I've done a lot of book reviews for EAT over the past year, and recently noticed a pattern emerging. That is, some of the most fascinating cookbooks that combine travel, photography, storytelling, and recipe-sharing are the result of some kind of male-female relationship. There was The Wild Gourmets by friends Thomasina Miers and Guy Grieve, Beaneaters & Bread Soup by husband and wife team Lori de Mori and Jason Lowe, Beyond the Great Wall by spouses Alford and Duguid, and now Turquoise, the stunning recipe book written by Greg Malouf and his ex-wife Lucy Malouf after an extensive trip through Turkey.
I point this out because I wonder if the male-female quotient may be one of the secrets to producing a superb cookbook. Take Turquoise for example; the balance of intriguing travel diary, exquisite photography, and authentic recipes covers all the senses. When the history lessons could become too cerebral, a delicate moment caught in photography swings you back into the experiential. When the list of recipes teeters close to too heady (Sticky Apricots Stuffed with Clotted Cream chased closely by Pistachio Halva Ice Cream), we are transported into a thought-provoking moment of cultural experience by the traveling team.
The book's contents and recipe-sourcing are well-balanced as well. Spanning across Turkey which brushes both Europe and Asia, the country's traditional dishes seem to have a bit of everything from boldly spicy to creamy and rich to fresh from the ground and unadorned. The Green Olive, Walnut, and Pomegranate Salad promises to be a taste of Turkey's native fruits, for example, while the Hot Yogurt Soup with Chicken Threads and Corn gives a kick of indigenous spice.
Whether or not the woman-and-man collaboration has anything to do with its success, Turquoise is a work of art to be flipped through slowly, perused and studied, and most importantly splattered with the ingredients used to make the recipes Greg and Lucy traveled so far to find.
Turquoise is available at Munro's Books, Plenty, and Barbara Jo's.
