Ah, Istanbul. Straddled across the azure Bosphorus straits, with one foot in Europe and the other firmly planted in Asia – this love child of past great empires and politics just screams out to be loved.
With such an illustrious history, you can be sure of ancient monuments – the testaments of love, respect and fear. The most famous landmarks can be done in a day (The Blue Mosque, Hagia Sophia, Topkapi Palace, the Theodossius obelisk and the Roman Cisterns). Many a guide book have already been written about these, so I shall not waste time with that, suffice to say that if you love history as much as I do, they are simply unmissable.
For me, the throbbing heart of the country beats in its food. The people of Turkey certainly know their food – by this, I mean that they understand their food from the raw materials to shaping these into the saliva-inducing morsels we have come to love.
Take the most famous culinary export, the kebab (shashlyk, to Russian-speakers). Many a late-nighter has had their hunger pangs sated by a greasy skewer of meat (and if you are like the English, accompanied by equally greasy fat chips doused in vinegar). However, here in Turkey, the meat is always juicy and tender, correctly salted and spiced, and wafting an aroma which rivals Pavlov’s bell in intent. It must be the copious amounts of organic olive oil they lovingly brush over the rotating meat, or the innate ability to know when to shave off slivers.
The other Turkish delight (if you will pardon the pun) is the gastronomic feast that is meze. Meze is the Turkish equivalent of the Spanish tapas – different small dishes, each orgasmic in flavour, into which you dip those delicious flat breads. Vegetarians, quite understandably, love Turkish meze. It is a prime example of how you can be creative with vegetables without sacrificing flavour, texture or appearance. Apart from the now common humous, tarasalamata salads, and similar dips, there are certainly other less-common options.
At the top of Pera hill is a wonderful local restaurant called (rather unimaginatively) “Meze”. One of my friends, John, a Canadian transplant, introduced me to this place. The place was quite pricey, but then so was the location. However, the food more than made up for it.
A fresh cod ceviche, lightly marinated in lemon juice and olive oil, garnished with julienned parsnips and parsley, started us off. We let the flavours dance in our mouths, forgetting to bite into our warm flatbread. Accompanying it was a deconstructed vine leaf roll, except that it was made from seasonal greens, spinach, red peppers and held together by goats cheese. John opted for the eggplant, baked like a souvlaki without the meat – layered carefully with cheese, tomato paste and copious amounts of parsley.
I decided to try the porcini mushrooms topped with salmon and dill, which turned out to be the better choice. One of my favourites though saw the delectable anchovies fried in oil, spinach and red peppers. Not too salty, not too tart, the taste was just sublime.
We finished the meal with a traditional Turkish banana dessert. Basically, this was a large banana sliced into little pieces, topped with chopped walnuts, ice cream, some fresh caramel, and a very generous dollop of honey. To say it was sweet would be an understatement. It was very nice but one would probably not need more than two spoonfuls.
With some local Turkish friends, I set out to find some good Turkish coffee. We settled on a small cafe very close to the Galata Tower. The coffee wasn’t thick enough for the spoon to stand at 90 degrees. Still, it had enough bitter coffee grind in it to dissuade you from drinking to the bottom of the cup. I was a little cagey about having coffee (and such a thick one at that) so late in the evening, but luckily, I managed to sleep well that night.
Also ubiquitous during my trip this time were the many fruit press stalls. You can find them in restaurants, as standalone booths, or at tourist destinations. Oranges, apples, you name it…they were all ready to be freshly pressed for juice. My favourite had to be the scarlet hues of the pomegranates. In England, pomegranate juice is reconstituted from concentrate, and a large make-up of the “juice” is actually apple. For a cheap price of 2 lira, you could get a small cup of pure, freshly-pressed ‘nar‘ (as pomegranate is called in Turkish).
One day, I was running late and did not manage to have breakfast. Rather than break into my appetite for lunch, I decided to get another famous Turkish delicacy: the simit. A simit is like a large bagel or doughnut. Typically dipped into syrup and studded with sesame seeds, you can choose to slice it in half and fill it with cream cheese or Nutella. Either option you choose, it is delicious and surprisingly filling. They also keep quite well so I just bought different types the night before to have for breakfast each day. At one lira each, it beats paying 80 lira at the hotel.
Simit is usually sold in little street carts. Similar contraptions sell sweet corn, chestnuts, mussels, soup, coffee, and a nutritiously-tasty winter drink called ‘salep’.
The desserts are a diabetic’s worst (or best?) nightmare. All tooth-achingly sweet, bright and colourful, immensely awful for calorie counters, and extremely addictive. The Turks even have dessert-only cafés where you go to keep the tooth fairy in permanent employment. Other than the many types of baklava, there are cream-based desserts in many permutations of nuts (pistachio, walnut, almond and hazelnut being the most popular).
Finally, we come to the eponymous “delight”. Whole shops are dedicated to this gastronomic sweet. Nuts, fruit, and other surprises can be encased in a soft glutinous envelope. Unsurprisingly, the production of the Turkish delight probably keeps the sugar cane plantations in perpetual business.
So, while Istanbul is a magnificent crossroad of cultures and history, its biggest asset is its literal melting pot of culinary gold.