As we drove through a small village on the way to Ephesus, I spied a group of women making gözleme (a traditional savory Turkish flatbread and pastry dish, gözleme is hand-rolled leaves of yufka dough lightly brushed with olive oil, filled with spinach, feta, and onion, sealed, and cooked over a griddle) in an open field. Of course I had to stop.
With my guide translating, we answered each other’s questions about life in rural Turkey and suburban United States. (One of the women asked if I could explain Donald Trump. I tried three times to come up with an answer; finally settled on “no” and made a face. She nodded and said, “Men politicians are stupid here, too.”)
I asked if I could try making a pastry. They kindly assented. Yes, I was horrible at rolling out the dough, despite their able assistance. Many pitying glances were thrown Husband’s way. We left with gifts of warm gözleme that we washed down with fresh-squeezed pomegranate juice from a roadside stand and a reminder despite outward appearances, we have more in common than we think.