İmam bayıldı

The imam fainted: Ottoman braised stuffed eggplant in olive oil

Origin: Turkey (Ottoman Empire)

From the journey of Eggplant / Aubergine.

İmam bayıldı, 'the imam fainted', is the most celebrated eggplant dish of the Ottoman culinary tradition, and one of the most recognisable dishes in the world. A whole eggplant is slit lengthways, filled with a fragrant mixture of slow-cooked onions, garlic, and tomatoes, then submerged in olive oil and braised at low heat until the entire vegetable collapses into silky, yielding tenderness. The legend behind the name is contentious: did the imam faint from the exquisite flavour? From the extravagant quantity of olive oil used; the original recipe is said to have consumed the entire dowry's worth of olive oil the imam's wife brought to their marriage? From the cost of the ingredients? All three explanations exist in Turkish culinary tradition, and all three are probably true at once. What is certain is that imam bayıldı belongs to the zeytinyağlı tradition of Ottoman and Turkish cooking: a category of dishes cooked entirely in olive oil and served at room temperature, representing one of the most refined currents in Turkish gastronomy. Zeytinyağlı dishes are not hot food: they are served cooled to room temperature, which allows the olive oil to be fully tasted and the vegetables to express their concentrated flavour without the distraction of heat. The category includes dolma, artichokes, green beans, and leeks; all cooked with the same generosity of olive oil and the same patience. The Ottoman palace kitchen at Topkapı, under the supervision of the head chef (aşçıbaşı), is recorded to have had more than forty distinct eggplant preparations by the 17th century. Eggplant (patlıcan) had arrived in Anatolia from the Arab world by at least the 13th century, and the Ottoman Empire's geographic span, stretching from the Balkans to North Africa to the Levant, synthesised the entire Mediterranean eggplant tradition into a single imperial cuisine. The influence of that synthesis still radiates outward: from the Greek melitzanes imam to the Bosnian punjene patlıdžan to the Egyptian dishes cooked in the same manner across the Nile Delta. İmam bayıldı is their common ancestor. The key to making this dish correctly is the olive oil. A timid amount will produce a disappointingly dry result. The eggplants must be genuinely submerged; or very nearly so; to braise rather than bake, and the slow heat allows them to absorb the oil while simultaneously releasing their own liquid, creating a braising medium that is the finished sauce. Do not rush it, and do not apologise for the oil.

Ingredients

Eggplant

  • 4 medium eggplants, long variety preferred (about 200g each), firm, glossy, with tight stems
  • 1 tsp fine salt, for salting the eggplants

Oil

  • 180 ml good-quality olive oil, this is not the place to scrimp

Filling

  • 3 medium onions, halved and very thinly sliced into half-moons
  • 6 garlic cloves, thinly sliced
  • 4 ripe tomatoes, peeled and roughly chopped (or 400g tinned whole tomatoes, drained and chopped)
  • 1 tsp sugar
  • 0.5 tsp ground allspice
  • 1 tsp fine salt, for the filling
  • 0.5 tsp black pepper
  • 1 small bunch flat-leaf parsley, leaves picked and finely chopped

To Serve

  • 1 lemon, juiced, to serve alongside
  • 1 loaf crusty white bread or Turkish pide, to serve

Method

  1. Cut the stem end off each eggplant but leave the calyx (the green leafy cap) intact if possible; it looks beautiful and helps the eggplant hold together. Use a sharp paring knife to make a deep lengthways slit down one side of each eggplant, cutting about two-thirds of the way through; not all the way; to create a pocket. Score the cut flesh inside the pocket with a crosshatch of shallow cuts to help it absorb the filling.
  2. Rub the interior of each slit generously with salt. Place the eggplants slit-side up on a colander or wire rack and leave for 20 minutes. This draws out some of the bitter juices and helps the flesh soften during cooking. After 20 minutes, rinse and pat thoroughly dry with kitchen paper.
  3. Heat 3 tablespoons of the olive oil in a wide, heavy-based pan over medium heat. Add the eggplants and turn them gently in the oil for 4–5 minutes until the skin begins to take on some colour and the flesh just starts to soften. They do not need to be cooked through at this stage; you are creating a seal and beginning the flavour development. Remove and set aside.
  4. In the same pan, add another 2 tablespoons of the olive oil. Add the onions and a pinch of salt and cook over medium-low heat, stirring frequently, for 15–18 minutes until very soft, translucent, and golden in places. Add the garlic and cook for a further 3 minutes. Add the tomatoes, sugar, allspice, salt, and black pepper. Cook for 8–10 minutes until the tomatoes break down and the mixture thickens to a soft, jammy filling that holds its shape when pressed with a spoon. Remove from the heat and stir in the chopped parsley. Taste and adjust salt.
  5. Choose a heavy-based pan or deep sauté pan with a lid just large enough to hold the four eggplants snugly in a single layer. Place the eggplants slit-side up. Using a spoon, gently open each slit and pack the onion-tomato filling generously inside, pressing it in firmly. Heap any remaining filling on top.
  6. Pour the remaining olive oil evenly over and around the eggplants. Add 3–4 tablespoons of water to the pan. The oil and water should come at least halfway up the sides of the eggplants. Cover with the lid, set over very low heat, and braise for 40–50 minutes. Check every 15 minutes: the liquid should be gently simmering, never boiling hard. If it reduces too far and threatens to stick, add a splash of water.
  7. When the eggplants are completely tender and the oil is a rich, golden, fragrant liquid pooled around them, remove the pan from the heat and allow to cool, uncovered, to room temperature. This will take at least 30 minutes. The dish must be served at room temperature; not warm, not cold from the refrigerator.
  8. Arrange the eggplants on a serving platter. Spoon any remaining oil and juices from the pan over them. Squeeze a little lemon juice over the top. Serve with plenty of crusty bread for mopping the pan juices.

Notes

İmam bayıldı keeps beautifully and is in fact better made a day ahead. Store covered in the refrigerator and bring to room temperature for a full hour before serving; never serve it straight from the fridge. The olive oil will solidify when chilled; this is normal and it will liquefy again at room temperature. Some Turkish cooks add a pinch of dried chilli flakes to the filling; others include a few currants or pine nuts for a more palace-style preparation. The quality of the olive oil matters enormously here; use the best you have, as it is both cooking medium and sauce.

The Gastrographer

The Gastrographer

Mapping Culinary History

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Journey Point Map Key

Ingredient originTrade or transit route
Became a culinary stapleColonial / trade control
c. 1870 CE
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1870 CE
2500 BCE500 CE900 CE1870 CE
Eggplant / Aubergine

Eggplant / Aubergine

Solanum melongena

VegetablesNightshade Family (Solanaceae)

🌍Origin

Deccan Plateau & Western Ghats, South India — c. 2500 BCE

🌱Domestication

The eggplant is the one great vegetable of the nightshade family, the Solanaceae, to have come not from the Americas but from the Old World, and it stands quite alone amongst its relatives in this respect. Whilst the tomato, the potato, the chilli, and the sweet pepper all crossed the Atlantic eastward after 1492, Solanum melongena was already an ancient cultivated plant of monsoon Asia, domesticated from its wild and thorny ancestor Solanum insanum in the Indian subcontinent, most probably in the broad belt encompassing modern Karnataka, Maharashtra, and Gujarat that spans the Deccan Plateau and the Western Ghats. Archaeological and textual evidence places its cultivation firmly in South Asia by at least 2500 BCE, and the oldest Sanskrit names for the plant, amongst them vatinganah, confirm that early Indian farmers had already taken the small, bitter, hard-fruited wild species and, through patient selection, begun to coax from it the swollen, glossy, low-seeded fruit we know. That selection was extraordinarily fertile. From the single domesticated species an astonishing range of cultivated forms diverged across Asia: the long, slender, lavender Asian aubergines of the Chinese and Japanese kitchen; the small, round, green, and white Thai varieties bred for curries; the squat, deep-purple globe of the Mediterranean; the tiny, bitter pea aubergines of Southeast Asia; and the little white, egg-shaped sorts that gave the plant its English name. No other Old World vegetable shows such variety of shape, size, and colour, and that diversity records the antiquity and the geographical breadth of the plant's cultivation under human hands. The eggplant's defining culinary virtue lies in its spongy, fat-loving flesh. The raw fruit is dense, pale, and unpromising, faintly bitter, with a texture that can be unpleasant; but when it meets heat and oil it is transformed utterly, the open cellular structure drinking in fat, smoke, and seasoning and collapsing into something silky, unctuous, and deeply savoury. This generosity, the willingness to absorb whatever flavour it is given and to carry smoke and richness better than almost any other vegetable, is the quality that made it indispensable to the cooks of three continents. S. melongena belongs to the same botanical family as deadly nightshade and mandrake, the Solanaceae, and that kinship dogged it for centuries in the European imagination, where it was long held to be a maddening, even poisonous fruit; yet across Asia and the Islamic world no such suspicion attached to it, and there it became one of the most honoured of all vegetables, the canvas for some of the most sophisticated cooking in the world.

Global Voyage

From its South Asian cradle the eggplant travelled outward along the great trade arteries of the ancient and medieval world, carried not as a single wave but along several distinct corridors that between them spread the plant, and its Sanskrit-rooted name, across most of the inhabited earth. The first and most consequential corridor ran westward overland. From northern India the plant moved through the Khyber Pass into Afghanistan, the meeting ground of Indian, Persian, and Central Asian cooking, and on to the Persian plateau, where it reached the Sassanid Empire by the sixth century CE. The Persian word badinjan, descended directly from the Sanskrit vatinganah, became the linguistic seed from which almost every Western name for the vegetable would later grow, passing into Arabic as al-badinjan and thence into the Romance tongues. It was the Arab expansion and the Islamic Golden Age that carried the eggplant decisively into the Mediterranean. Arab agronomists and merchants, who prized the vegetable above almost all others, planted it across North Africa, in Al-Andalus, and in Sicily by the tenth century CE; the tenth-century Baghdad cookery book of Ibn Sayyar al-Warraq, the Kitab al-Tabikh, records thirteen distinct eggplant preparations, a measure of how central the plant had already become to the cooking of the Abbasid court. From Damascus and Baghdad the eggplant entered the kitchens of the Levant, where charring and mashing it with tahini and lemon produced baba ganoush; from Fez it entered the Moroccan cooked-salad tradition as zaalouk; and from the Emirate of Sicily it slipped into Italy, giving the Italian melanzana and, in time, the parmigiana di melanzane. A second corridor ran eastward. Along the Silk Road the eggplant reached China by the fifth century CE, where it became qiezi and, in the hands of Sichuanese cooks, the celebrated yu xiang qiezi; from China it passed to Japan during the Nara period to become nasu, hedged about with proverb and ceremony. A third corridor was maritime, the Indian Ocean and the Strait of Malacca, along which Tamil and later Srivijayan traders carried the plant to Sumatra, Java, the Malay Peninsula, and Thailand, where it became terong, terung, and ma-kheua, the structural heart of dishes from terong balado to kaeng khiao wan. The same Indian Ocean dhow routes that bore pepper and cardamom from Malabar carried the eggplant, through the great relay port of Aden, down the Swahili Coast to Zanzibar, where it became bilingani in a coconut curry that was at once Arab, Indian, and African. The Ottoman Empire then gathered up the whole Mediterranean and Arab inheritance and refined it into an imperial cuisine: the palace kitchens at Topkapi are said to have developed dozens of eggplant dishes, amongst them imam bayildi, and Ottoman influence carried these preparations across the Balkans and into Greece, where they were absorbed so completely that moussaka and melitzanosalata became Greek to the core. The plant reached the Americas with European colonisers in the sixteenth century, but its most poignant transatlantic crossings came later and by harder roads: enslaved and indentured peoples carried it with them, the Cape Malay communities transported to Table Mountain by the Dutch East India Company making it brinjal sambal, and Indian indentured labourers carrying the technique of flame-charring across the ocean to Trinidad, where baigan choka closed the circle and returned the eggplant, transformed yet unmistakably Indian at heart, to the New World.

🍽Modern Culinary Role

The eggplant is today one of the most widely cultivated and most versatile vegetables on earth, a cornerstone of cuisines that stretch in an unbroken band from Japan to Morocco and from the Caucasus to the Caribbean. Its singular culinary gift is its capacity to absorb: it drinks in fat, smoke, and seasoning with a generosity no other vegetable matches, and under heat its spongy raw flesh collapses into a silky, savoury, almost meaty richness that has made it, in many traditions, the favoured vegetable of those who eat little or no meat. That quality has given rise to an exceptional diversity of technique, for the eggplant is cooked in almost every way a vegetable can be: charred whole over flame and mashed, as in baba ganoush, baingan bharta, and baigan choka; sliced and fried then layered, as in parmigiana di melanzane and moussaka; braised slowly in oil until it dissolves, as in imam bayildi, zaalouk, and ratatouille; stir-fried with chilli and fermented bean, as in yu xiang qiezi; glazed with sweet miso, as in nasu dengaku; or stewed in coconut milk, as in the curries of the Swahili Coast and Thailand. That geographical reach is matched by a depth of cultural meaning few vegetables carry. In Bengal the eggplant sits on a pedestal of culinary affection; in Japan it appears in the New Year proverb that ranks it amongst the three most auspicious dream images; across the Arab and Mediterranean world it is the subject of more named, codified, and beloved dishes than almost any other plant. Its journey is also one of the most legible in all of food history, for the doubled naming of the vegetable, badinjan and its descendants flowing west out of Sanskrit, terong and brinjal flowing along the maritime routes, traces on the tongue the very trade corridors the plant followed. From the green curry of Bangkok to the caponata of Palermo, the eggplant remains the great absorbent canvas of world cooking, the vegetable that takes the flavour of wherever it has landed and makes that place taste more fully of itself.

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