Armenia’s Greatest Vegetarian Dish

Take vospov kofte. It’s the vegetarian analog of canonical, relatively costly chi kofte, which consists of a mixture of minced raw beef or lamb, bulgur, tomato paste, and spices that is formed into logs or balls, served with a mixture of chopped herbs, and eaten inside a shroud of pita or lavash. Vospov kofte—perhaps the ultimate expression of tensions between scarcity and abundance, restriction and freedom—trades the meat for inexpensive red lentils and bulgur and a good amount of butter or olive oil to mimic its richness (the tomato paste is usually left out), resulting in a dish that is light but satisfying and beloved by Armenians the world over.

My grandmother Lucy’s recipe is a classic formula that goes something like this: Cook red lentils in an abundance of water until they break down into a smooth paste, stir in an equal amount of fine-grind bulgur, and let it sit while the bulgur hydrates. Meanwhile, soften chopped onions in butter or olive oil with Aleppo pepper, and then fold the seasonings into the lentil-bulgur mixture along with chopped parsley. Let the paste cool until it stiffens into a malleable, mashed potato–like consistency, and then mold it into logs or balls. Serve the kofte at room temperature, sprinkled with chopped parsley and onion and with swaths of bread.

Everyone in my family makes this dish, but I daresay we’ve all tinkered with my grandmother’s version over the years. Most of my tweaks are subtle, since I’ve learned that the most fundamental part of vospov kofte—the ratio of water to lentils to bulgur (3:1:1)—can’t change. Drier mixtures result in starchy kofte that tend to crack and fall apart when you mold them, while wetter mixtures produce pasty kofte that are too soft to hold their shape.

There’s just one concession that I’ve made about the bulgur, and it’s merely a shopping point: The fine‑grind bulgur (usually labeled “#1”) that most vospov kofte recipes call for can be hard to come by outside of Armenian and Middle Eastern groceries, and in my experience the medium-grind bulgur (#2) that is widely sold in the United States tends to give kofte a perceptible and unpleasant graininess. So when I can’t get my hands on the fine-grind stuff, I simply blitz whatever-size bulgur I have on hand in the blender for a couple minutes. The only trick is to start with a bit less volume, since the grains will pack more densely once they’re ground. (For more information about bulgur, see “Sizing Up Bulgur” on page 29.)

My other adjustments are flavor-based, starting with the fat. Many recipes (including my grandma’s) incorporate olive oil, but I’ve always viewed the fat component as an opportunity to incorporate some depth—even faint meatiness—that recalls the original intention of the dish. So I split the difference and use both oil and butter, the latter of which gives the kofte a nutty boost.

Next, Aleppo pepper: The moderately spicy, fruity dried red pepper is used extensively in Armenian cooking and is the only spice my grandmother considered essential in her vospov kofte. (Much of Aleppo pepper has been sourced from spice traders outside of Syria—particularly Turkey—since the Syrian civil war began.) I like to use a generous teaspoonful and amplify its warmth and complexity with cumin, black pepper, and allspice.

I also amp up the herb topping, which Grandma kept to simply chopped parsley and onion, since mild-mannered kofte benefit from the contrast of bright flavors. What I’ve ended up with is essentially a salad—a verdant mixture of parsley, scallions, and mint lightly glossed with olive oil and seasoned with lemon juice, more Aleppo pepper, sumac, and salt—that would make a fitting accompaniment to any dish that needs brightening. And given Armenians’ love for chopped salads, I’m certain that Grandma Lucy would approve.