I never look up recipes after a trip. I take photos, forget about them, and move on. Turkey was the one exception. I came back thinking about a lentil soup called Mercimek Corbasi that I had quietly eaten five times over two weeks without really registering I was doing it until the last bowl. I had found my itinerary through some Turkey holiday packages I was browsing one afternoon, went down a rabbit hole on Praxis Holidays, and booked the whole thing before I had fully thought it through. Great trip. But the soup is genuinely what I kept thinking about on the flight home.
When I got back I did not just want to recreate it. I wanted to figure out why it tasted the way it did, because on paper it is just lentils and spices and stock, nothing that should be that good.
Turns out there are three technique moments that make the whole thing work.
The onion needs time and you cannot negotiate on this. I tried rushing it the first time, medium high heat, done in three minutes, moved on. The soup was fine but flat. The second time I kept the heat low and left the onion alone for nearly ten minutes, just stirring occasionally until it went soft and a little sweet. That version tasted completely different. The onion is the base and if the base is lazy the rest of the soup knows it.
The spices go into the oil before the liquid, not after. This one took me an embarrassingly long time to understand. Cumin, paprika and turmeric need heat and fat to actually open up. If you pour stock in first and then add the spices you get a soup that tastes spiced on the surface. If you let them sit in the hot oil for even forty five seconds before anything else goes in, the flavour goes all the way through. It is a small thing that makes a very noticeable difference.
Blend it only when the lentils are completely gone. Red lentils break down fast, around twenty five minutes of simmering. But even slightly underblended and the texture fights itself. Wait until there is nothing left to break down, then blend the whole thing smooth. That is when it stops tasting like homemade soup and starts tasting like something a person who actually knows what they are doing made.
Lemon and dried mint at the end. Not optional, both of them. I made this six times before I stopped adjusting it. Still slightly annoyed it took that long.
When I got back I did not just want to recreate it. I wanted to figure out why it tasted the way it did, because on paper it is just lentils and spices and stock, nothing that should be that good.
Turns out there are three technique moments that make the whole thing work.
The onion needs time and you cannot negotiate on this. I tried rushing it the first time, medium high heat, done in three minutes, moved on. The soup was fine but flat. The second time I kept the heat low and left the onion alone for nearly ten minutes, just stirring occasionally until it went soft and a little sweet. That version tasted completely different. The onion is the base and if the base is lazy the rest of the soup knows it.
The spices go into the oil before the liquid, not after. This one took me an embarrassingly long time to understand. Cumin, paprika and turmeric need heat and fat to actually open up. If you pour stock in first and then add the spices you get a soup that tastes spiced on the surface. If you let them sit in the hot oil for even forty five seconds before anything else goes in, the flavour goes all the way through. It is a small thing that makes a very noticeable difference.
Blend it only when the lentils are completely gone. Red lentils break down fast, around twenty five minutes of simmering. But even slightly underblended and the texture fights itself. Wait until there is nothing left to break down, then blend the whole thing smooth. That is when it stops tasting like homemade soup and starts tasting like something a person who actually knows what they are doing made.
Lemon and dried mint at the end. Not optional, both of them. I made this six times before I stopped adjusting it. Still slightly annoyed it took that long.
