I wanted to start with something familiar, a classic recipe:

First, I seared the oxtail and set it aside. In the same pot, I sautéed onions, carrots, celery, garlic, black peppercorns, and fresh thyme. Then came a bit of tomato paste, followed by white wine and beef stock. After letting the alcohol cook off, I returned the meat to the pot.

Lid on, and the dish started to cook slowly over low heat.

Everything was under control (!)

Once the meat was tender, I planned to remove it, strain the remaining broth, and get a clear, silky sauce. Most likely, I’d serve it with mashed potatoes.

But then, suddenly, I saw it in my mind’s eye:  buttery white rice, a tangy green salad with sumac and red onions, and pickled cabbage and cucumber draped over the edge of a small bowl. I blinked, but the vision insisted…

I looked at the pot… the potatoes waiting to be mashed stared back at me.

I said “no”!

I grabbed the blender and puréed the entire sauce.

Then I added cooked white beans.

The texture thickened, the color changed.

Yes, I could feel it turning into something denser, heartier, and more substantial.

A voice in my head said, “Forget it, this works better.”

I love French cuisine—like everything else that’s clear and full of rules.

But sometimes, straying from the path is delightful.

It turned out to be neither a classic French dish nor a traditional Turkish bean stew,

but the dish I ended up with was deeply satisfying.