eggplant two different ways, smoked over an open flame and
steamed.
The steamed eggplant, which remains a magnificent purple
color, gets cut into mini-towers and then stuffed with a mixture of
red onion, garlic, lemon juice, olive oil, and a sweet Turkish
seasoning called maras-biber; the smoked eggplant gets stuffed
with fried shallots, lemon juice, garlic, olive oil, and a smoky
Turkish pepper called urfa-biber. Lo staggers the smoked eggplant
with the steamed eggplant on the plate and tops everything with
yogurt mixed with lemon zest and garlic; she uses yogurt water
(which comes out when she strains the yogurt) as a broth. The
finished plate is quirky and vivid, the flavors big and bold and
memorable.
Lo embraces multiculturalism in her food. “I once had a Turkish
girlfriend,” she explains when I ask her how she got the idea for
this dish. “And I wanted to use some Turkish flavors.”
Her curiosity about the world is what feeds her culinary
ambition, though sometimes she goes for the familiar. “This is
something my mom used to make,” she explains later as she makes
an almond jelly, stirring milk, almond extract, and sugar together on
the stove. The resulting dish, served with candied fennel and
segmented grapefruit, is probably a far cry from anything Lo saw
in her childhood kitchen.
And though Lo’s voice is somber and sad when she talks about
the recent tragedies she’s been through, she’s clearly been
invigorated by them too. Her food is energetic and exciting and,