Istanbul_ The Collected Traveler_ An Inspired Companion Guide - Barrie Kerper [158]
SEARCHING FOR STREET FOOD
On my first day back in Istanbul, I enlist my friend Engin Akin to accompany me on a street food tour. A columnist for the Turkish newspaper Vatan, Engin has been my guide to the city’s foodscape for more than a decade. In the mood to do something unabashedly touristy before eating, we visit Topkapı Palace, built by Sultan Mehmet the Conqueror after he seized Constantinople in 1453. Separate buildings house the palace kitchens under domes that bring to mind giant meringues. Ottoman sultans clearly had a serious food fetish: A staff of more than a thousand cooks was organized into guilds, each specializing in a particular item, say, halvah or kebabs. Over six centuries of refinements and codification, the Ottomans developed a culinary culture every bit as sophisticated as that of the Chinese or the French.
But today the Sultanahmet district is not exactly the seat of sophisticated Ottoman dining. What one eats here is köfte, the addictive grilled meatballs that are a staple of millions of working-class lunches. The Hagia Sophia of köfte joints, as it were, is Tarihi Sultanahmet Köftecisi, founded more than eighty years ago and still run by the same family. Packed in behind the old marble tables, everyone orders the meatballs—crusty, springy, and suffused with smoke—served with piyaz, a lemony white-bean salad. To drink, there’s a tart, thin yogurt beverage called ayran. It’s good to be back.
“Turkish cuisine marries palace finesse with rugged nomadic traditions. Think of all the grills, yogurt, and butter,” Engin says as her driver whisks us across the Galata Bridge and over the Golden Horn to the port area of Karaköy. Our grail is the shop Karaköy Güllüoğlu, renowned for its baklava and börek. These incomparably flaky pastries are fashioned from yufka—phyllo, to the Greeks—a multilayered dough of Turkish nomadic origins rendered perfect and paper-thin by Topkapı chefs. Güllüoğlu’s pistachio-infused, not-too-sweet baklava puts the leaden Greek version to shame. A few bites of the buttery spinach börek and we’re off again, heading into the heart of the Beyoğlu district.
We stop for a quick lahmacun, the wafer-thin pizza with a smear of spicy ground lamb that’s baked in a wood-burning oven. Next we buy simit from a mustachioed street vendor. These dense, chewy bread rings, Istanbul’s most traditional and ubiquitous street snack, are brushed with molasses, encrusted with sesame seeds, and baked to a deep amber tan.
Winding down, we stop at Mado, opposite the Lycée Galatasaray, once Turkey’s Eton. This smart café with locations all over town specializes in ice cream thickened with salep, a powder milled from wild orchid bulbs grown in the Anatolian mountains. It gives the ice cream, made without cream or eggs, its exotically elastic texture. Mado’s flavors are almost surreally vivid. Licking on our cones, we stroll on, arguing about which is best: pistachio, sour cherry, or mulberry. The word salep, Engin informs me, comes from the Arabic term for “fox testicles.”
Istanbul’s Foodscape
The easiest way to get around this sprawling city is by taxi, though if you’re heading across to the Asian side or up the Bosporus, ferry rides can be magical—especially at sunset. Fares are cheap, but be sure to have your concierge write down directions. Of course, Istanbul is a magnificent place to wander on foot, making occasional stops for çay (tea) at the ubiquitous tea houses. At better restaurants, at least some English is typically spoken and English menus are often available. Perhaps the two most invaluable Turkish words to learn are tesekkür ederim, or thank you.
360 Istanbul Dinner, $200. İstiklâl Caddesi 311, Misir Apartments, eighth floor, Beyoğlu / +90 212 251 1042 / 360istanbul.com
Boğaziçi Borsa/Loft Dinner, $200. Darülbedayi Caddesi, Istanbul Convention Center, Harbiye / +90 212