Bulbul Yuvasi~Knightingales Nest

Bulbul or Knightin gale is a bird well known to Turkey and around the world. It is best known for it's beautiful music. This dessert just melts in your mouth. The green pistachios cradled among golden ridges of crisp filo dough. Drizzled with warm syrup (serbet) and served with a hot cup of coffee. Special Thanks to our friends at Jennifer's Kitchen~Ebru TV Afiyet Olsun!

Recipe
1 box of filo (#5)
1 C sugar
1 C water
3 drops lemon
1 stick butter
2 tbs vegetable oil
Fresh Pistachios hulled and chopped

What to do:

Preheat oven to 350. Start out by making your Serbet/Syrup 1 C Sugar, 1 C water. Boil until syrup lightly coats metal spoon. Add three drops of lemon.

Unroll filo and cover with wet paper towel. Melt butter and oil, add to bowl. One by one take your filo sheets. Brush sparingly here and there with butter mixture. Use a Pencil/stick (longer is better) shape and start at short end rolling to opposite end, leaving about 3/4 of an inch unrolled. The key here is not to roll too tightly but move quickly so your filo dough doesn't dry out. Squeeze both ends towards center of stick, accordion like.(don't worry if some filo cracks) With two fingers slide filo off the end of the stick. Try to keep your dough scrunched. Put end to end and push center down. This will make the floor of the nest. Put in pan and place the open end towards the wall of your pan. Pack closely together. When finished pour remaining butter on top of each nest. Bake in oven until they are dark golden brown. Remove from oven and spoon in your pistachios. When cool splash syrup over each one, fully saturating them. Afiyet olsun.

Here is a poem I found from www.slife.org The author is an amazing man dedicated to bettering humanity through his eloquent words, actions, and prayers.

THE CRY OF THE NIGHTINGALE

At the moment when flowers are dancing,
The nightingale sings in gardens secluded.
Each of its tunes sounds like the whistling wind
To those seen as foreigners in their native land.
It cries, like my ceaseless wails and laments,
Each resonates, high and low through the slopes.
It bemoans all night until the sun rises,
Each breath comes out as a burning sigh.
On virgin trees untouched by man’s hand,
It groans unceasingly for a lifetime,
And sheds tears, full of grief; but who is there
To appreciate it, to sympathize with its pains?

M Fethullah Gulen