WRAPPED IN CULTURES
Blend of culinary influences inspires recipe for surprisingly delicate lamb-stuffed grape leaves.
It was a Wednesday in mid-May of last year, around lunchtime, when I received a text from my dad. It went like this: ■ “Hi, Sweetheart. I was out in the garden and saw some large grape leaves, and I thought of you. I cut some, washed, cleaned and coated them in a touch of olive oil. So if you would like them, let me know. Love you and thinking of you.” ■ The text was a welcomed bit of love and light in the middle of my work-fromhome day. I replied with a very enthusiastic yes and, a few days later, swung by my folks’ house to pick up a bag filled with fresh grape leaves from their porch. I happily busied myself that weekend making stuffed grape leaves, my mind floating back to my college years. At the end of my
sophomore year, I transferred to an art college in Oakland. The eldest sister of my oldest childhood friend lived and worked in San Francisco. Melba and Charlie, her beau at the time and now husband, took me under their wing, broadening my worldview by exploring their city’s neighborhoods, exposing me to arthouse films and having me over for rooftop barbecues paired with indie video rentals. Melba and I would often walk miles up and down the crazy hilly San Francisco streets to visit bakeries and eateries and take in the art and culture between her neighborhood of Nob Hill, the Marina District and Fisherman’s Wharf.
Other times, she and Charlie would come into Oakland and take me to their favorite restaurants in Berkeley: Indian, where I tried curries and biryani for the first time; Persian, for kebab and tahdig; Lebanese, where I experienced my first taste of tabbouleh, shawarma and falafel. And it was during these weekend excursions that I attended my first Greek festival, where I ate gyros, spanakopita and dolmades (stuffed grape leaves) for the first time.
The experiences she exposed me to were crucial in developing who I became as a young adult. They also impacted the kinds of foods I seek out to eat and cook beyond the Mexican, Italian and classic American foods of my childhood. Thanks to my parents and aunties, I already had a good sense of who I was, but this exposure threw the doors wide open, showing me a world bigger than the one I knew as a child.
When I returned home, I would pay forward the invaluable lessons that Melba taught me by taking my sisters out as much as I could. Deb, my sister, who has been isolating with my parents since the start of the pandemic, told me the other day that while cooking a Mediterranean dinner for herself, Dad asked where she had learned to eat the way she did because it certainly wasn’t from him. She said, “Ani taught me.” That brought a smile to my face.
A personal spin on tradition
When Dad initially texted about the grape leaves, I hadn’t had time to plan a grocery order, so I used the ground beef I already had in the freezer. I opted to make Greek-style dolmades, braising them in a traditional lemon-forward liquid. I’ve made them many times this way, and as much as I love them, I have to admit that I especially love them with a more Middle Eastern spin. So a few weeks later, when Dad gave me a second bag of leaves, I had time to add ground lamb to my grocery order.
With variations of dolmas as staples in many cuisines from the Balkans, South Caucasus, Central Asia and the Middle East, many cultures claim these stuffed parcels’ origins. Dolmas, from the Turkish word dolmak, meaning “something stuffed,” according to Merriam-Webster, are made up of grape leaves, vegetables such as zucchini or bell peppers — or even fruits — stuffed with a savory or sweet and savory filling. Besides grape leaves, some cultures will also make dolmas using other leafy greens like cabbage, kale, collard greens and even fig leaves.
Besides Greek, I’ve had Lebanese, Turkish, Persian and Syrian-style dolmas. The recipe I’m sharing today is not authentic to any one style. I have taken all the things that I love about the different types of dolmas I’ve tried over the years and rolled them into one tasty little package.
I’ve seasoned the meat with warm spices and tomato paste, while a combination of stock and V8 juice forms the braising liquid. If you don’t have or want to use V8 juice, add a can of diced tomatoes with their juices to the braising liquid instead.
The use of fresh grape leaves makes these surprising delicate. Unlike their jarred counterparts, there is no overpowering brine. Don’t get me wrong; if I want stuffed leaves in the middle of winter, of course, I’ll pick up a jar and use brined leaves. I give them a good soak in boiling water to help leach out as much of the brine flavor as possible, especially when not using a heavy lemon-forward braising liquid.
Though I am choosing to use lamb, you can use any ground meat of your choice. Or make this recipe vegan by tossing chopped tomatoes, pine nuts, dried fruit like apricot or figs with rice, and using vegetable stock in place of chicken in the braising liquid.
Arambula is the food section art director and designer. She blogs at confessionsofafoodie.me, where the original version of this article published. Follow her on Instagram: @afotogirl. She can be reached at anita.arambula@sduniontribune.com.