Every fourth grader can tell you that Benjamin Franklin was particularly fond of the wild turkey, and even campaigned to make it, and not the bald eagle, the national symbol. So how did such a creature end up taking its name from a medium sized country in the Middle East?

Was it just a coincidence? I wondered. The next day I mentioned my musings to my landlord, whose wife is from Brazil. "That's funny," he said, "In Portuguese the word for turkey is 'peru.' Same bird, different country." Hmm.

With my curiosity piqued, I decided to go straight to the source. That very afternoon I found myself a Turk and asked him how to say turkey in Turkish. "Turkey?" he said. "Well, we call turkeys 'hindi,' which means, you know, from India." India? This was getting weird.

I spent the next few days finding out the word for turkey in as many languages as I could think of, and the more I found out, the weirder things got. In Arabic, for instance, the word for turkey is "Ethiopian bird," while in Greek it is "gallapoula" or "French girl." The Persians, meanwhile, call them "buchalamun" which means, appropriately enough, "chameleon."

In Italian, on the other hand, the word for turkey is "tacchino" which, my Italian relatives assured me, means nothing but the bird. "But," they added, "it reminds us of something else. In Italy we call corn, which as everybody knows comes from America, 'grano turco,' or 'Turkish grain.'" So here we were back to Turkey again! And as if things weren't already confusing enough, a further consultation with my Turkish informant revealed that the Turks call corn "misir" which is also their word for Egypt! By this point, things were clearly getting out of hand.

But I persevered nonetheless, and just as I was about to give up hope, a pattern finally seemed to emerge from this bewildering labyrinth. In French, it turns out, the word for turkey is "dinde," meaning "from India," just like in Turkish. The words in both German and Russian had similar meanings, so I was clearly on to something. The key, I reasoned, was to find out what turkeys are called in India, so I called up my high school friend's wife, who is from an old Bengali family, and popped her the question.

"Oh," she said, "We don't have turkeys in India. They come from America. Everybody knows that." 

"Yes," I insisted, "but what do you call them?" 

"Well, we don't have them!" she said. 

She wasn't being very helpful. Still, I persisted: "Look, you must have a word for them. Say you were watching an American movie translated from English and the actors were all talking about turkeys. What would they say?"

“Well...I suppose in that case they would just say the American word, 'turkey.' Like I said, we don't have them." So there I was, at a dead end. I began to realize only too late that I had unwittingly stumbled upon a problem whose solution lay far beyond the capacity of my own limited resources.

Obviously I needed serious professional assistance. So the next morning I scheduled an appointment with Prof. ?inasi Tekin of Harvard University, a world-renowned philologist and expert on Turkic languages. If anyone could help me, I figured it would be professor Tekin.

As I walked into his office on the following Tuesday, I knew I would not be disappointed. Prof. Tekin had a wizened, grandfatherly face, a white, bushy, knowledgeable beard, and was surrounded by stack upon stack of just the sort of hefty, authoritative books which were sure to contain a solution to my vexing Turkish mystery.

I introduced myself, sat down, and eagerly awaited a dose of Prof. Tekin's erudition.

"You see," he said, "In the Turkish countryside there is a kind of bird, which is called a Çulluk. It looks like a turkey but it is much smaller, and its meat is very delicious. Long before the discovery of America, English merchants had already discovered the delicious Çulluk, and began exporting it back to England, where it became very popular, and was known as a 'Turkey bird' or simply a 'turkey.' Then, when the English came to America, they mistook the birds here for Çulluks, and so they began calling them 'turkey" also. 

But other peoples weren't so easily fooled. They knew that these new birds came from America, and so they called them things like 'India birds,' 'Peruvian birds,' or 'Ethiopian birds.' You see, 'India,' 'Peru' and 'Ethiopia' were all common names for the New World in the early centuries, both because people had a hazier understanding of geography, and because it took a while for the name 'America' to catch on.

"Anyway, since that time Americans have begun exporting their birds everywhere, and even in Turkey people have started eating them, and have forgotten all about their delicious çulluk. This is a shame, because çulluk meat is really much, much tastier."

Prof. Tekin seemed genuinely sad as he explained all this to me. I did my best to comfort him, and tried to express my regret at hearing of the unfairly cruel fate of the delicious çulluk.

Deep down, however, I was ecstatic. I finally had a solution to this holiday problem, and knew I would be able once again to enjoy the main course of my traditional Thanksgiving dinner without reservation.

This article contributed by Tosun Saral in www.MyMerhaba.com. 

And now that that mystery is solved, here’s another. Who named the eggplant and why? While we’re waiting for your answers, here are five ways to cook eggplant contributed by members of www.mymerhaba.com, an online newsletter for expatriates in Turkey. 
 

Five Ways to Cook an Eggplant (Aubergine)

"There are 900 ways to cook eggplant" says mymerhaba.com member Cyrus. “However, I believe the most popular are fried eggplant and eggplant salad.  It takes some time to prepare both of them and most people don't like to cook it. Ready roasted eggplant has recently become available on market shelves, so it is now easy to prepare. Both are among the most famous foods of Turkish cuisine.”

Peel the skin off the eggplants lengthwise, leaving a strip of skin between each part that you peel, and cut the top off and discard. Make either round or oval slices, and soak them in salted water for a while. Then dry and fry them in heated oil on both sides until golden-brown. Remove the fried eggplants onto a piece of paper towel to absorb the excess oil.
Tomato Sauce: Grate the tomatoes, and cook with crushed garlic, salt and sugar until it reaches the consistency of a puree, and add vinegar before removing from the heat.

Meanwhile, wash the peppers and cook them in a Teflon saucepan without oil. Actually the peppers should also be fried, but they absorb a lot of oil and, as the oil may splash while frying, you can burn your hands or arms.
Put eggplants and pepper on a serving plate and spread the sauce over, cool before serving.

Eggplant Salad
6-8 medium sized eggplants
2-3 table spoons yogurt
Salt, lemon, garlic (optional), cubed tomatoes, and pepper.

Wash, dry and cook the eggplants directly over a low gas flame or cook in an oven until the skins are charred. Turn frequently to ensure even cooking over all of the eggplant. 
When the skins are almost burnt, they are done. Remove from heat and cool.
Peel the outer skin of the eggplants and pound well with a fork until they reach a paste-like consistency. During this process you may think "How unusual Turkish cuisine is!!". 
Add yogurt, salt and lemon to taste.
Place in a serving dish, add crushed garlic, olive oil, lemon juice and salt. 
You can also add tomatoes cut in cube size and/or chopped pepper. 
Serve cold.
It is one of the favorite mezes of Raki tables.

Eggplant Purée (Begendi)
6-8 medium sized eggplants
2 glasses of milk
2 tablespoons of flour
100 gr. margarine 
Salt and pepper and grated cheese (optional).

Put the margarine, flour and milk into a saucepan, place over moderate heat and sauté for 2 minutes, making sure that the flour doesn't turn golden, and add salt and pepper. This is called meyane (béchamel sauce). Eggplants, cooked as described in the "Eggplant Salad" recipe, are mixed with meyane, and grated kasar cheese may be added. Begendi is traditionally accompanied by roasted veal or lamb and then is called Hünkar Begendi (Sultan's delight).

Karniyarik (Slashed eggplant)
4-6 medium sized eggplants
250 gr ground meat
100 gr margarine
1 chopped tomato
1 medium sized onion
1 green pepper
1 glass of water

Chop the onions and cook in a saucepan with some butter until pink. Add ground meat and roast, stirring constantly. Remove from heat and add salt and pepper. Peel the eggplants in a ribbon fashion. Soak them in salted water for a while. Drain and dry. Fry eggplants lightly in oil. Make a deep lengthwise incision in each eggplant. Place the eggplants in a saucepan, with the cut sides facing up. Place some stuffing on each eggplant and top each with a slice of tomato and green pepper. Add a small amount of water and cook over low heat for 25-30 minutes.
Pilaf with tomato and çoban salad usually accompany Karniyarik.

Quick Eggplant Meal
4-5 medium sized eggplants
1 big onion
2-3 medium sized tomatoes
2 green peppers
2-3 cloves garlic
Salt, sugar, olive oil 

Cook the chopped onions and one tomato with olive oil. Peel the eggplants and dice them, chop the remaining tomatoes and peppers, add crushed garlic, salt and sugar, and cook for 20 minutes over low heat. It is very easy delicious food.