The pleasantly chewy cheese is fine on its own, though surely it can’t be too heretical to splash on some kindred ezme.
These are both simple dishes — often the best kind. The decor at Selda — copper-toned ceiling tiles, crystal-bangled light fixtures, gilt-framed mirrors and plush, blue seating — suggests the kitchen may be aiming for a fancier feel, perhaps one that would distinguish it from other restaurants casually labeled “Mediterranean.”
As for menu items which might separate Selda from the pack, the salad of diced beet with watermelon, feta and walnuts tossed with baby spinach in a balsamic dressing stood out as unique — if not necessarily classically Turkish. Here’s what I expected: a majority of equal cubes of beet and watermelon with feta either cubed or coarsely crumbled. Walnuts, maybe also coarsely chopped, would provide textural contrast. And the spinach and balsamic would be held to a minimum.
Read this description backwards and you will have an idea of what actually appeared: mostly spinach, in other words. However, one of our efficient waiters did return with a couple cubes of feta as though they had been forgotten at the pass. Not a bad salad but sad.
Look to the unassuming Shepherd’s Salad right above this one on the menu for a suggestion of what might have been.
Apart from beets, there are certain Pavlovian ingredients that always grab my attention. Pistachio is one. Though its influence was subtle, I have to think that the familiar nuttiness only improved the Selda’s Grilled Pistachio Meatballs, which were served over rice with a carmine-hued coat of rustic tomato sauce and a snaky drizzle of cooling yogurt.
But as good as these were, the accompanying bean salad almost stole the show.
Red onion, cucumber, tomato and more all combined with the modestly dressed white beans to make for a refreshing contrast to the hearty meatballs. Not content to rest on its laurels, the salad was also sprinkled with that other miracle Middle Eastern ingredient: ground sumac. This tart berry adds just the right touch of sour.
As dinner service progressed, Selda’s dining room began to buzz with a diverse audience. The occasional flash of flames leaping from the pricy Mixed Grill also punctuated the scene. Looking for something more modest, the Iskender Doner seemed appropriate. This was a case where the dish exceeded its modest menu description.
Most diners familiar with Mediterranean cuisine know that doner is meat — usually lamb, beef or a combination of the two — compressed and cooked on a vertical spit. Sliced from that rotating cylinder, the meat is most often served inside puffy flatbread. Iskender Doner — with the “Iskender” part of the name being a reference to Alexander the Great — is a more specific variation, served atop flatbread with a buttery tomato sauce. I envisioned slices of meat bathed in sauce and set on a single, relatively thick, Turkish flatbread known as pide.
The tomato sauce part was correct. So was the pide — sort of.
The surprise was that the pide had been cut into strips and squares and fried so that it was more of a crunchy matrix than a pillowy base. Also unexpected, the sliced, well-done doner meat had been shredded with the result that it melded more fully into the thick tomato sauce. Delicately tart Turkish yogurt was welcome in contrast to the other robust flavors.
Just before leaving the restaurant, our server presented us with small glasses of tea, a hospitable farewell and come-back gesture. Despite there being no springy, rose-scented Turkish delight to accompany the tea, it was mission accomplished.
I’d happily return. Lamb shanks await.
Sign Up for SA Current newsletters.
Follow us: Apple News | Google News | NewsBreak | Reddit | Instagram | Facebook | Twitter | Or sign up for our RSS Feed
