A taste of Istanbul
Ashleigh Stewart gets a real taste for Istanbul, where she finds there’s a lot more to the Turkish capital’s cuisine than doner kebabs.
You might not know this, but Turkish food does not begin and end with the kebab. Beloved by late-night revellers the world over, the doner kebab has gained something of an unwholesome reputation – due in large part to it being the greasy, guilty go-to after a night out, or a staple of just about every food court in the country.
And, by all means, you will probably find a doner shop on just about every street corner in Istanbul. But there’s so much more to Turkish cuisine than a large roll-up of oily meat and potato.
Perhaps the best way to explore the historic city formerly known as Constantinople is through its fare – canvassing all calibres of quality via street stalls, restaurants, and everything in between.
Start your day by heading to the waterfront near Galata Bridge, the most historic (read: crowded) thoroughfare between the city’s European and Asian sides.
Underneath the bridge is where you’ll find a row of boats and small stalls serving up fresh mackerel, lightly grilled and stuffed in a bun with a sprinkling of lettuce. Hand over the best part of NZ$4, grab yourself a pickle juice (tursu) to wash it down with, and you have one of the simplest, freshest seafood dishes you’ll ever have (the tursu is just there for the experience). On your way to your next foodie destination, pay a visit to one of the thousands of carts peppered around the city selling roasted chestnuts ($2), or grilled, lightly salted corn ($1).
While the busy streets of the old city might be touted by your tour guide as good places for a kebab, I’d suggest heading over the narrow Bosphorus strait for your next course.
Hop on a public ferry to Karakoy to explore the busy back streets filled with the almost Parisianstyle eateries that line the gangways. The serpentine alleys boast buzzing restaurants. The old adage that one must choose an eatery on the basis of its popularity with the locals seems lost here: they’re just about all brimming with Turks tucking into heaping plates of fare.
After a Turkish coffee at any outlet you can find that will make it over charcoals (a necessity, I’m informed), scout yourself out some paca corbasi (a soup made out of lamb legs and head, found for about $5). Ciya restaurant is a good place for this, and is one of Istanbul’s most celebrated restaurants. You may be eating pieces of meat you might otherwise consider inedible, but the fried garlic and lightly-spiced broth means its not just palatable but quite delicious, and the accompanying sherbet (not the powder kind, the sweet and drinkable kind, about $2) is a liquid lunch you might actually choose to have.
Post-bathroom stop, take yourself around the corner to one of the nearby pide shops, where a freshly-grilled sphere of Turkish bread will be served up on a wooden board in front of you.
This is lahmacun ($2-ish), otherwise known as Turkish pizza, and you’ll then be instructed to pile it high with parsley, squeeze a lemon over it, sprinkle it with sumac, and roll it up ready to wolf it down while it’s still hot.
Apparently, this is best served with ayran, a yoghurt drink (delicious) or beetroot juice (not delicious), and I’m calling for it to be adopted by every doner shop in the Western world as a good addition to the late-night munchies repertoire.
Just as you think your waistband might actually be straining slightly, it’s time for dessert.
Of course, you can’t stay in the same eatery for two courses in a row, so head out into the street to seek out a place that sells an indeterminate little bowl of things that wouldn’t otherwise be in the same recipe.
This is asure (around $2) and though we might joke at the contents of such a hodgepodge of a dessert, it’s actually quite a big deal.
Supposedly, when Noah survived the big flood, he made this exact dish with the ingredients that were available. And the Turks have emulated him since.
It might look bizarre to say the least, but this little bowl of dried figs and apricots, haricot beans, chickpeas, and nuts, is a light and not-too-sweet way to cap off a meal.
But just when you think you can relax, we’re not done.
Back off across the Bosphorus, to the new European side this time, where you will amble up the hill and past the imposing Galata Tower to get to Pera/Beyoglu (depending on whether you go by its name in the Middle Ages, which still seems to be used, or its modern name).
This famous, wide pedestrian avenue (known as Istiklal Caddesi, visited by up to three million people a day) may be more a sea of bobbing heads than anything else, but you’ll be thankful for the extra girth of the walkway that allows for easier avoidance of slow walkers.
The street’s architecture is stunningly preserved and makes for a pleasant stroll even if you’re not here for the food.
But alas, we are, and that means more questionable things served in bread – such as kokorec (lamb intestines, around $3) and fried mussels in garlic sauce ($3). The former is actually surprisingly delicious – tender meat mixed with peppers, and the latter is especially indulgent, with the slathering of garlic sauce really giving your stomach something to moan about.
Just as your pants seem to reach breaking point, it’s time for dessert No 2. If you’re a chocolate fiend, Pera has a famed chocolate shop, Beyoglu Chocolate, which does a mean block of milk chocolate with pistachios (which Turkey is wellknown for).
But, of course, you couldn’t finish a meal (or a week’s worth of meals, if you will) with anything but the most patriotic of desserts: whether it be via Turkish icecream or turkish delight.
Choose the icecream ($2.50) for the entertainment value (the servers seem just as highly-trained in performing tricks as they are in serving the pliant frozen dessert), and the fact that it’s unlike any other icecream you’ve probably tried before.
The elasticated and supple icecream gets its texture from the goat’s milk it’s made from, and any Turkish person will tell you that reason alone makes it superior to Western icecream.
But, if you’re like me, and had only previously known turkish delight as the gelatinous chocolate no-one wants at the bottom of the Favourites box, or as the candy Edmund Pevensie sold his family for in Narnia (a point that has been contentious to me for years, considering aforementioned unsavouriness of the Cadbury version), it’s time you got acquainted.
No wonder Edmund was willing to give up his family for a square of chewy goodness, because this is actually one of the best things I’ve ever put in my mouth. You’ll be hard-pressed to wander
500 metres anywhere in the city and not find any
turkish delight and there’s no real marker of quality here it seems: they’re all delicious.
And, given the fact that its more luxurious iterations come in dreamy forms such as pistachio and honey, hazelnut and vanilla, and pomegranate, pistachio and cranberry – I’m quite ready to sell my family for more, too.
And then, if you must fulfil your one wish of having a proper doner kebab in Turkey, then I implore you to go to Sehzade Cag Kebap for the most succulent lamb you’re ever tasted ($5.50).
The place is tiny, the lines are present at all times, and there’s only one thing on the menu (lamb kebab), but it will be the best kebab you’ve ever had. No drunken doner in the taxi home will taste the same again.
Now, armed with your new knowledge of Turkish cuisine, perhaps you could ask for the iskender (a normal kebab with a tomato sauce, let’s not get too crazy) instead of your normal doner on your next 1am stop at the local after a big night.
Even better, come home stocked up with four kilos of real turkish delight and try to right the wrongs of chocolate boxes of years gone by, by educating everyone in your family – and near vicinity.
Your mother probably won’t thank you for it, but Turkey will.