Making Memories and Meatballs + a recipe
The food we ate and the dinners we shared together is a core memory from my childhood, and I wonder if my kids’ core memories are tainted by an image of me, head bent, phone in hand, while I wait for the food to cook. Growing up, we had salad with every meal, because they made it while the food was cooking. If I drop Instagram, will I make more salad? I’ll never know until I try.
Making kofta, Turkish meatballs, is a labor of love for a weeknight meal—much less a late Spanish dinner. I put down my phone and respond to this call to the kitchen I sense. Kofta is a labor of love, and I want to do it anyway. Suddenly, I’m eager for my kids to taste this part of my childhood.
Reaching for the pieces of my secondhand food processor with its partially-melted plastic bowl, I’m careful not to cut my finger on the blade as I sweep my hand blindly to search for it in the cupboard above the range. I stack the pieces in order, and the simple steps ground me: base, plastic shaft, bowl, attachment, metal blade. My thoughts turn back to the Instagram feed I had been perusing. To be honest, I was pleased that the call to the kitchen was louder than the call to catch up on social media.
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I recently had a very busy week in which I needed to be disciplined and focused in order to accomplish all my tasks successfully. I was preparing for an exam, so I removed social media apps from my phone with the idea that I could use the Instagram part of my day to study instead. It worked, and I found myself much calmer and less scatterbrained without a reason to look at my phone at every opportunity. I wonder if this successful detaching from social media enabled me to easily detach again to engage the time-consuming process of making meatballs.
My grandma didn’t teach me to make kofta, and I’m not sure who taught her. Was it her mother-in-law? I learned to make stuffed grape leaves, to eat kalamata olives, to drink Russian tea with raspberry jam, and to enjoy my food from my great grandma, so it’s possible. Or did my grandpa crave them one day? If so, he would have gotten the ingredients and prepared them himself, and perhaps that’s when they were enshrined into the meal rotation. Maybe she simply figured it out, after years of living in Istanbul and spending time with Turkish friends. Koftas are simple, with a thousand variations, like so many other Middle Eastern foods: meat, onion and garlic and parsley, and a hot fire.
Since the recipe has not been passed down and I live in a different country, I’ve adapted it. One at a time, I drop the ingredients for kofta into the food processor: ground beef, chopped onion, garlic, parsley, egg, bread crumbs, salt and pepper. I add a little apple cider vinegar because I don’t have sumac. Finally, I sprinkle in a little dried oregano, nutmeg and cardamom. I know there was no cardamom in my grandma’s kitchen, but I also know it will add a special depth of flavor.
In an irreplicable method involving a giant twenty-year-old casserole dish, my grandma made rice in the microwave with a bouillon cube. With adapting recipes and family traditions, I employ one of our mantras for expat life: “some things are the same, some things are different.” I might be making kofta like my grandma did, but I make rice like a Spaniard, steaming it with a bay leaf, a garlic clove, and a glug of Spanish extra virgin olive oil. Rice is the universal starch, but there are so many varieties and methods of cooking it. I learned this method from the Iinstagram feed of a Spanish mom, and I’ll never go back. I imagine others have their own way of making rice, and it will be perfect alongside this recipe.
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The ingredients process on low until I don’t see any chunks of onion that will make my eight-year-old son balk. Did my grandparents worry about this when I was growing up? I doubt it—I always ate more than my share of kofta. My son says he doesn’t like onions, but onions are the base of so many of my meals. I tell him, “you’ve eaten more than your weight in onions in your lifetime.” Later, at the table, he gobbles up the meatballs. Wide-eyed, he exclaims, “these are so good, Mom!”
I drizzle the olive oil in my grill pan, wet my hands, and shape the patties. Kofta is not a meatball, nor is it as flat as a hamburger. I try to make them oval, and I gently press them into the hot grill pan. While I form the second batch, the first batch sizzles in the pan, developing a crust. Friends, that crust is my life. The inside is soft and a little juicy but the outside is almost burnt, almost like the person manning the grill was distracted by animated conversation with a friend (ask me how I know).
These days, I am more likely to be distracted by my Instagram feed, and I feel a pull to abandon it entirely. Led by the familiar aroma of the meatballs, I long for those parties on the back deck, even if the meat is a little burned or the salad double salted (this also happened frequently in my grandparents’ kitchen). Supporting good writers and fair trade fashion brands and the squares full of the faces of my friends’ kids makes me happy, helps me feel close to my roots when I’m far away. But as I dice cucumbers and remember the feeling I had at the kitchen table with my family, I can’t help but acknowledge how it keeps me from engaging in real life. Social media steals my creativity because I’m always scrolling, looking at what others are making. It wastes time, then I whine about having to make dinner. The food we ate and the dinners we shared together is a core memory from my childhood, and I wonder if my kids’ core memories are tainted by an image of me, head bent, phone in hand, while I wait for the food to cook. Growing up, we had salad with every meal, because they made it while the food was cooking. If I drop Instagram, will I make more salad? I’ll never know until I try.
For today, anyway, I’m thankful to be sharing kofta with my kids. When we eat it with my grandparents during our upcoming home assignment, it will be familiar—something to bond them. That’s fitting, because according to Engin Akin, author of the cookbook Essential Turkish Cuisine, kofta is “a preferred offering at communal gatherings of all kinds.”
I’ve put the recipe here, and I hope you enjoy it!
Ingredients
About a pound of ground meat, either all beef or beef and lamb mixed
1 large onion (I usually use white or yellow)
2 cloves garlic
1 bunch parsley (flat or curly, more than you think)
1 tsp each salt, pepper, and paprika
1 tsp lemon juice or apple cider vinegar
4 tablespoons crushed up stale bread or breadcrumbs
1 egg (optional)
Instructions
If your food processor is big enough, you can just put in all the ingredients at once and process on low until mixed. If it’s small, just use the food processor for the onions, parsley and garlic and then mix that with the meat, breadcrumbs, egg if using, and spices in a separate bowl.
Heat the grill or grill pan and drizzle or brush with olive oil
Shape the meatballs into flat(ish) ovals, and cook on medium high until a crust forms. Flip, and continue cooking until they’re done, about 6 minutes each side.
Serve with cucumber yogurt sauce, grilled veggies (tomatoes, zucchini, onions), or cucumber tomato salad. And rice, of course. Or bread. Or both.