One of the first Bulgarian language sessions we ever had was on food. We learned how to say, “I like honey” and “I don’t like honey.” We learned the words for butter (краве масло), milk (прясно мляко), tomatoes (домати), apples (ябълки). Before long, we were reading menus with aplomb and bumbling through restaurant orders like true expats. We learned that you don’t much use conditional tenses to be polite – none of this, “Could I get…?” It’s just “For me, the fish.” If you’re really sweet, you say please. My Bulgarian friends would laugh at us Americans who would always emphasize the wrong syllable in “banitsa” and who had to be trained in toning down on the thank yous. (Lots of places think that “thank you” should be reserved for cases of extreme gratitude.)
My Bulgarian food vocabulary got to be pretty good, especially after working on a cookbook that circulated among volunteers, with a glossary of food terms at the back. For example, I’ll never be able to dislodge from my poor brain the translation of fenugreek. (Сминдух.) Think of the useful fact that could take the place of сминдух! Quantum physics? Sorry, out of room. Сминдух stays.
One word that always tripped me up, though, was кьопоолу. I’d see it on a menu and frankly, it terrified me. As soon as I opened my mouth in front of any waitress I was at a disadvantage because she’d hear my accent and know I needed her careful ear; I didn’t want the added emotional expense of having these unctuous syllables piling up around my tongue. Pointing to the fatal word on the menu and asking the simple question, “What is this?” No! Too much to bear! Could I please have the fries please please? Thank you. Insert giant American smile of flustered confusion.
Finally, a year in, I was talking with a Bulgarian friend and asked him what he’d done that weekend.
“I made кьопоолу,” he said.
“Huh?” I said.
“Кьопоолу.” he said. Then he pronounced it very patiently and carefully for me. KYO-po-loo. Then – then! – he told me what it was. And I’ve ordered it from every menu I’ve seen it on since. You can tell it’s going to be good when you smell the eggplants being grilled as you walk in the restaurant.
Кьопоолу – kyopolu – is considered a salad to Bulgarians, but it’s more of a chunky sauce in the American lexicon, great on crostini. It’s really just roasted vegetable heaven, is all, but without any of that slime that one may consider at the thought of room-temperature roasted veggies. Don’t go overboard with fresh garlic – it only needs the kick of one clove. (Don’t worry; you’re putting a whole head of roasted garlic in there, so you won’t be lacking.) You can’t eat just one bite of this stuff. It’s addictive. Mediterranean crack, I like to call it.
You might want to make double.
Roasted Eggplant-Pepper Salad (Кьопоолу)
makes about 1 1/2 cups
1 red bell pepper, roasted and peeled
6 finger-sized eggplants, roasted and peeled
1 head garlic, roasted and peeled, plus one fresh clove garlic, minced
1/4 cup minced parsley
2 tablespoons olive oil
Put everything but the olive oil down on a big cutting board and chop it up together pretty finely. (See picture.) Put in a bowl, add olive oil and stir gently, then let sit for at least 30 minutes. Serve at room temperature on bread spread with soft goat cheese, or maybe a little tofutti cream cheese.
Yum! We have this salad in Ukraine too, and come to think of it…I still don’t know the name of it in Russian (although I’m sure it’s probably similar to the Bulgarian word). I’ll have to try your recipe while the eggplants are still here.
That looks delicious! I’m a regular visitor of the sight, but as my cooking (versus baking) skills are sub-par, I mostly just drool. Hi to Kathryn as well. Nice to hear both of your “voices!”
As this has been The Year of the Eggplant (I grew the small Ichibans) at our house, this came along right on schedule. We’ve enjoyed eggplants in several forms this summer (awfully good and easiest is sliced into rounds and done in the saute pan with a shake of curry powder in the oil) and we’re growing a little desperate to use them all up before the weather turns. Alas for Bulgarian phonology, we call your preparation Kablooey.
We roasted ours until the skins were blackened, which is our usual approach to roasting peppers and eggplants and tomatoes. It makes the innards softer, I think, than what is portrayed in your photo, and makes the recipe into more of a creamy spread than a chunky one. Had no goat cheese on hand, but grated in some Romano and served it smeared on dense multi-grain bread with a side slice of good, aging Brie. Not bad, this Kablooey.
Hey Susan! The skins on mine were definitely blackened, evidenced by my poor neighbors who had to hear the fire alarm go off not once, not twice, but five times while I charred all of these veggies on the stovetop. I’m glad your kablooey went well.
Will I see you, ever?
“Will I see you, ever?”
Yes, I expect so! I won’t make it to Meeting this week, however, because a friend and I have planned to drive up the Gorge and do some watercoloring while there is still a sunny weekend day. But one of these days I will attend again at Multnomah Monthly Meeting (I have been very negligent all spring and summer, what with the demands of the house project and the library district campaign, and badly need to sit in silence), and maybe we can run into each other. We’d have to plan a signal, like carrying a rose in our teeth or something.
Skep
I love what you’ve done here– served it bruschetta style! It’s so funny to me how some cultures reserve “thank you” for extreme gratitude… I definitely take mine over the top!
Great recipe, in my house we always just made it with fresh garlic. A tip for those who grow tons of veggies in the summer. My parents grill a lot of eggplants and peppers when they are ripe, then freeze them in ziplock baggies (2 peppers, 1 eggplant per bag). In the winter, we just thaw a bag, peel everything and throw it in the food processor with a clove of garlic, and bam! instant кьопоолу any time of year.
I feel your pain about the pronunciation… when I was little and still to this day, I called this dish “кьопъво” (and I’m a native speaker).
P.S. We also add fresh chopped tomatoes and walnuts
“We learned that you don’t much use conditional tenses to be polite ”
I’ve always found it very unnecessary and quite annoying when people in the States are passing you by 3 feet away from you and say “Excuse me”.
For me that’s being trained, not sincerely polite.