EatingAsia

How to Get the Most Out of Istanbul: A Highly Opinionated List

Not listed in your guidebook: a typical scene in an Istanbul neighborhood

You might have done a double-take when you read that title. Service-y lists are definitely not our thing. Lists are the sort of thing I (Robyn) write for monetary compensation, though rarely willingly. When editors broach the "L" word I tend to cringe.

But, but. There is a time and a place for lists. Here, for instance, and now -- when the number of emails that I receive, in which the sender is heading to Istanbul and asking for a few general tips, reaches a critical mass. Istanbul, it seems, is hot.

It's pretty plain to see that we love Istanbul; we've made 9 visits in the last two years. But we "do" the city in a particular way, the sort of way that probably won't earn coverage in your average travel magazine. Maybe it's your sort of way too. Or maybe not.

At any rate, we have opinions about how best to experience the city. To whit:

After Sultanahmet's sites close, Beyoglu is where it's at

1.

As soon as you arrive buy an Istanbulkart -- one of those wallet-stashable plastic cards that you buy loaded and reload at a kiosk, useable on just about any form of public transport you are likely to board. We still use our akbil from ages ago -- same difference -- and not having to buy a jeton every time you want to get on a ferry is a real aggravation reducer. You do have to pay a deposit on the thing -- and thus remember to A) keep the receipt and B) return the card to claim back your deposit before you leave town --  so it's worth noting that just one card will work just fine for a couple or even a family of up to four people traveling together.

2.

Following on the Istanbulkart advice -- learn the basic transport lines. Why? So that you can sail through your time in Istanbul without ever having to set foot in a cab.

In our experience nine out of ten taxi drivers in Istanbul are jerks. One even threw change at me (Turkish coins are not flimsy) and then put a hex on Dave, which we are fairly certain resulted, a few minutes later, in a serious, trip-ruining (and persisting) back injury.

Why risk the giddy happy-state that Istanbul induces in 99% of its visitors on a teeth-grinding encounter with a taxi driver?

Here, let me make it simple for you.

• The ferry lines you're most likely to use -- Karakoy to Kadikoy, Eminonu to Kadikoy and Uskudar, Kadikoy to Besiktas and Uskudar to Besiktas. Note that ferry terminals are named for their DESTINATION. You will see no Eminonu ferry terminal at Eminomu -- just Uskudar and Kadikoy.
• The tram thing runs from beyond Sultanahmet (Universiti is a good stop if you're headed to Suleymaniye Mosque) across the Galata bridge to Karakoy (where the ferries are), Tophane (galleries and walking up to Cihangir and Galata and even Taksim) and Kabatas.
• The funicular (two stops, the top and bottom) runs from Karakoy right up to Tunel, which sits right between Galata and that famous (and famously annoying, if you are in a hurry) pedestrian shopping mall Istiklal Caddesi.
• And there's a quick little underground line that will get you from Kabatas, last stop on the tram thingy past Tophane, up to Taksim Square in the blink of an eye.
• Buses are easy: just know where you want to go and look for the your destination on the window. Or step up and ask the driver: Besiktas? Fatih? If you've got your Istanbulkart ready then you won't have to fiddle with change. With this minimal amount of public transport info in your head you can get many, many places.

3.

Related to II -- ride the heck out of Istanbul's ferry boats! They're one of the best things the city has going for it. If you don't believe me, take just four minutes to watch and listen to Dave's multimedia ode to Istanbul's ferries (wear headphones, view large screen). See, wasn't I right? In Istanbul riding the ferry is like taking a mini vacation within your vacation.

They're cool in the sticky heat of the summer if you can snag a seat outside. They're warm and cozy in the winter. They offer the best views, anywhere. Ride all the ferries and you'll see all of Istanbul's skylines from every possible angle. Fantastic photo opps! They're a way to "sightsee" without walking, an excuse to take a load off. A ferry ride during off hours, without the crowds, is incredible romantic. When I'm in Istanbul I feel as if I have failed if I don't ride at least two ferries a day. And unless you're deathly afraid of water or prone to seasickness you should feel that way too.

This is what we did just the other day: Karakoy to Kadikoy. Then Kadikoy to Uskudar. Then Uskudar to Besiktas (this is a quick ride). Besiktas to Kadikoy. Kadikoy back to Karakoy. Lots of photos were made. Lots of sighing over Istanbul's incomparable skylines was done. Hands were held. Tea was drunk.

Which leads me to my next tip:

A "secret" tea spot with a view near the Kabatas ferry terminal

4.

Get into tea drinking. It's a great excuse to rest up and rejuvenate after sightseeing/walking/shopping etc., and also a great way to soak up the local vibe. It's also a fantastic means to staying upright if you're fighting jetlag. Turks drink tea all day -- they'll stop anywhere, anytime for a bardak (glass). Get into this mode. Also, if someone offers you tea feel free to accept. It doesn't obligate you to anything other than friendly chit-chat. (Even if it's offered by a carpet seller.) You are also free to decline, as Turks do. Do so politely and no one is going to hold anything against you.

(If you can't tolerate caffeine, know that tea spots also offer bottled water, ayran and sometimes herbal teas -- zahter for thyme or ada cayi for sage tea. Sorry, but apple tea is for tourists.)

We have a few beloved secret tea spots. They're not exactly "secret" -- but they're not the Pierre Loti Cafe and they're unlikely to be listed in any guidebook:

• Tucked in a corner of the park by the Kabatas ferry pier, almost exactly across from the Findikli stop on the tram thingy, is a sweet little outdoor tea spot. Comfortable plastic chairs steps from the water, a lovely view across to Uskudar. This is a nice sunset spot and absolutely beautiful first thing in the morning, around 7:30.
• At the far edge of the parking lot across from the Istanbul Culinary Institute, there's an indoor tea space with tables and chairs out front. A bit noisy from the road below, but a nice view over a part of Istanbul we really haven't explored. Great for a cool-season afternoon tea, as it gets good sun around 2pm.
• The bufe just to the right as you exit the Eminonu/Karakoy ferry terminal in Kadikoy has tables and chairs right on the water. Another great sunset spot; turn your chair facing out to Besiktas and away from the godawful red-and-white beachball view-spoiler thing at the opposite end of the promenade.
• At the urging of Istanbul Eats' Ansel, we checked out Osman's independent tea truck in Karakoy, on the other side of the bridge from the Kadikoy ferry terminal (walk through the fish market, past the tables where people are eating grilled fish, and just keep walking). We like the vibe, very much so. This would be the place to head for tea around sunset, then switch to a cold Efes as the ball drops.

5.

Familiarize yourself with Turkish vowels and consonants. At some point or another you may need to ask directions, or order a grilled fish or a "Turkish bagel" or whatnot, and pronouncing the "c" as a "j" instead of as a "ch" when it should be pronounced as a "j" is going to increase the chances of your getting what you want and just generally make your life easier all around.

It's not that complicated. C and s are pronounced "j" and s, add a thingy underneath c and it's "ch", one underneath s makes it "sh". A dipper over g makes it soft and almost nonexistent (so dogal, g with thingy over it, is pronounced "doh-all"). A g without the dipper is just a hard g. O and u are "oh" and "oo", two dots over each just make them tighter vowels -- not anything to worry too about, actually, as Turks have always been very pleasant, to my face at least, wehn I mangle their language

E is "eh", a is "ah", and i is "ee". An i without the dot over it is pronounced "uh". So ızgara balık
(grilled fish) is uhz-gah-rah  bahl-uhk. Or close enough to it for you to be understood when you say it.

You will not see this next to the Blue Mosque.

6.

Get out of Sultanahmet, aka the Old City. I know, I know -- the Blue Mosque is there! You know what else is there? Carpet sellers, a lot of them. Touts, postcard and trinket sellers. Irish pubs. Overpriced, mediocre food. A Turkish friend once said to me, "No self-respecting Istanbullu would eat in Sultanahmet." And neither should you.

Yes -- you will want to spend one, two or even three days sightseeing in Sultanahmet. But you don't have to spend your nights there too. If you visit New York must you stay near the Empire State Building? You have absorbed Tip I, right? So you know that getting to and from Sultanahmet is as easy as brandishing your Istanbulkart and hopping on the tram. Or the ferry. Or walking across the bridge on a beautiful spring or fall day.

Our favorite stay is Cihangir (Galata is second, for its convenience), a lovely under-the-radar neighborhood that is a 10-minute walk downhill from Istiklal Caddesi and a 10-minute walk to the Tophane tram stop. Add 10-15 minutes to wait for a train and get to Sultanahmet and you're talking 25-30 minutes top. Most real Istanbullu live, eat and play across the bridge (or elsewhere in the city outside of Sultanahmet). When Sultanahmet's sites close for the day get out and stay/live, eat and play among them.

A street scene in Cihangir.

7.

Rent an apartment. Hotels are ridiculously overpriced in Istanbul -- I have no idea what justifies the 150 Euros per night charged by the most mediocre of 3-star hotels in the city. If you're bound and determined to spend 150 euros a night you can score a nice apartment with a Bosphorus view and probably a private balcony too. Not to mention: a washing machine, a full-sized fridge to chill your duty-free champagne (if you enjoy a tipple or two and are staying in an apartment you will want to stop at duty-free; Turkey's liquor duties are a major strike against it) in, a stereo, room to move and the privilege of not having to shower and dress before your morning coffee.

If you are an avid cook, as I am, and go gah-gah for beautiful ingredients then it's no contest. You'll welcome the opportunity to cultivate a friendly relationship with your neighborhood fruit or vegetable guy. When you're browsing at the corner produce shop and see 6 huge, beautifully pared artichoke hearts in a bag of lemon water for 15 lira you are going to want a stovetop to pan roast them on. You won't get it in a hotel room. You know those astonishingly fragrant, sweet green-fleshed melons dripping juice that every fruit seller in town is displaying come May/June? They're absolutely gorgeous for breakfast, served dead-ripe with a good quality sharp, lightly salted white cheese -- a combo unlikely to show up on your Sultanahmet hotel breakfast hotel table.

(Please note: no vacation apartment rental service sponsored this post.)

At the Tarlabasi Sunday market.

8.

Go to a once-a-week market. Even if you're not taking the advice in Tip VII, you can still take advantage of things like amazing fruit and a jawdropping selection of cheeses and edible souvenirs like nuts and dried fruit and spices and such. We love the Besiktas market on Saturdays -- the cheese stalls are particularly alluring. It doesn't really get rolling till around 10am. The Tarlabasi market on Sundays is mammoth, and good fun too.

9.

Get juiced. Does juice deserve its own point? I think so. Like tea houses, juice sellers are everywhere in Istanbul, squeezing oranges and grapefruits and, in season, pomegranates to order. Following on point VI, don't pay 5 Turkish lira for an orange juice in Sultahahment. Stop at the entrance to the Tunel funicular in Karakoy where a guy proffers a small glass for 1 TL. In winter, head behind the Kadikoy ferry terminal in Karakoy, in front of the tea house facing out onto the bit of promenade where all the guys are tossing fishing lines, and have a glass of ruby-red pomengranate juice pressed to order for 2 TL.

Every Istanbul stay should include proper breakfast out -- including menemen

10.

See the sights and then put away the guidebook and just do some neighborhoods. Go to Fatih, visit the Kadinlari Pazari, sit for some tea underneath the aquaduct (how cool is that), stroll through the mosque by the park, and just wander. Head out the Rumeli Castle early-ish (no later than 9:30am) on a Saturday or a Sunday, have a proper breakfast, then walk the water to Arnavutkoy and stroll up and down its hills, admiring the cute wooden houses. Take the tram to the Findikli stop, start walking to Tophane, climb the first set of stairs you see to its top, and then thread your way through the 'hoods towards Cihangir and beyond to Galata. You won't get lost (and so what if you did?), just keep the water in your sights. Take the ferry from Eminonu or Karakoy to Kadikoy but get off at Haydarpasa station, have some tea by the water, then walk to Kadikoy and duck up into its streets opposite the bus terminal.

Water views from a randomly located grassy spot above Tophane

You get the point. Put the map away and wander. Never knowing quite what to expect is one of the best things about one of the greatest cities in the world.

11.

Probably most important -- when planning your trip give Istanbul the time it deserves. I know, it's your first trip to Turkey (and maybe your last) and you want to fit in as much as possible. But Istanbul is like an onion, with many layers that reveal themselves only as the previous is peeled away. And in some ways Istanbul is a place unto itself -- different to every other part of Turkey you may ever visit. Think of Turkey as two countries: Istanbul and the rest. (Actually that is an oversimplification -- but you get my point.)

On our first trip to Turkey we spent 9 nights in Istanbul and left fretting that we hadn't even scratched its surface. Over subsequent trips we've probably spent a total of 3-4 months in the city. And we still feel that there is so much we haven't seen and experienced.

So don't rush Istanbul. Because no matter how much time you spend there you're unlikely to leave not wanting to return.

In Istanbul, Nothing Special

An on-time touchdown and a friendly taxi driver from Malatya who cheerfully helped with our bags and wished us a pleasant day with a smile.

Milky blue skies and a gently warming sun. Through our window as we chased dehydration with ice-cold ayran, a sweet breeze with a hint of saltwater and just a lick of coolness. A jetlagged nap -- not too long, just enough.

A sublime lunch: pillowy little meat medallions, lightly crusted from the grill, accompanied by an intriguing dried chili-based sauce hinting at vinegar. "A secret recipe, like Coca Cola," said the kofteci when our companion asked after its ingredients.

A stroll through Karakoy and a ferry ride to Hydarpasa. Tea, because we were determined to stay awake the whole day and there is no better excuse to sit idle and stare at the water, and look at the now-quiet train station. (Sad to see waiting rooms occupied only by cats, the restaurant empty, the barber shop quiet).

A wander along the water to Kadikoy. Tea again, by the water again. A kilo of cherries purchased in the market and eaten in the park as a dog serenaded a shoe shiner, young couples, a group of guys getting lit on Efes, some housewives, and us.

The ferry to Eminonu, the Galata Bridge by foot and the funicular to Tunel. A late afternoon stroll down Istiklal, a spot of grocery shopping down the hill in Cihangir and a stop to say hello to Mehmet, our Istanbul fruit guy. Back at our apartment, artichoke hearts stewed in olive oil with fragrant young garlic, peas tossed with olive oil and slivers of fresh mint. A nectarine sky and the cries of gulls drifting through the window.

A not particularly special day in Istanbul. A perfect first day in Istanbul.

For more on our lunch -- Köfteci Hüseyin: The Cadillac of Meatballs

 

Penang in Print (and other news)

A divine Malay lunch at International Hotel, Transfer Road

As we were wrapping up a little over three weeks in Turkey a piece we worked on last Oct/Nov ran in NY Times Travel. If you missed it, the link to my (Robyn's) 36 Hours: Penang is here. While you're there be sure to click on Dave's accompanying slideshow, a whopping 32+ photographs taken around the island.

For more Penang in photos sans words, Dave has posted out-takes from this shoot on his photo blog Sky Blue Sky, here.

And for yet more Penang, a couple blasts from the past: our late 2010 piece on post-Unesco world heritage designation changes in George Town for the same publication, here; some street photography and portraiture in Penang, here and here; and a sweetly nostalgic multimedia of Penang black and whites set to old-timey music, here.

(Now seems as good a time as any to mention once again that when he is in Penang Dave offers one-one-one photography walks/workshops. Info here.)

The week before our Penang piece ran my tiny write-up on Bangkok wine bars hit print; see it here. Yes, yes -- I've heard the grumbling from various quarters to the effect that none of these places are, in fact, wine bars. Beyond my puzzlement as to how exactly one should define "wine bar" these days (Must there in fact be a "bar"? Should there be potted ferns? Are DJs just not done? Is the bar not also allowed to offer beers on tap and mixed drinks?), I can say firsthand that they are all great places to enjoy a glass or a bottle, and they all boast a good -- and in some cases unique -- selection of vintages. Let me put it this way: no freebies were enjoyed in the course of this reportage.

And, before we asphyxiate ourselves with all the hot air blowing about this post, last week American photo agency A Wonderful Machine ran on its blog an interview with Dave about his current obsession with Turkey. You can read that, and view some photos, here.

And there you have it, our self-promotion quota for the month. Back to regular programming tomorrow. 

Seeing as I've ended on a Turkey note and that having been back in Penang for less then 48 hour, we're still in a Turkey frame of mind, a couple photos Dave shot last week. Snow is a unique and wonderful thing for us. On this night in Istanbul it was especially beautiful.

In Istanbul, a Slurp to Chase Winter Chills

It's snowing! In Istanbul!

And with big fluffy flakes drifting down outside our window, now seems the perfect time to tell you about boza.

Thought to have been invented in the 10th century or thereabouts by central Asian Turks, boza is a fermented drink made from corn, wheat, or millet. We sampled the beverage at Vefa Bozacisi, an old-timey shop not far from Suleymaniye Mosque. Vefa is certainly not a "find" -- it's in every guide book and probably on every walking tour, but it's not just for visitors; Istanbullu frequent Vefa too. 

The shop has a long history. By the 1600s there were boza shops all over Istanbul selling a thin, sour, rather alcoholic version, until Sultan Mehmend IV closed them down as part of a genearl ban on alcohol. During this period a sweetish, hardly alcholic version is said to have been favored by the Janissaries who guarded Topkapi Palace. Given the Sultan's ban on booze it became popular outside the palace walls as well.

In the late 1800s -- or so the story on the Vefa website goes -- Vefa founder Hadji Sadik Bey immigrated to Istanbul from Albania and "started to make Vefa Boza of a different flavour and taste, with thick consistency and having a less sour taste, just as it is flavoured and enjoyed today."

Boza is a winter beverage meant to be drunk warm. Long ago it was sold by itinerant vendors who pushed their carts up and down Istanbul's slippery wintertime hills shouting "Boooza! Booooza!" Now you can buy the stuff in a bottle, but for pure nostalgia value it's hard to beat the Vefa experience.

The shop is all mirrors, blue-and-white tiles, and timber. Orders of boza are ladled up to order from a big marble tub on the bar that runs along one side of the shop.

We sampled our boza off-season (as you might deduce by the short sleeves in these photos). Such a hearty drink would probably have gone down easier in the dead of winter but even in June boza cast its spell on me.

It's quite viscous -- thick and slurpy. Some may find this repellent, but living in Asia has pretty much inured me to gloppiness in any dish or beverage. I loved the boza's's mildly sweet-tanginess, which is nicely complemented by the generous sprinkle of cinnamon with which the boza server annoints each glass.

Right across the street from Vefa is a leblebici (roasted chickpea seller). This is not a coincidence. Some boza drinkers sprinkle the roasted legumes on top of their boza before each sip/slurp.

On that summer day, as we sat in Vefa sipping/slurping our boza, our friend Evren (he of the healthy obsession with deliciousness and the memorable brunch near Rumeli Castle) explained the custom such: "Imagine buying a bag of just-roasted leblebi from the leblebici, then rushing over to Vefa to eat them while they're still hot, with a warm glass of boza."

That I can imagine, on a wintry day like this.

(Want to try making boza at home? This recipe uses bulgur. Want more winter? Dave shot these images earlier this week in Sivas and Malatya, central Turkey -- and on the open road in between.)

In Istanbul, an Exception to the Brunch Rule

Menemen worth suffering a traffic jam for

When it comes to Brunch (organized brunch, eating-out brunch and -- especially -- Brunch as Buffet) we have one rule: we don't. Ever, anywhere. It's a tenet we've hewed to for decades and have no expection of straying from. Except in Istanbul.

Our Brunch turnaround happened on a sunny Sunday morning last November. It was the last weekend of a wonderful month in Turkey. We were in Istanbul, spending the day with a good friend who suggested starting with breakfast -- which ended up not happening till late in the morning, which technically made it Brunch. Uh-oh.

What's more, said Brunch happened in the vicinity of Rumeli Castle, which is surrounded by a slew of tea gardens and Bruncherias with almost too-picturesque Bosphorus views. On fair weekend mornings the promenade teems with Brunchers, Strutters, Yachters, Preeners and Trophy-Dog Walkers.

It's really not our scene.

But our friend Evren, whom Dave was lucky enough to land as an assistant when he worked on an Istanbul ferry boat photo project a couple of years ago, grew up in Istanbul, in a family that loves to eat. He has a healthy obsession with deliciousness. It was Evren who led us to our now-favorite Istanbul kaymak-erie and bakery. He's never let us down. We couldn't say "no" to Brunch with Evren.

True to form, when we stepped off the bus just past Rumeli castle Evren led us past the flashier Bruncheriasto Rumeli Kale Cafe, a skinny three-story structure opposite Iskele restaurant (where, ten years ago, Dave and I endured a meal of passable fish accompanied by the snootiest service imagineable).

We slipped in the back door, climbed a skinny flight of stairs and entered a narrow dining room lined with banquettes and fronted by an un-paned picture window. It was packed, but the crowd was unpretentious, the vibe low-key, the view lovely.

Evren did not order sparingly. The cafe is a favorite Sunday haunt, he told us as he picked and chose from the menu on a first pass, then picked and chose some more 15 minutes into the meal: a full Turkish breakfast (cheese, olives, tomatoes and cucumbers, raisin preserves). Eggs two ways: fried with sucuk (sausage) and semi-scrambled with tomatoes and peppers (menemen). Bal kaymak (heavenly Turkish clotted cream in a pool of honey). Crispy rolled borek oozing kasar cheese. Haloumi fried in butter.

Rumeli Kale Cafe has two upper floors, and each floor has only two window tables; most customers make do with views marred by the heads of fellow diners. Its long narrow dining room offers little See-and-Be-Seen opportunities. People come to Rumeli Kale Cafe to eat.

And we did. "Eat the borek while it's hot," Evren urged, and we obliged.

Then we moved on to the rest of it. We slathered kaymak and honey on sheets of steaming lavash periodically added to our bread basket by the waiter, broke perfectly wobbly egg yolks onto slices of sausage, forked up bits of crusty haloumi and used spoons to devour the ethereally light menemen.

In between bites of everything that was bad for us we drank tea ("It melts fat!" Dave kept insisting) and nibbled on tomatoes and cucumbers and green cayenne peppers. We chatted. We looked out the window. We idled. Over Brunch. Brunch!

And it was good.

Afterwards, we needed to move. So we joined the Preeners and Trophy-Dog Walkers et al on the promenade. Stumbling along in a Brunch-induced fog, we vowed to never again do Brunch. Istanbul being the exception.

Rumeli Kale Cafe and Restaurant just past Rumeli Hisar (coming from Istanbul). There are two Rumeli Kale Cafes -- aim for the three-story structure further along the road (away from Istanbul), across from Iskele Restaurant. While the cafe serves breakfast till late in the day during the week, aim for a Saturday or Sunday (or holiday), when the kitchen is geared up. And arrive by 10 if you want to be sure of a table upstairs, earlier if you hope to sit by the window on the second or third floor. Be forewarned: the flow of traffic back into town will be glacial.

[Note: We revisited Rumeli Kale Cafe last Monday morning. We're now in Anatolia, in the little-touristed city of Kayseri. Dave recently posted some moody black-and-white shots from the last few days, here.]

Datli Maya: Tradition With a Twist in Istanbul

The Istanbul-bound flight out of Singapore arrives in the wee hours. Even after we've hit up airport Duty Free, fought the traffic to Beyoglu and dropped our bags in our usual stay in Cihangir it's still early. We know a long nap will assert itself eventually but on a morning like this -- turquoise skies, birds chirping, a light breeze -- going straight to bed is out of the question.

So we walk a little, poking around the neighborhood, tallying the changes since our last visit: a few sleek restaurants, a new bar or two, a couple boutiques. Cihangir doesn't have Galata's dramatic architecture or its historic charm, but its hipster factor has risen dramatically. We're happy to see Mucver is still there; we know it even before we climb the hill outside our door to the corner because we can smell lunch being prepared in the garden-level kitchen just a few doors away.

But wait ... the postage stamp-sized wood-fired bakery where we always buy simit from a sometimes friendly, sometimes grumpy hoca, we see as we approach, has been re-painted. He is gone and -- we roll our eyes -- the place is now a cute cafe called Datli Maya. There is cheesecake in the window.

Oh dear. There goes the neighborhood.

Still, it's open, we're hungry, and jetlag is closing in. We step inside and find that the wood-fired oven is still in use and simit are still for sale. And when we inquire about the hoca the new owner tells us that he taught her to use the wood-fired oven, and the simit recipe is his, and he lives upstairs on the third floor. We feel better.

The cafe is in early days, she says. They're still testing, getting a feel for the fire. Would we like to try a dish of lor (ricotta-reminiscent fresh cheese) and Spanish quince paste warmed in the oven? We would, so we head upstairs, through the teeny-tiny kitchen, and take a seat at one of three tables in the even smaller dining space. In the corner by the door there's help-yourself tea in a big old-fashioned samovar. The wall shelves by our table hold jars of dried herbs, a few books, some knick-knacks. The chairs and tables are mismatched but the place feels comfortable, not twee. Personal, not self-consciously shabby chic.

The cheese and fruit paste arrives at our table drizzled with good olive oil and garnished with two black olives. The lor is unsalted and uber milky, nicely balanced by the sharp olives and sweet quince paste. As we're fighting over the last bite the cafe's energetic owner pops upstairs and, plucking twigs and leaves from the jars on the shelf, offers us herbal tea.

As we drink  I read a framed newspaper clipping hanging on the wall. It turns out that our friendly host is Dilara Erbay, a not unknown quantity in Istanbul's culinary world. (Read more about her career, and Datli Maya, in a typically authoritative Istanbul Eats write-up here.)

Dilara was last associated with Abracadabra, a big beautiful restaurant with a view in Arnavutkoy. One Sunday morning last January we and a couple chef friends went to Abracadabra for what is yet one of the best breakfasts we've eaten in Turkey. Dilara wasn't around, but her commitment to sourcing the absolute best regional ingredients was evident in the kaymak, honeycomb, eggs, butter and cheeses on our table. Yet despite the deliciousness and the welcome given by the Abracadabra staff we knew we wouldn't return; the vibe was a little preening, a bit too see-and-be-seen.

What a lovely surprise then to find that a not-new talent, but a new-to-us talent, was working magic in a place without attitude, a cafe we'd be eager to return to. Three weeks later, after a spell on the Black Sea and inland, we did. It was all good.

The traditionalist in me sniffs at a menu that puts lahmacun side-by-side with cheesecake. But why not, if both are done well? Datli Maya's lahmacun hoca brings his talent for taming the wood fire all the way from the southeast;, our thin-crusted pekmez specimen was memorable, our garlicky sausage and cheese pide delicious. Dilara knows a thing or two about baking; the cheesecake is seven-spiced and lovely, a cross between hefty New York-style and fluffier versions.

Turkey boasts amazing regional ingredients that should be getting more play outside traditional kitchens. Our kudos Datli Maya for going there in a way that feels honest, not gimmicky.

And as a curious cook who enjoys talking with other cooks I like the idea of a place where I can walk through the kitchen and see what the staff is cooking up for the lunch special. On our last morning in Istanbul we found Dilara and her colleagues wrist-deep in wild mushroom and bulgur pilav. Are those dates? I asked, and Dilara pulled a package of floury red Chinese dates from the counter. "A friend gave them to me," she said. "I think they're Vietnamese. But we're using them in this pilaf. Why not?"

Indeed.

Datli Maya, 59/A Türkgücü Caddesi, Cihangir (across from the mosque). Daily 8am-midnight.

In Istanbul, A Perfect Lunch and the Call to Prayer

Eating seafood by the water in Karakoy, Istanbul -- such a cliched tourist experience. But Istanbullu eat seafood by the water in Karakoy too. And because of these fish, these fried hamsi (anchovies), we found the best spot in the city from which to listen to the call to prayer.

On a gauzily bright afternoon last January we walked through the small fish market at the northern end of the Galata Bridge. We like the little restaurants there. They tout a bit and a menu may be waved in front of your face, but there's nothing overly aggressive about the salesmanship.

Prices are clearly marked, and reasonable -- especially if you stick to what's in season (and avoid prawns/shrimp). The service isn't to white tablecloth restaurant standards, but if you've dined at white tablecloth restaurants in Istanbul you might think that's not a bad thing. (Our tolerance for snooty waiters is pretty low).

The food is basic, and good.

We walked to the "restaurant" at the very end, the one with tables right on the water. We sat in the sun and drank in that view that's impossible to tire of. We ordered hamsi and a mackerel-y type fish and a salad. After many trips to Turkey we still marvel that a beautiful salad is so easily had no matter where in in the country you find yourself.

The fish arrived griddle-fried and crispy outside, moist and sweet within, accompanied by big fleshy leaves of peppery rocket and wedges of lemon. Our salads (greedy for the tangy pickled red cabbage that's a component of this tri-color assemblage, we ordered one each) were dressed with a drizzle of olive oil and the lemon juice we squeezed on top.

We ate whole anchovies, leaving aside only bits of head, and picked flesh from mackerel bones and soaked up lemony olive oil with chunks of bread, and felt absurdly lucky to be there, dining outside comfortably in the middle of January and drinking in one of the world's most beautiful skylines.

After lunch we hopped on the small ferry we'd watched chug back and forth between our "restaurant" and Eminonu, on the opposite bank. We could have easily walked across the bridge, or taken the train. We could have stayed in Karakoy; we had no reason or desire to be in Eminonu.

But it seemed right, after a simple meal of fish and salad by the water, to ride close to its surface on an old-fashioned ferry. So we paid the ridiculous foreigners' price, equal to almost half the cost of our cheap lunch, and climbed aboard.

We sat outside and let the wind slap our faces as we listened to the ka-chug ka-chug of the motor and the hollow punch of waves against the boat's wooden sides. It was a short ride, less than five minutes, and if we'd had the nerve we would have asked the gruff boatman if we might stay on board for a few more back-and-forths.

But we didn't, so we didn't. Instead we alighted in a parking lot with a perfect vantage of Galata tower just as the loudspeaker of a mosque nearby began to crackle.

It started there, and then marched up the hills behind us as muezzin at other mosques joined in. Then morefrom the opposite side of the bridge. We by the shore as the call to prayer bounced and echoed all around us, a cascade of rising and falling male voices.

When the last bit faded away we walked to Eminonu pier and caught a ferry to Kadikoy, just to be on the water.

Fish restaurant at the Karakoy fish market: if you're at the Galata Bridge facing Eminonu the fish market is on your right. Walk through it to the very end, to the tables on the water. The menu is basic: fish and salad. About 20 Turkish lira for two fish plates and a big salad.

 

Golden Oldies in Beşiktaş

It's no secret that we love most any restaurant, street stall, or food shop with a history. So it's only natural that we're drawn to Istanbul, a city so filthy rich in edible backstories that we could spend six months roaming, eating, shooting and asking questions, and yet still barely scratch the surface of its culinary history.

Take Beşiktaş, a slice of the city that -- for whatever reason -- seems to be overlooked by visitors. Sited on the European shore two pleasant ferry rides -- or a straight bus or combination tram-and-bus/or taxi journey -- from Eminonu, it's a bustling municipality built up around a sweet little historic center. If you go the ferry route, hop off and follow the crowds across a busy thoroughfare. Quite suddenly, you're in a neighborhood of brick-paved streets winding up and around a hill.

Sure, central Beşiktaş' lanes are lined with their share of tacky pubs and unattractive shop fronts, but the neighborhood's got heart -- in the form of a wonderful little fish market, sitauted at the intersection of several usually pedestrian-only lanes, and a few great eats that have stood the test of, well, more than a century.

Places like Yedi Sekiz Hasan Paşa, for example. This bakery was introduced to us last summer by our Istanbullu friend Evren, whose mother has been making her way to Beşiktaş for its fresh-from-the oven rusks, cookies and breads for as long as he can remember.

We didn't have to taste a single thing to fall for Yedi Sekiz; going on appearance alone, the place is a gem.

    

Enter and you're face to face with a portrait of the bakery's namesake, the generously mustachioed and stern-faced Hasan Pasa. The story goes that in the late 1800s Hasan -- a burly, brave illiterate who used the numbers "7-8" (yedi-sekiz) as his signature -- was tapped by Ottoman Sultan Abdul Hamid to bring order to the then dangerous, hooligan-ruled streets of Beşiktaş. The Sultan bestowed the military rank of Paşa  (pasha) on the young man, and he did such a bang-up job making the neighborhood safe that he enjoys near-saint status among its residents.

Across the shop from Hasa Pasa's countenance hang portraits of Ataturk, along with an evil eye and other good luck totems. Stretching between the two great men, is a tiled rear wall centered by a massive wood-fired oven.

 

In the middle of the room, warmed by the heat of the wood fire, is a vast terrazzo table covered with metal trays of more varieties of breads and other treats than one sould possibly sample in a single, or even multiple, visits.

More bounty is displayed in the bakery's front window.

With such an overwhelming selection, where to start? We can't highly enough recommend the acı badem, [ah-JUH BAH-dem], intensely flavored, crackly-outside-and-chewy-inside almond cookies reminsicent of Italian amaretti. It took us a few visits before we could even get past these wonders. They aren't available everyday, and don't come out of the oven till early afternoon.

We planned jaunts to  Beşiktaş around Yedi Sekiz' acı badem schedule, and never walked out of the bakery without at least two hundred grams' worth.

Other Yedi Sekiz highlights: coconut macaroons, a bit sweeter than the aci badem but just as deliciously moist,

 

portakalı [por-tah-KAH-luh] -- drier, less chewy biscuits heavily infused with orange flavor -- and tahinli [tah-HEEN-lee], massive, to-die-for coils of sweet flaky pastry layered with the most fragrant sesame paste. On our last trip to Istanbul we packed several of these back to Kuala Lumpur, where they survived very well for a month in our freezer.

Yedi Sekiz also does some lovely hearty breads, like these unsalted multi-grain rolls.

Just around the corner from Yedi Sekiz, a red and white awning says it all: "Kaymak-ful (Kaymak-y) Breakfast Here."

Most often described as Turkish clotted cream, kaymak can be made from cow, buffalo, goat, or sheep's milk. Depending on where you are in Turkey, it varies from thin as pouring cream to loosely solid and molded into thinly layered "cakes". Its a decadent accompaniment to sweets and is also eaten for breakfast -- especially in Van in eastern Turkey, where it's a central component in the gargantuan local breakfast spread.

It's also dangerously addictive.

This shop has been serving "kaymak-ful" breakfasts from its simple storefront breakfasts since 1895. They serve their luscious buffalo milk kaymak (just have a gander at that opening photo), which is made not far from central Istanbul, with a few simple accompaniments -- honey, bread, tomatoes and cucumber, eggs if you like, hot tea or milk.

The goods are served with a smile, and are best enjoyed leisurely at an outdoor table with a bird's-eye view of the comings and goings in old Beşiktaş.

Yedi Sekiz Hasan Pasa, Şehit Asım Caddesi. No 12, Sinanpaşa Mahallesi (neighborhood). Beşiktaş.

The bakery opens around 8:30am and closes in the late evening; the ovens are going all day. Little English is spoken and service can be a bit brusque when the shop is busy, but it's worth girding yourself for a little social discomfort and going for it. Have a good idea of what you want to buy BEFORE you get to the counter. Breads and rolls are purchased by the piece, but biscuits and cookies go by the gram, starting with 100 grams.

Beşiktaş Kaymakci, Koyici Meydani Sokak, Sinanpaşa Mahallesi, Besiktas. Open early in the morning until about 3pm (all-day kaymak-ful breakfasts!).

Famous Beans

We've long been legume fiends, and we both have a thing for white beans in particular. Maybe that's one reason we can't stay away from Turkey -- Turkish cooks do white beans like no one else.

Turkey's kuru fasulye (koo-roo fah-SOOL-yay), or dried white beans, vary in size from no larger than the nail of your index finger to half the length of your thumb. Cooked and cooled, they might be tossed with olive oil, vinegar, sliced onions, parsley, and chopped egg for a refreshing salad called piyaz. Or they might be pureed and eaten as a mezze. Or added to a meaty soup or stew.

Our favorite kuru fasulye preparation is often called simply ... fasulye. Stewed with onions, tomato (and sometimes red pepper) paste(s), lamb, plenty of butter and -- if the cook is very conscientious and cares not a whit about cholesterol -- lamb tail fat, dried white beans become the sort of can't-get-enough dish that haunts your dreams.

Write-ups on Turkish food, no matter how rhapsodic, rarely mention this dish. Maybe that's because it's a Black Sea specialty, and too little attention is paid to the wonderful cuisine of Turkey's northern-most region. Perhaps it's because kuru fasulye is such an everyday dish, an esnaf lokanti steam table staple. Truth to tell, the dish doesn't always live up to its potential.

So, with a few exceptions, for a really great fasulye you need to go to a specialist, a "white beanery" if you will. On our last stay in Istanbul we taste-tested the famous beans at two.

Ali Baba Kanaat Lokantasi is sits directly across from Fatih district's Suleymaniye Mosque, a must-visit site for every tourist in Istanbul. And there are plenty of tourists eating at Ali Baba. Don't let that worry you; there are plenty of Istanbullu eating there too.

The signage out front announces Ali Baba's pedigree: c. 1939. Inside, everyone's eating beans. Big, lush lima bean-sized beans sloshing around in a pool of thick tomato-and-red pepper meat gravy liberally spiced with biber (red chilies). That's Ali Baba's kuru fasulye up top in this post. It's served with nutty, buttery rice pilav and tursu, or pickles.

The page in my notebook headed "Ali Baba Kanaat Lokantasi" is empty. Apparently I forgot all about recording our meal as soon as the beans arrived. I remember Dave and I fought over the last bits of tart, salty pickle -- perfect match for the buttery beans -- , and that as good as the pilav was I for the most part avoided it in order to save room in my belly for all my beans, which were tingly with spice (sort of unusual outside of Turkey's southeastern region), tomato-ey, and rich with lamb and butter fat. I remember the couple at the table next to us having an intense, almost heated conversation and then falling silent as soon as their beans arrived. And I remember that after we left Ali Baba's I told Dave we'd have to go back again for another round because I hadn't taken any notes.

After lunch at Ali Baba's I was fairly convinced we'd eaten Istanbul's ultimate bean. But when the topic of legumes came up during my interview with a cafe owner in Galata and both she and the translator became almost giddy while describing the specialty of the house at a Tophane spot called -- no coincidence I'm sure -- Fasuli, I knew we had to investigate.

Fasuli's fasulye

Fasuli is a lovely old-style (though not old) restaurant -- think white tablecloths, heavy cutlery, black-and-white attired waiters -- specializing in Black Sea cuisine. Its menu is big and includes regional standards like corn bread and kara lahana (collard-y "black" cabbage) dolma, but don't be distracted. Everyone goes to Fasuli for the beans -- and on your first visit at least, so should you.

Smaller than the kuru fasulye at Ali Baba's, more like navy beans than lima beans, Fasuli's beans are cooked just so: long enough to render them tender and creamy but not so long as to turn them to mush. Fasuli's sauce isn't nearly as spicy as Ali Baba's, nor is it as tomato-ey. Mostly, it's just over-the-top rich with lamb flavor, which is strange because there isn't really much discernible meat in the dish. It's as if the kitchen has figured out a way to distill the essence of an entire lamb roast and 25 pounds of lamb tail fat into a single pot of beans. Fasuli's fasulye are buttery and no doubt very unhealthy. But that won't stop us from going back for more when we're next in Istanbul. We ate ours with the usual pilav and a tart, salty cacik (cucumbers in yogurt). The latter provided an almost necessary occasional break from the intensely shovel-icious fasulye.

In the end I'd be hard pressed to choose a favorite. Ali Baba's fasulye strike us as mid-day beans: sharply spicy enough to bring your brain into focus, not so heavy as to send you into a coma post-meal. Fasuli's version seem more like dinner material, something fantastically swoonworthy to reward oneself with after a long, bone-breaking kind of day. They invite slow, ponderous spooning.

Hayvore's fasulye are a late-coming contender for Top Bean

A complication in the taste-off: One morning we stopped in at new-ish Black Sea spot Hayvore for some laz boregi, a sumptuous pastry best described as pudding-filled "baklava". As we prepared to leave, a gorgeous black pot of beans appeared from the kitchen. We couldn't walk out the door without a spoonful or two.

Verdict: Hayvore's may well be Istanbul's next Famous Bean.

Ali Baba Kanaat Lokantasi, directly across from front entrace to Suleymaniye Mosque, Fatih.

Fasuli, Kilic Ali Pasa Caddesi (behind Kilic Ali Pasa Mosque), Tophane.

Hayvore,Turnacibasi Sokak 4, just a few doors from Istiklal Caddesi.

 

Our Istanbul Corner Place: Home Cooking With a Masterly Touch

A couple months ago I received an email from a favorite former editor: "We're going to Istanbul. Suggestions welcome."

When I have the kind of intense affection for a place that I have for Turkey and Istanbul in particular, I desperately want other visitors to end up feeling the same way. Especially if I've been talking (or blogging) a destination up, as I have in pretty much all of our Turkey posts, I feel obliged to point friends to the sort of experiences that have endeared that destination to me.

So began a series of missives, me to her. I emailed lists of favorite places and foods and restaurants, bullet-pointed tips on how a first-time visitor can get the most out of Istanbul/Turkey, food-focused suggestions from local contacts, stream-of-consciousness ramblings on everything from where to go for the city's best Turkish coffee to where to find the best breakfast spread. I even drew and scanned a map of Cihangir, the neighborhood where she'd be staying.

My map highlighted, with a few stars, what Dave and I came to think of as our "Istanbul corner place": a tiny cafe called Mucver. We stayed a few doors down from Mucver last June and then again in December/January. After our first taste of Mucver it became our go-to for great, soul-satisfying home cooking. In fact, a number of times we found ourselves diverting back to our temporary 'hood from elsewhere in Istanbul just for one more Mucver meal.

Olive oil-cooked spinach and coarse bulgur, stewed chickpeas

My map highlighted, with several stars in different colors, what Dave and I think of as our "Istanbul corner place": a tiny cafe called Mucver. We stayed a few doors down from Mucver last June and then again in December/January. It became our go-to for great, soul-satisfying home cooking. In fact, a number of times we found ourselves diverting back to our temporary 'hood from elsewhere in Istanbul just for one more meal at Mucver.

Named after the dish -- mucver (mooj-VEHR) is a grated zucchini "fritter" usually eaten with thick yogurt -- the cafe serves Turkish Mom Food With a Twist. Its dishes are the comforting sort that make you feel loved and cared for. The twist is that Mucver's gifted cook has been a caterer for over ten years, and so while there's anything fancy on the menu, the food shows the kind of attention to detail that that caterers tend to lavish upon their creations. Everything is delicious ... and just a cut above versions you've had elsewhere.

Emine prepares Mucver's daily menu in a kitchen around the corner

Shy Emine and her outgoing husband Gursel opened Mucver early last year. On our first visit last June business was just so-so. When we returned in December we were pleased to see the place pretty much packed out every lunch hour. When we stopped in for some takeout at 5-something on our last evening in Istanbul there wasn't much left to choose from. This is all good, because it means that Mucver is likely to be going strong on our next visit.

Mercimek koftesi, red lentil and parsley rolls tea eat with a squeeze of lemon

Emine cooks everything in a small garden-level kitchen just around the corner from the cafe. Walk Palaska Sokak at ten in the morning and you'll be assaulted by all sorts of unbearably tempting aromas. The menu changes daily, but vegetarian mercimek koftesi, hand-formed logs of tender red lentils seasoned with parsley, garlic, and red pepper, are a regular fixture.

There are always a few creative salads to choose from. On one visit in January we ate a pretty "green"-tasting mix of shredded Swiss chard and romaine leaves mixed with fresh dill fronds and parsley sprigs, garnished with a sprinkle of bulgur and a small mound of ruby red pomegranite seeds. Everything was dressed lightly with a lemony sour-sweet dressing.

Emine's brown lentil, pasta and mint soup (Jerusalem artichoke mash behind)

On a cold, rainy afternoon we sampled Emine's mercimek corbasi -- lentil soup, Turkey's breakfast of champions. Made with brown rather than the usual red lentils, many of which were left whole, it included thick, chewy pasta and loads of fragrant dried mint that, with a squeeze of lemon juice, rendered the soup as refreshing as it was warming.

Her zeytinyagli, or "cooked with olive oil" dishes, are not swimming in the stuff. Zeytinyagli yer elmasi ("earth/ground apple" -- Jerusalem artichoke) took the form of a pleasingly rough mash with studded with bits of sweet carrot. Though zeytinyagli dishes usually demand an accompaniment of good bread we spooned this up straight from the dish, and ordered one more.

Zucchini stuffed with lamb and rice

Emine has a way with ground meat. Her sauced lamb kofte (opening photo) or meatballs are light as air. Sauced with tomatoes and red pepper paste and aromatic spices (I think I detected nutmeg), they split in half with barely the nudge of a fork. Vegetable dolma, like the zucchini above, are stuffed with a similarly ethereal mixture of seasoned ground lamb, chopped vegetable "innards", and rice and topped with a finger of thick yogurt. Our last Mucver meal included a surprising, and wonderful, dish: moist, well-seasoned Turkish meat loaf swimming in silky smooth potato puree that would do an American midwestern grandmother proud.

Sutlu irmik, milk and semolina pudding dusted with cinnamon

The first dish to clue us in to Mucver's possibilities was not savory, but sweet. Our initial visit was for tea and dessert and on that day we swooned -- and are still swooning -- over sutlac (pudding) blanketed with crispy browned and sweetend kadaiyif. What an amazing pairing that was -- mild, uber milky pudding with the crunch of caramelized wheat threads.

We've never seen it since, unfortunately (the downside, if you can call it that, of the daily menu), but consoled ourselves in January with a slice of sutlu irmik tatlisi, a firm-ish milk and semolina pudding/cake dusted with cinnamon. Emine's caterer-ly touch: banana slices hidden inside the pudding, which is made in a bundt cake mold. Also noteworthy: mozaik, a firm slab of dark chocolate cake cum fudge shot through with crispy biscuit bits. (Emine has a thing for chocolate; there's at least one chocolate dessert a day.)

We can't close our ode to Mucver without a nod to its quirky, homely decor. Dave's favorite item, above: an old-fashioned diver's mask kitted out as a light. Gursel is quite a collector.

Mucver, corner of Palaska Sokak, just across from the mosque, Cihangir. Tel 0212-292-7918. Closed Sundays. A very generous lunch for two, including a few dishes, salads, tea and dessert, runs about TL 32.