Istanbul_ The Collected Traveler_ An Inspired Companion Guide - Barrie Kerper [161]
Those who come here to eat book at Köşebaşi. Some ten years ago the owner of the original Köşebaşi in the Levent district had the smart idea of serving ur-traditional eastern Turkish kebabs on white tablecloths in modern surroundings. It was a huge success, spawning an army of imitators and a chain of Köşebaşi restaurants. Ordering is a no-brainer. First, let the waiters mosaic your table with plates of spicy dips, mini lahmacun, and herbaceous chopped salads with tangy pomegranate. Then move on to the signature dish, çöp şiş, small tender lamb cubes marinated in a recipe that is more zealously guarded than the formula for Coca-Cola. Sprinkle with spices, wrap in lavash bread, plop it in your mouth, and savor the scene. As soon as the blaring Anatolian pop starts up, flee.
TRULY TURKISH IN NIŞANTAŞİ
When Istanbul residents are not eating kebabs or grilled fish or sushi at glamorous spots, they pine for their mother’s stews and stuffed vegetables, lamenting how difficult it is to find good home cooking at restaurants that aren’t outright dives. Hünkar, tucked away on a side street in the chic shopping neighborhood of Nişantaşı, is an exception. Foreigners love the place because owner Feridun Ugümü—imagine a Turkish Zero Mostel—personally guides them through the cold meze case and the display of tender braises and stews. The moneyed Nişantaşı locals go for Hünkar’s cosmopolitan ambience. With dark wainscoting, red lanterns, and piles of fruit by the entrance, this could be a bistro in Buenos Aires or Zurich. That is, until you taste the handmade manti (thimble-size meat dumplings) under a tart cloak of yogurt; the Hünkar begendi, a velvety warm eggplant purée enriched with milk and cheese; or a stunning fresh anchovy pilaf studded with currants and pine nuts. And it would be reckless to pass on dessert, perhaps sütlü kadayıf, a crunchy shredded wheat nest with a walnut heart framed by a delicate milk sauce. Very Ottoman.
My own favorite Turkish dish is one of the simplest, never mind its tongue-twisting name, zeytinyağli (zey-tihn-yah-lih). It’s a wondrous silken veggie confit in which broad beans, artichokes, and celery root are braised for an eternity in olive oil and a secret pinch of sugar that teases out their natural sweetness. It’ll forever ruin your appetite for al dente green beans.
Every place in town serves decent olive oil braises, but those by Boğaziçi Borsa (in Harbiye, adjacent to Nişantaşı) are in a league of their own. So is its red bean pilaki—a tomatoey Armenian stew cooked for twelve hours—and the deeply satisfying keşkek, a kind of creamy wheat berry risotto with shreds of lamb. This big, handsomely modern place was conceived by restaurateur Rasim Ozkanca because he, too, pined for great Turkish home cooking. His authentic regional menu is laced with a strong preservationist streak and a good deal of ingredient fetishism. That crumbly, stinky tulum cheese is from a special maker in the city of Erzincan; the pomegranate syrup is produced in Mardin; the fish is caught in the cold Black Sea, where they’re fattest. Esoteric sweet wines made from sour cherries or Turkish Çalkarası grapes complete the meal. Ozkanca’s son Umut, who trained in the States, presides over the creative Mediterranean fusion menu at Loft, downstairs from Borsa. His clubby, on-the-scene sister, Bahar, runs the smart restaurant at the Istanbul Modern museum near my home.
Here, overlooking the Bosporus and the Hagia Sophia, I can have trendy salads and sandwiches alongside manti and stuffed purple cabbage that taste just like Mom’s. It’s perfect, especially after a day of haranguing contractors