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Every once in a while, there’s a book that takes you into another world, to the unfamiliar; a book that stops you in your tracks and makes you think differently.
That book, for me, was Caroline Eden’s acclaimed memoir, A Year of Culinary Journey, which chronicles her travels across Eastern Europe and Central Asia whilst simultaneously recreating dishes, and recalling anecdotes, in her Edinburgh kitchen with her beloved dog Darwin (RIP) at her side.
Caroline is a woman well-travelled, following a journalistic path after completing an MA in Jewish Studies and Diaspora. She was undoubtedly born with a sense of adventure and curiosity and a desire to seek out places and learn about the people, culture, history, and, of course, food—Central Asia, the Baltics, Uzbekistan, South Caucasus, and others that we know all too well now from wars and troubles such as Ukraine.
With a somewhat nomadic life, shunning any notion of ‘settling down’, something about Edinburgh captured her heart and she put down some roots, falling in love with a very simple, rather rustic and dark basement kitchen. This is where she put pen to paper and told her tales, surrounded by handwritten recipes, unusual crockery found in flea markets, photographs and bread stamps, all prompting memories and observations. The kitchen grounded her.
She sets the scene with these emotive words:
“With its union of practicality and magic, the kitchen is a portal, offering extended range and providing unlikely paths out of the ordinary. Offering opportunities to cook, imagine and create ways back into other times, other lives and other territories…places that have eased into my marrow over the years, shaping my life, writing and thinking”. And notes that “one ingredient or dish can conjure up a single moment, or an entire expedition: a whole city or just one unforgettable meal”
So off we go with her, starting in winter with a poetic description of melons from Uzbekistan (their harsh climate of hot summers and cold winters being the perfect conditions for growing this precious fruit). We learn of their history and customs, with Ancient Uzbek kingdoms sending their prized melons wrapped in cotton or packed in snow to emperors across the lands.
Spring takes us to learning about the magic of herbs, inspired by the South Caucasus (Armenia, Azerbaijan and Georgia). Caroline describes the rhythmic chopping of herbs by her stove, and the fragrant smells, telling us how vital they are to food in these places, as “vital as bread” and the “centrepiece of the table”, providing vitamins after a long winter.
Summer talks of barberries, cloudberries, and apricots fresh from the trees, inspiring a Middle Eastern-style recipe for cookies with dried berries and fruits, orange blossom water and honey.
In autumn, Caroline shares her heartache over vintage bowls that didn’t quite survive the journey home (no doubt striking a chord with anyone with prized mementos that have suffered a similar fate), but then the history and meaning of other historical bowls, from Tajikistan, which did survive intact and are so cherished. Using them to make strained yogurt, she comments:
“Just as effectively as flavour, recipes and tastes, these bowls bring forth memories and feelings, drawing a link from my kitchen table back to Central Asia. Closing the distance between here, and there”
This is an emotive, personal book, filled with heartfelt memories, experiences, musings, times of joy as well as thoughts of those in more troubled lands.
But what it all comes down to is something that many of us will relate to, no matter where our travels lead us: the comfort of the kitchen, the ability of a dish, an ingredient, a bowl or a photograph to spark memories of people, places, sights, smells and flavours. And that, I think, is something to be grateful for.
Follow Caroline on Instagram @edentravels