Had Bulgaria's communist government got its way we might never have had Silvena Rowe's new cookbook, a deliciously hungry journey charting the Ottoman influence on the food of the eastern Mediterranean. Like so many ethnic Turks, Rowe's father, a highly regarded newspaper editor, Bulgarianised his name. But in the kitchen at home he remained Turkish. "My father would come back from work for lunch and cook the most amazing things," Rowe says. "Börek of thinly sliced aubergine sandwiching cheese, then deep fried, or of course the baklava, which he had learnt from my grandmother."

And which, in three styles – including walnut and rose water, and almond and apricot – she now gifts to us in Purple Citrus & Sweet Perfume. The book is vivid, dramatic, irrepressible, much like its author. Rowe, who first came to Britain as a teenager in the 80s to follow her English husband-to-be, is a striking six-footer, with a plume of spiky peroxide hair, a rich, musical accent and a tidy line in enthusiasm. "I was looking at my roots," she says, "and I realised I was a lot more Turkish or Arabic than anything else. My favourite food is stuffed vine leaves, it is grilled lamb and baklava. It is not the borscht that people associate with Bulgaria." As a result she set out on a journey. "Bulgaria was ruled by the Ottomans for five centuries so it is no surprise the food is so Turkish." She travelled to Lebanon and Jordan, following the route of the imperial power, collecting recipes as she went.

Though now established on the food media circuit, with regular TV appearances on Saturday Kitchen and involvement at various restaurants as consultant or executive chef, she admits that hers has been a curious, meandering journey, driven mostly by appetite. "I have always been a very greedy person," she says. "As a child if I sent a postcard from holiday it was never about the view, it was always about the menu." Back in the 80s, newly married in London, she set about recreating the flavours of home at dinner parties. In classically combative style she says: "I soon realised that even people who didn't like me were still coming to my house to eat." One of those who did like her put her up for a Channel 4 food show, Chef on the Night. Her appearance led to work as a private chef and in turn to a position in the small kitchen at Books for Cooks, the cookbook shop in London's Notting Hill. "That," she says simply, "was the making of me."

Being surrounded by so many cookbooks for three years would have been enough to put most people off writing one of their own. Even so, in 2006 she published Feasts, about food for sharing from eastern and central Europe. It won a Glenfiddich award for best cookbook. "Collecting that award was my Gwyneth Paltrow moment because I wept so much," she says. "It seemed a remarkable thing to have happened."

The new book is a major step up from that, and has already led to her being compared to Claudia Roden, the doyenne of Mediterranean food. Shot lavishly in Istanbul by Jonathan Lovekin, it is as much artefact as book, every page filled with a palette of turquoise and ruby red, purple and blue. "I wanted to stick away from all the Turkish cliches. So no toothless old ladies selling bunches of herbs. No fishermen. No shitting seagulls." Instead sumac, the purple berry with an aromatic citrus flavour, appears regularly, as do pomegranates and lots of flowers. "Only at the end did I realise that 35% of the recipes use flowers in some way or another, be they rose petals or nasturtiums, hibiscus, thyme or chive flowers." She insists, however, that all these recipes are doable at home, the ingredients (or perfect substitutes) quickly found.

I ask her to identify which key recipes sum up the book. She flicks proudly through its pages. "There is this onemy perdeli pilaf with duck confit, raisins and pine nuts." She glances up. "No one makes better rice than me." She turns to the back. "And of course there is my Istanbul orange and vanilla baklava. The book would not have been complete without that. For me it is the memory of my dad." It seems we have a lot to thank her father for.

These recipes have been removed as our copyright has expired