I was sitting in a burning hot Kenyan hut with a Maasai warrior when he offered me a local refreshment: a milkshake of fresh milk and equally fresh bovine blood — obtained by making a tiny nick in the cow's jugular artery.
Although the drink (which forms a significant part of the Maasai peoples' traditional diet) looks like a raspberry thickshake, my western palate began screaming silently. I clamped my lips tight and furiously shook my head. When I could finally speak, I managed to blurt out a quiet, "No, thank you. I'm all good".
It's a response I'm familiar with; after all, I've been on the receiving end of such expressions for decades — usually, after I offer a guest a glass of șalgam (pronounced 'shahl-gum'), a fermented dark purple carrot drink that my husband insists tastes "like death and despair" and just about anything else that might read like a Nick Cave lyric.
Particularly popular around the southern Turkish cities of Adana, Hatay and Mersin, the drink — one of Turkey's favourites, ranking perhaps just slightly behind rakı and ayran (a salty yoghurt mixture) — is essentially made from the sour and salty brine of purple carrot pickles, which is mixed with rock salt, spices and occasionally, chilli. It's then fermented in barrels.
LIFE LESSON
How to (or not to) drink Turkish raki
Some guests are turned off by the sight and smell of the deep purple drink; others won't get past the description in the paragraph above. Non-Turks who are brave enough to try it tend to die one hundred little deaths before me; some will scream, "What the hell? How can you drink that? What is wrong with you? What is wrong with Turks?"
In all the decades I've been pushing the drink on those who walk through my door, I have a success rate of just one: my 8-year-old daughter. We drink it together while my husband and 12-year-old stare at us from the other end of the table with looks of horror and judgment.
In all the decades I've been pushing the drink on those who walk through my door, I have a success rate of just one.
Şalgam has played a huge role in my family for as long as I can remember. My paternal grandfather was a șalgam vendor, selling the beverage in large goblets for his hometown Adana crowds who looked to cool down in the blistering summer heat. His son, my father, inherited his great love, finding all sorts of cunning ways to get his hands on the drink after he moved to Australia. Back then it was no easy feat; you could find it in a couple of stores in Sydney's Auburn and that was about it.
When I first took up drinking șalgam in the 1980s, I can still remember how my dad looked at me; it's the same look of pride other dads get when their kid opens their letter of acceptance from Yale or Harvard.
I don't just drink it to make my father proud; șalgam has not only been linked to a wide range of health benefits (everything from helping to boost metabolism and removing toxins from the body, to assisting with the management of dreaded hangovers). The drink is the perfect accompaniment to kebabs and kőfte in particular. Many even drink it as a chaser with their rakı, the latter reducing the sting of the former and making for a smoother drinking session.
A fermented black carrot drink called șalgam isn't everyone's cup of tea. Source: Flickr Creative Commons/Tomislav Medak
Not sure you can get behind șalgam? My advice is this: head to a Turkish supermarket or shop online and give it a go. The problem when you indulge in something everyone else likes is that you often have to share, but with șalgam the risk of finding someone who likes it as much as you is minimal, meaning you often get to have the bottle all to yourself.
Afiyet olsun (bon appetit).
