Lokum
The Food of Contentment
 When I walked into Hadji Bekir's shop on Hamidiye Street
near Istanbul's Golden Horn, it was like entering a child's dream. Wherever I looked,
there were containers brimming with enticing confectionery... dozen jars with polished
brass lids stood on only counter packed with a kaleidoscope of bon bon, red, yellow,
cinnamon and stripy ones. Nowhere was there any sign of mass production, only silver trays
arranged with rows and rows of pastel colored marzipan, individual chocolate shape and
enormous macaroons. My mouth watered. On another counter, a man was busy, cutting long
sausage-like lengths of Turkish delight that I particularly wanted to write about.
The owner, Mr. Došan Žahin, happened to be inside. After welcoming me he said, "We
do not call it Turkish delight. That name was invented by a now unknown British traveler
who took some back to London in the 18th century... we Turks still call it by its proper
name, rahat lokum."
He explained that etymology of the word lokum has puzzled linguists for many
years; it seems to be a corruption of an Arabic word, meaning, we have eaten. Rahat
is a Turkish word, meaning peace or contentment, therefore the correct
translation is we have eaten contentment. So, the English traveler who dubbed it delight
was not far off.
Mr. Žahin began to relate the fascinating story of Hadji Bekir and the food of
contentment. In 1776, during the reign of Sultan Abdulhamid I, Bekir
Effendi, a fully apprenticed confectioner, arrived in Constantinople from a small town in
Anatolia. The capital he (Bekir) brought here with him was not great, continued
Mr. Žahin. It consisted of a few copper cauldrons with which he set up in a little
shop in the center of the city. What he did have was his secret recipe for a delicious new
sweetmeat.
Was this then the birth of Turkish delight? The truth, it seems, is something of
mystery. What is clear is that Hadji Bekir was the Wily Wonker of his day and among a
people with such a sweet tooth as the Turks, he quickly won fame and fortune. Fashionable
ladies began giving Turkish delight to their friends in special lace handkerchiefs. Thus
gifted with energy, enterprise and originality, he was appointed Chief Confectioner to the
Ottoman Court, said Mr. Žahin, who went on to describe how some of each batch was
sampled by tasters before it reached the lips of the Sultan.
Mr. Žahin showed me a reproduction of the celebrated Hadji Bekir painting by the
Italian artist Preziosi, which now hangs in the
Louvre. It depicts the venerable bearded and turbaned confectioner weighing for a wealthy
veiled lady, with two children and a cat looking on.
Hadji Bekir passed away shortly after the painting was completed. But the business
continued to florish and expand. Hadji Bekir's son and grandson opened shops in Cairo and
started exporting Turkish delight to Europe. The last male heir died 1974 and his daughter
married Mr. Žahin. The sons, although not Bekir's, will inherit the thrivil company.Try
the lemon flavor; it's my favorite, he said, presenting me with a silver tray piled
high with nearly 20 mouth watering varieties of Turkish delight. I popped once into my
mouth and it melted on my tongue. I reached for another piece.
I then sampled the pistachio, coconut, mas (which is purported to have medicinal
value), and rose petal flavors and asked Mr. Žahin if there was anything he could tell me
about how lokum is made - without, of course giving away the company secret
techniques - explained that first only the very fine ingredients are selected, the
principle of being sugar, starch and cream tartar. But the real key, he continued
in the cooking mixture should heated to precisely ? Fahrenheit, it overcooks it become
too hard, and undercooked, it won't keep its shape when cooled. Turkish families
continue to eat large quantities of rahat lokum on holidays and birthdays, because it
remains fresh for six months if stored at room temperature, most households keep some hand
for guests. Furthermore, anyone from provinces who visits the city is expected to be back
a box or two for his fellow villagers. And betide those who forget!
With a hand-wrapped package of goodies two under my arm, I thanked Mr. Žahin for his
help.
As I left Hadji Bekir's, I almost stumbled over young schoolboys who were peering dread
through the shop windows. They eagerly count out their small change and then pushed open
door. Their dream, too, was about to become a reality.
- Source:
- The Food of Contentment
By Tarquin Hall
SKYLIFE 1/94
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