An ode to simit
Like it's bagel counterpart, it's a simple, humble, and serious bread worth eating.
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In this age of elevated (and pricey) sandwiches and elaborate presentations, I often fear that we’re losing an appreciation for the simplicity of the bagel.
Throughout this journey, my notion of what a bagel is has changed, or at the very least I’ve become more accepting of variations. The argument that bagels are evolving and their definition is malleable is something I see a lot.
Still, I can’t help but yearn for the simplicity of the bagel experience I remember. To be able to walk into a bagel shop any time of day, find a hot and fresh bagel waiting for you in a basket, order it as-is, untoasted, untouched, and absolutely lose yourself in the delight of this humble but serious bread.
Perhaps that is why I have become obsessed with simit.
I write this post while sitting poolside at a hotel in Bodrum, Turkey. Located on Turkey's southwest coast along the Aegean Sea, it’s a bustling beach town full of restaurants, bars, nightclubs, sailboats, and enough tourists to fill them all. My schedule is chocked with fun events and plenty of time by the pool. But I would be lying if I said I wasn’t constantly on the lookout for my next simit.
There’s nothing people love more than an American white guy explaining things from other cultures, so I’ll keep it brief. Traditionally, simit is a circular bread encrusted with sesame seeds. You can understand why some people refer to it as the “Turkish bagel” or the bagel as “American simit.” It’s everywhere here. You’ll find it in markets and bakeries, but the most iconic way you’ll see it being sold is by “simit trolley” vendors. If you’re lucky, you might even see a simitçi carrying a massive tray full of simit on their head.
To make a simit, you mix wheat flour, water, malt, sugar, and yeast and then shape it into a ring. After dipping it in a water and malt mixture, you roll it in sesame seeds. Then bake until golden brown.
Sound familiar?
Like anything in life, flavors and qualities vary, but if you grab a hot and fresh simit from a cart to eat while you walk, there’s nothing better. Like bagels, you can also turn them into sandwich delivery systems, but I feel like the beauty of the simit is in its original form.
There’s an episode of The Simpsons in which a hot dog vendor appears whenever Homer desires a hot dog, no matter the location or occasion. That’s basically what it felt like the first time I came to Turkey, only instead of hot dogs I was the guy who was never more than a few moments away from chomping on another simit.
If a simit vendor ever set up shop in Seattle, I would definitely end up putting his kids through college.
On this trip, it occurred to me this is why I have a desire to see more bagel places toast their sesame seeds. I’m hooked on the flavor they give the simit and when I eat a bagel covered in raw sesame seeds, it feels lesser for it.
As of this writing, I’ve eaten simit from three places. That number will invariably go up, but this time I’ve really focused on the differences between them to get a sense of the little intricacies that can elevate this bread ring without changing it.
The first one was from Simit Sarayı at the airport. Simit Sarayı is a bit like the Starbucks of simit. Along with airports, you’ll find them in malls and busy retail centers in major cities. I would imagine traditionalists scoff at the many concoctions they’ve come up with to pile onto or inside a simit, but it’s also helping spread the iconic product around the world.
I didn’t take any pictures or notes, but I remember appreciating that the simit was warm. It had the classic features where the fluffy interior peeks out in twirls with the sesame-strewn exterior. Whether it was the simit itself or the need to feel something following a particularly grueling 10-hour flight, I devoured it without really thinking. A good start to the trip.
Naturally, there was a simit cart in town. Naturally, I bought 12 (for a big gathering, not just for me!). The best simit in Istanbul were almost always from the street vendors. Unfortunately, this one didn’t meet their standard. Just like with bagels, a day-old simit goes dry on the interior while the exterior loses its crispness. I still ate, like, three of them.
The third simit I procured came from a market in town. They had a bakery case facing the street and I spied the simit as well as what appeared to be a bagel but was just a roll shaped like a bagel. While the “bagel” wasn’t my thing, the simit was really strong. Skinnier and larger than the previous ones, it was also darker in color and therefore maltier. I liked the interplay between that malt and the toasted seeds. The simit itself had a very soft interior and firm exterior, making for a nice bite.
While it was fun to eat each simit with my review hat on, I found that I ultimately enjoyed all of them for what they were. At the end of the day, they delivered on their promise. They were all simple, humble, and serious, just like the bagel. And just like the bagel, they varied in quality, flavor, and texture, but scratched the itch that breads like these have been doing for centuries.
I’m not saying that, one day when I’ve eaten all the bagels I can, this will turn into a simit newsletter. But I’m not not saying it either.
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