What a delight!
Now that it's the time of the Ramadan feast in Türkiye, these are the days of sweets. In my childhood, the name Eid, or the Ramadan feast, was always associated with candies, thus it was called the Candy or Sugar Feast.
Eventually, the term "Ramadan feast" came to be used, but I must admit I prefer my childhood version, which is less connected to religion and sweeter in both context and practice. The endless visits, first to family elders and relatives, then to neighbors and friends, all were marked with sweetness. But was that so in the past?
Sweet tooth: Sweet faith
It seems that early Turkic and Mongol people detested sweet taste in the remote past, and later developed an appetite for it, especially after converting to Islam. Ibn Battuta tells us that in the 1330s, Turkish and Mongol tribes hated sweet tastes and considered it a shame to eat sweets. In fact, a captured Turk considered it a disgrace to be promised his freedom if he ate sweets and said, “I’d rather not eat it even if you kill me!” Exactly three hundred years later, renowned Ottoman traveler Evliya Çelebi considered eating sweets as one of the qualities of a good Muslim and wrote: “Sweetness is faith!” In short, in our journey from Central Asia to Anatolia, sugar entered our lives with the adoption of Islam. Ottoman cuisine was initially greatly influenced by Iranian and medieval Arabic cuisines. That is how syrup-drenched sweets became a feature of Ottoman cuisine. This was primarily because, in those times, the Middle East and the Arap peninsula were close to sugar sources.
Sweet spread of sugar
In today’s Türkiye, sugar is produced from sugar beet, but once it was from sugar cane. Sugar cane is native to tropical climates; first came to India from Papua New Guinea and grew for centuries as a plant that people chewed to enjoy the sweetness, sometimes pressing and drinking its sweet nectar. Alexander the Great’s armies were the first to recognize the plant from the West. In 325, when they arrived in India, they reported, “There is a reed here that makes honey without bees!” In time, crystallizing cane juice by evaporating its water was discovered, and thus, the sugar trade began. Sugar reached the Mediterranean via the Arabian Peninsula in the 7th century, and sugar cane cultivation began in Cyprus, Syria and Egypt in the Eastern Mediterranean. Sugar became an important pillar of Middle Eastern Arab cuisine, and that is how confectionery, sherbets and syrupy desserts were introduced to us with the influence of Arab cuisine. The 15th-century Ottoman cookbook Şirvânî was basically an expanded translation of Al-Baghdâdî's book written in the 13th century. With the annexation of Egypt to the Ottoman Empire in 1517 and Cyprus in 1571, sugar sources became part of Ottoman lands. Sugar was found in abundance at the Topkapı Palace court kitchen and in Istanbul markets and became the favorite during celebrations, special occasions and festivals. In elite mansions, sherbets flavored with fruits, flowers and spices became the most important guest treats. Turkish delight accompanying coffee became an important show of hospitality. For the Ramadan feast, a few morsels of Turkish delight delicately wrapped in a silk handkerchief was the utmost festive gift for children. Turkish delight, along with assorted candies and confectionery, became the sweet seal of gift-giving and treats. That is how our fondness for sugar took off!
Evolution of lokum
If we examine the history of Turkish delight, or "lokum" in Turkish, we find that there have always been sweet delicacies made as winter provisions in Anatolia, the land of grapes and fruits. They were made by thickening white mulberry juice or grape must with starch or fine semolina. There are several versions of those sweet delights, either just plain, cut into squares and kept in wooden boxes, or with nuts strung like a necklace. The latter was made by boiling down grape or white mulberry juice, thickening the reduced juice with wheat starch, and immersing nuts strung on a string several times to be coated in the jelled juice as if making a candle. These sweet delicacies can be considered as proto-lokum, the ancestor of the idea. This Anatolian tradition was refined in the Ottoman court kitchens, sugar taking the place of grape or mulberry juice, with spices or fruit and flower flavors added. The magic of Turkish lokum was its unique consistency, the smooth yet bouncy chewy texture, which was a delight as a mouthfeel, and then sliding down the throat with a silky sensation. This is why it was called “rahat ü’l hulkum” in Ottoman Turkish, which literally means easy on the throat. Eventually, the word was shortened simply to “lokum” or sometimes simply “rahat” meaning comfortable, as most Balkan countries still call it.
Hall of Fame
Lokum in English was initially called morsels of delight but was later attributed to Turkishness, probably because the original could never be successfully replicated. Its unique consistency was hard to imitate, almost like a closely guarded secret, its toilsome-making technique was inimitable. Turkish delight gained unattainable legendary fame and even became the subject of children’s stories. In The Chronicles of Narnia, it was a box of rose-flavored Turkish delight that drove little Edmund to betray his family. Unfortunately, what is sold abroad as Turkish Delight has nothing to do with our own lokum here in Türkiye. Despite the mystical and enchanted air around it, it cannot be claimed that the Western world has ever tasted the real treat.
Last month, Anne Ewbank, the senior associate editor of Atlas Obscura, reached out to me, to find out about Turkish delight for her article. She seemed to be obsessed with the idea of tracing for the true lokum, even trying to make her own in despair, after having too many disappointing ones not standing up to the fame of the original. During our almost hour-long Zoom meeting, I remember complaining that even in Türkiye, the classic lokum is not as popular as it used to be, and the new over-the-top versions being a betrayal to the core idea of “easy on the throat” lokum. To my delight, despite my pessimistic approach about the future of true Turkish delight, she wrote a very nice article, sweetly optimistic. She even predicted that real Turkish delight could regain its former popularity: In her words: “Despite that, Tan believes that Turkish delight might be heading toward a new golden age. The launching of artisanal brands such as Marsel Delights and the opening of Şekerci Cafer Erol flagship’s store in London are signaling to her that there’s a growing interest in the treat beyond the pages of children’s literature. Some classics fall from being fashionable, but then they make a comeback.” Let’s hope she is right; we need her dedication to rediscover true lokum to regain its former glory!
