*  Exported from  MasterCook  *
         Lamb Ravioli With Yogurt, Garlic And Mint Of Turkey (Weir)
 Recipe By     : Gvreme, Cappadocia, Turkey by Joanne Weir*
 Serving Size  : 8    Preparation Time :0:00
 Categories    : Pasta                            Meat
   Amount  Measure       Ingredient -- Preparation Method
 --------  ------------  --------------------------------
    4      cups          unflavored yogurt
    1 3/4  cups          all-purpose flour
      1/2  cup           whole-wheat flour
      1/2  teaspoon      salt
    1      whole         egg
    1                    egg yolk
      1/2  cup           water
    1      cup           chicken stock
    4                    garlic cloves -- minced
    2      tablespoons   extra virgin olive oil
                         salt and pepper -- to taste
      1/2  pound         lean ground lamb
      1/2  small         onion -- grated
    3      tablespoons   minced parsley
                         rice flour -- as needed
      1/4  cup           coarsely chopped mint leaves
 Place the yogurt in a cheesecloth-lined strainer and let drain for 1 hour.
 For the dough: While the yogurt is draining, combine the white and
 whole-wheat flours and 1/2 teaspoon salt on a work surface. Make a well in
 the center. Mix together the whole egg, yolk and water; pour into the well
 in the flour. Using a fork, gradually bring the flour into the well to mix
 together. Using a pastry scraper and your hands, gather the mixture into a
 ball and knead for 2 to 3 minutes. It will be a rough dough. Wrap in
 plastic wrap and let rest at room temperature for 30 minutes. For the
 sauce: Pour the chicken stock into a saucepan and reduce over high heat to
 1/2 cup. Combine half of the stock, the drained yogurt, garlic and olive
 oil. Mix with a wooden spoon until light and creamy. Season with salt and
 pepper. Set aside at room temperature.
 For the filling: Combine the lamb, onion and parsley; season with salt and
 pepper. Knead together for 2 minutes; set aside.
 Divide the dough into 4 equal pieces. Cover with an inverted bowl so the
 dough doesn't dry out.
 Lightly dust a work surface and rolling pin with rice flour. Place one of
 the dough quarters on the work surface and roll out until you can almost
 see the outline of your hand through it.
 Alternatively, you may use a pasta machine, rolling the dough to
 approximately 1/16-inch thick.
 Cut the dough into 2 1/2-inch squares. Place a scant 1/2 teaspoon of the
 filling in the center of each square. Lightly mist the squares with a spray
 bottle filled with water. Fold each square in half to form a triangle.
 Press together to seal edges. Place the ravioli on a floured baking sheet
 in a single layer. Repeat with the remaining dough.
 Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil. Drop the ravioli into the
 water and simmer for 3 to 5 minutes, stirring occasionally, until the pasta
 is cooked. Strain and toss with the remaining reduced chicken stock.
 To serve, toss the ravioli with yogurt sauce. Transfer to a platter and
 garnish with mint.
 Serves 8.
 [PER SERVING: 280 calories, 16 g protein, 30 g carbohydrate, 10 g fat (4 g
 saturated), 90 mg cholesterol, 206 mg sodium, 2 g fiber.]
 *Recipes from a little pension in the village of Gvreme, Cappadocia,
 Turkey. Travel story: “A Delectable Cuisine in an Eerie Landscape,” by
 Joanne Weir Wednesday, March 11, 1998 for San Francisco Chronicle.
 Wednesday, June 11, 1997 ú Page 8 ¸1997 San Francisco Chronicle
 Recipes from Stoyanof’s, the Greek neighborhood taverna out in the avenues
 (San Fran). Story “Cherished Greek Dish in a Plain Paper Wrapper,” by
 Joanne Weir for the San Francisco Chronicle, June 11, 1997.
 Over a platter of meze, the Greek equivalent to Spanish tapas, owner Angel
 Stoyanof told me a story he knew all too well. “In Greece, they never baked
 klephtiko in foil like they do nowadays,” he said. “Brown paper or
 parchment has always been used. It started years ago, when there was no
 such thing as aluminum foil. Curiously, the word comes from klephtise,
 meaning to steal, or a thief, maybe even kleptomaniac.” I'd eaten the dish
 before in Greece, once in the little village of Plaka on the island of
 Crete. A menu tacked precariously to a board read that if you ordered a few
 days in advance, the cook would make you klephtiko. In seconds, I was
 inside the door ordering.
 ``With garlic?'' the cook asked. Now that’s a silly question, I thought,
 ``Of course!'' I said.
 A couple nights later, I arrived at the restaurant. I took a seat at a
 table, all the tables set outside along the sea, within a corral of what
 looked like white Christmas lights.
 Before I knew it, a creamy bowl of tzatziki -- yogurt, redolent of garlic,
 mint and dill -- was brought to the table. And minutes later, like a
 present, a singed, parchment-wrapped package, set on a platter, was
 delivered to the table. Carefully, the package was opened.
 Before me was
 a fork-tender chunk of lamb, cooked at a very low temperature for a very
 long time. Studded with garlic, and perfumed with cinnamon and bay leaves,
 the smells of klephtiko were about all I could handle.
 I kept remembering that meal when I was talking to Angel, back in San
 Francisco, and Angel’s story. Seems that during the war, there was a
 tremendous amount of poverty in Greece. Home ovens were a rarity, and the
 baker’s communal oven was a meeting place, to talk politics, discuss the
 kids, the harvest, the weather or whatever, and exchange a few drachma to
 cook a pot of beans if you were poor, or roast a chunk of lamb if times
 were good.
 However, times were tough and there was a shortage of meat, so farmers
 watched their barnyards closely for fear of neighbors coming to steal their
 chickens, their goats, maybe even their lambs.
 But how could the thief take the meat to be baked in the communal ovens
 without anyone knowing? He got smart. If he wrapped it in parchment paper,
 oiled brown paper or even newspaper, no one knew what was inside and what
 he might be having for dinner.
 Originally klephtiko was anything baked in paper, but eventually it became
 a traditional way of cooking fish or meat, especially baby lamb. It was a
 terrific way to keep the juices inside the package, and ensure a moist and
 juicy finished product.
 And it works just as well here. When Angel brought out a platter of the
 most perfectly roasted baby lamb cooked in parchment, I'd swear that in the
 distance, I heard the gentle waves lapping on the Mediterranean shore.
 Kitpath@earthlink.net 8/28/98
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