SpiceLines

Now the "don't be evil" empire is drawing parallels between Gmail and cilantro. Seriously.

It had to happen.

Google has co-opted my favorite herb.

In a post on Gmail’s “official blog,” Wiltse Carpenter draws parallels between reactions to cilantro and a feature called “conversation view.” Says the writer: “You either love it—and, like me enjoy the nice citrusy, herbal finish it gives to everything from salsa to curry—or you hate it. “ Naturally the writer’s “fondness for cilantro pales in comparison to my love” for blah, blah, blah, but “just like you can order your baja fish tacos without cilantro, you can now get Gmail served up sans conversation view…”

Please. Wouldn’t you rather be eating a bowl of tabbouleh packed with zingy flavors, including Turkish urfa pepper, preserved lemon peel, sweet dried cherries and lots and lots of cilantro? I thought so. Go here for the recipe.

Perhaps this is the moment to tell you that the blog you're reading now has a new contact address: spicelinesatgmaildotcom

Don’t be shy. And eat your cilantro. It’s good for you.

The soaring interior domes of the Suleymaniye mosque, designed by Ottoman architect Mimar Sinan for Sultan Suleiman the Magnificent in the mid-16th century. Photo credit: Oz, 2005. Wickimedia Commons

See you in a few weeks.

Enormous pomegranates, glistening with ruby seeds, in the rain outside the Blue Mosque in Istanbul. The vendor was selling foamy glasses of freshly squeezed juice, but sharp and tangy pomegranate molasses is a favorite seasoning for bulgar pilaf and in a sour sauce for tiny kofte or meatballs.

I saw Istanbul through a shroud of fog and rain. That was unexpected.

We swooped into the city under sullen clouds, the oily waters of the Sea of Marmara on one side, a sea of glistening red roofs on the other. The next week was spent ducking in and out of the rain, sloshing through puddles, splattered by walls of water as cars swooshed through curbside rivulets.

“It rains in October,” one Istanbullu mused, stating the obvious, as we sat at Café Sebil, sipping strong Turkish coffee, gazing at the ponderous dome of Ayasofya—a.k.a. Hagia Sophia, the monumental basilica built by Justinian in the 6th century. But the cold, he admitted, that was unusual.

Autumn had crept in, suddenly and unexpectedly.

Gul receli, or rose petal jam, is one of Istanbul's distinctive pleasures, especially spooned over fresh fruit or stirred into yogurt. This jam was made by Nedret Butler, an architect and, with her huband Mark, owner of Sumahan on the Water, a boutique hotel on the Bosphorus.

Let's see. Where to start? So many pleasures, more than a few of them guilty....

Rose-flavored Turkish Delight, soft and sweet, shimmers pink through a light dusting of confectioner's sugar. It is traditionally served in a covered bowl to keep it fresh.

Tonight there’ll be no Skittles, no Hersey's Kisses, no Snickers.

At least not for the recently returned Istanbul travelers.

No, along with whatever Halloween cocktails we invent—black vodka, anyone?—we’ll be back on the Bosphorus, in spirit at least, nibbling a few squares of lokum—better known in the West as Turkish Delight.

There will be rose-scented lokum, of course, but also the divine double-roasted pistachio and chunky hazelnut.