A few years ago, my work booked a Turkish restaurant for our Christmas party. It’s called the , and it’s been drawing queues in the Sydney suburb of Enmore for decades. There’s an outdoor dining area out the back, and a bunch of us gathered to celebrate.
The owners brought out giant platters of dips and pide. There were more dips than I’d ever seen in one place that wasn’t a supermarket aisle, and I tucked in. There were more than half a dozen different dips to try, and the bread was still warm from the oven, and utterly delicious. So I just kept eating.
Before I knew it, I was full, and feeling extremely satisfied. But then, as I sat there, rubbing my distended belly, it turned out that we’d booked in a banquet. There were many more dishes to come, from stuffed vegetables to Iskander kebabs to pide to grilled skewers of meat. And at the end, of course, Turkish delight, that rosewater treat whose name tends to vary depending on the nationality of the restaurant you’re eating at.
But I could barely touch the rest of the food, as delicious as it looked. Because I’d gone all-in on dips.
As much as I love Turkish food of all kinds, I’m not sure I was wrong. Because with dips, you’ve got a smorgasbord of flavours right there. Let’s start with hummus, the king of dips, made from chickpeas and sesame seeds, because of course they do – they couldn’t consider themselves a Middle Eastern restaurant without it.
The 'king' of dips, hummus is easy to make. Try your own with this
Source: Simon Wheeler
Then there was smokey eggplant baba ghanoush as well, surely the queen of dips, and then jakik, the cucumber and yogurt dish that’s a close cousin of Greek tzatziki, except that one shouldn’t necessarily point that out, given the long-term tensions between the two nations. Yogurt dips are great with meat, I reckon, and the hints of cucumber are a tiny concession to the idea of eating vegetables as well.
Greece's offering to the world of dips, the cool-as-a-cucumber tzatziki. Try this
Source: Peter Georgakopoulos
But there were plenty of vegetables elsewhere on the Sultan’s plate, though, in their superior dip form. Spinach, carrot and beetroot dip were well represented, along with parsley, eggplant (yes, separate to the baba ghanoush – this one had pieces of roast eggplant in it), and a potent chilli dip that might just have been my favourite.
Only it’s so hard to pick a favourite. I usually go for baba ghanoush, except that hummus is so good, except, except – well, you can see how I filled up so quickly.
Vibrant and easy to make, serve up some of before your next main course
Source: SBS Food
There’s always one dip that’s not quite as delicious. In this case, we sent a forlorn smudge of carrot dip back to the kitchen at the end of the day. Not because it was bad or anything – it had placed eighth of eight, sure; but at a kind of grand final of dips.
Every country in the region has a slightly type of bread to serve with dips like these, but Turkish pide fresh from the oven might just be my favourite. Sure, it fills you up faster than some of the flatbread options you find elsewhere, but the texture and flavour are just incredible.
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Humans cannot live by dips alone, but I tend to try it whenever they’re made available. I’m a sucker for salsa with corn chips, and guacamole is almost as ubiquitous nowadays as the smashed avocado that’s allegedly preventing millennials from owning property in our cities. Taramasalata and paté are a perfect start to a meal, and I even like that ’80s classic, French onion.
In recent years, our national move towards gourmet decadence has been highly visible in the dip aisle of any major supermarket you visit. These days every second tub seems to have nuts, parmesan cheese, dukkah or some other fancy additive mixed into it for an extra burst of flavour.
But even the most decadent pre-packaged options pale next to fresh dips. After you’ve gotten used to fresh hummus in particular, store-bought options feel like a shonky knock-off. And guacamole made fresh at the table is especially spectacular – it’s commonly served that way in Mexico, and at Sydney’s Mejico restaurant too, where they mix it with a mortar and pestle in front of you.
Dips are traditionally seen as a precursor to a meal – a warmup for the taste buds. In some cuisines, they’re also served on the side, like the range of chutneys that are traditionally served with South Indian dosai and . But under the right circumstances, I maintain that they can be a meal all by themselves. And a meal fit for a Sultan, at that.
