An Ode To The Humble Turkish Loaf
Step aside, sourdough.
Time might not be real but everything does go in circles. We see resurgences and renaissance in art, fashion, culture, and more obscurely — bread.
Carb trends go under the radar, but if you really think back, how long have you been eating sourdough? How long has it had a monopoly on cafe menus, supermarket shelves, and lockdown DIY projects? When did it trickle into collective consciousness that this was the bread we were all going to eat, and enjoy, for like a decade?
If we’re beyond avocado toast, then surely we’re beyond sourdough. We must rise and finally admit aloud that it goes cold way too quickly, the crusts are near impossible to get your knife into, and it makes for a bad sandwich.
The reign of sourdough is over, and Turkish bread, otherwise known as pide, should be its successor. Turkish bread is comforting, nostalgic even. It spreads like a dream, cuts fresh like a dream, and is incredibly versatile. Nothing is too complicated for the humble Turkish bread: an oozing cheese toastie, peanut butter and jam toast which seeps into its little pillowy crevices, dips into jammy eggs or oil standing tall like soldiers, or can comfortably be torn from the loaf plain like that scene in Aladdin.
In its mightiest form, Turkish bread is a traditional vessel for the dish pide, hollowed out in the centre and filled with meats, veg, or slathered in dairy for the ultimate work lunch or late night treat from the kebab store.
Turkish bread was a household staple of the ’90s and early 2000s, and much like spaghetti straps or claw clips, deserves to come back. With cafes reopening in Greater Sydney, and Melbourne hopefully not too far behind — it’s cooler to put Turkish bread back on the menu, and fuck you sourdough.