EatingAsia

I Don't Like Brains

    Deconstructed sheep's head with the traditional dusting of dried wild thyme

    One of the reasons I like living in Penang is that when folks booking a street food walk make a special request it's never for dishes featuring bugs or sheep balls. Food here on the island is not 'weird' or 'bizarre' (though I suppose duck blood cubes, a component of some versions of curry mee might be considered 'out there'). So when I head out the door in the morning I never have to worry that today's walk will be all about how many edible oddities we'll be consuming instead of the ingredients and food, its back story and the people who make it.

    I have nothing against offal -- working on our Turkish cookbook has turned me into a liver lover. Grilled gizzards are fab, tripe definitely has a place in Malay beef vermicelli soup and I do like blood cubes on occasion (always in northern Thailand, where they tend to be chewy and a bit smoky flavored). But I have been over travelers questing after the weirdest local food they can find since the year it became A Thing.  

    Placing the chase after the fifth quarter, or bugs, or unhatched duck eggs above all else blinds us to so much that is not known about a cuisine (outside of its home) -- and that never will be known about a cuisine because it doesn't rate the 'unusual' tag.

     Consider the Philippines, and the adventuring food travelers and writers who've visited and come away blabbering about balut and blood stew but never about sinigang, one of the country's most beloved and oft-eaten dishes. Or Turkey, where lists of must-eats invariably include chicken breast pudding -- (Chicken! In a sweet dish! So crazy!) -- but not the humble kuru fasulye, a national soul food if ever there was one.

    The flipside to my disdain (can you feel it?) for this weirdest-first manner of approaching cuisines is that I can be guilty of veering too much the other way. For instance: we were 16 months in Turkey researching our cookbook, but it was not until the last days of our final month in country that I tried kelle tandir, or roasted sheep's head.

    Turks love kelle, be it boiled and served cold, roasted and served warm or cooked in a soup. Kelle tandir is quite big in Sivas city (Sivas is both a city and a province; Turkish provinces share names with their capital cities), where every morning we passed several shops famed for their wood fire oven-roasted sheep heads, the mahogany skulls staring out of warmed display cases like sentries. In Sivas kelle is breakfast fare. I regret never trying it there. (In my defense, after big dinners in private homes comprising an often obscene number of dishes I could rarely summon a real appetite before noon. Also, few to no American home cooks are going to cook sheep's head in a wood-fired oven, so I wasn't compelled learn how to make it for the book.)

    So when two chef friends invited us to join them for a lunch of roasted sheep's head on one of our last days in Istanbul we accepted. The venue was a well-known shop in the Fish Market off Istiklal Caddesi. Service was swift; within 5 or so minutes of placing our order we each had a plate of head.

    I had expected the kelle to be served whole; I was looking forward to using my fingers to pull the tender meat from the skull the way you pull crispy skin from a whole roast chicken. ('For fish and kelle the best utensils are fingers,' a Turkish friend says). Instead it arrived deconstructed, brain (at 5 o'clock in the photo up top) and eyeball (7 o'clock) scooped onto the plate (1 serving is half a head). I had also looked forward to sampling brain (my first ever), which one of our chef friends talked up as we waited for our meal.

    Well. The meat and crispy skin were delicious, especially eaten dusted with a bit of dried wild thyme. If you like the taste of lamb you'll enjoy roast kelle. The eyeball -- meh. Chewy and springy but not a lot going on in the taste department. The brain? A big disappointment. I'd imagined spreading it on bread and savoring it like pate or lardo. It was fatty, unctuous in texture and exceedingly rich. But where was the flavor? If I'm going to eat pure fat I'd rather it be shmaltz, or the charred strip of fat that limns a nice grilled steak.

    What can I say? I don't like brain. (For what it's worth, Dave does. He devoured his.) I left most on my plate (for my friend to eat), saving room and calories for dessert at the pastane several doors down.

Kelle tandir, at Sahne Sokak 18, Balikpazari (Fish Market), Beyoglu. Till 6pm. 

Please Don't Call It 'Turkish Pizza'

   

    At the end of January, on our last day in Istanbul before flying to the USA, we lunched at Kadikoy institution Halil, producer of a quite spectacular lahmacun. Lahmacun, if you don't know it, is basically a wood oven-cooked flatbread with a thin shmear of spicy meat paste.

    'Turkish pizza', some call it -- but why? Yes, lahmacun and pizza share a composition of dough with  topping. They are both baked. There the similarity ends.

    I understand the desire to make familiar unfamiliar foods. Really, I do. I struggle with it as I write recipes  for this Turkish cookbook Dave and I are working on. While some dishes in the book (hummus, dolma, cacik or yogurt with cucumber) will no doubt be familiar even to those who've never traveled to Turkey, others -- dried corn and collard greens soup and black-peppery bulgur orbs swimming in oregano-flecked yogurt sauce, for instance -- will likely be unknown even to many of those who have.

    Some cooks (and cookbook buyers) are excited by unfamiliar dishes. Others are put off. I don't want anyone to look at my book and be put off, not least because I'm convinced that this food is Really, Really Good.

    So how do I convince the timid cook to go beyond his or her comfort zone? Should I resort to what I'll call the Turkish Pizza Method and call a dish what it is not in order to convince readers that they will be cooking and eating something familiar when in fact they won't?

    That loose, almost soupy herb, yogurt and bulgur dish --- maybe I should call it a 'risotto' because it's a dish of grains cooked with sort-of liquids that, like a true risotto, ends up spoon-able and creamy and so delicious that you can't stop eating it. Maybe I should name it a 'risotto' because that might convince cooks for whom the combination of yogurt and bulgur would otherwise give pause.

    No. I don't think so.

    'Don't pander,' my editor said to me when we met a few weeks ago to swoon over Dave's photographs, talk recipes and ponder design and cover shots. (Cover shots! Yes, it's all seeming very real now.)

    A chickpea durum (flatbread wrapped around chickpeas and herbs) is not a 'Gaziantep burrito'. Ayran is not a 'Turkish smoothie'. Manti is not 'Turkish ravioli'. (It is a Turkish dumpling.) Simit is not a 'Turkish bagel'.  And if you follow my recipe for that bulgur, herb and yogurt dish? Well, you won't end up with a 'risotto'.

    The problem with the Turkish Pizza Method of describing and naming dishes is that it often ends up distorting the final product. Set a Google alert for 'Turkish restaurant' and you'll see photographs of lahmacun -- usually described on menus as 'Turkish pizza' -- that would make a Turkish eater from the south east (where it originates) cry. Thick discs of pale dough burdened by way too much chunky meat, sometimes cheese -- this is what the non-Turkish diner expects when a menu item reads 'Turkish pizza'. And all too often, even in restaurants owned by Turks (and even in Turkey! see Sultanahmet/Istanbul Old City), this is what a lahmacun is.

    This is what a lahmacun should be (with some regional variation): about 60 grams of sturdy dough rolled into a thin disc, lightly spread with two or so tablespoons (sometimes even less -- see the dough peeking crust peeking through the topping in that photo up top?) of meat minced to a true paste with chili, some onion and perhaps other seasonings, baked in a super-hot oven (wood-fired, preferably) until it's blistered on the bottom. The way Halil makes it, a lahmacun's bottom crust cracks as you fold it in thirds over stems of parsley anointed with a few drops of lemon.

    Lahmacun is lahmacun. I'm convinced that anyone reading this post would adore this Turkish dish prepared as it is in its native place. It's even easy to pronounce -- LAH-mah-joon. There will be a recipe in our book. I won't call it 'Turkish Pizza'. 

Halil Lahmacun, Güneşli Bahçe Sokak (in the market area across from the ferry terminal), Kadikoy, Istanbul. Silly cheap. Enjoy your lahmacun with a glass of fresh ayran. 

On Pursuing an Obsession (Or, what I learned from selling a book)

    

     Almost sixteen years ago to the day I booked our first trip to Turkey. Dave and I were living in Shanghai at the time and Chinese New Year was just around the corner: a nice long slice of vacation time to do with as we pleased. After a so-awful-it's-funny Christmas trip to Guizhou we were determined to travel as far from China as we could. Our award miles would take us as far as Europe, but Europe was expensive. Somehow (advice of friends? an article in a travel pub? for the life of me I can't recall) we decided on Turkey.

     We arrived in Istanbul after midnight and glided into Sultanahmet, the old city, along the ribbon of road that runs along the Bosphorus. I remember gawping up at the minarets of the Blue Mosque as our taxi slide along silent streets to our guesthouse, falling into a deep sleep beneath thick duvets on a charmingly high bed, and being jolted awake before dawn by the call the prayer bellowing from a loudspeaker affixed beneath our window. I sat up ramrod straight, delirious with jet lag and, for the minute it took me to figure out what that noise was, scared silly. I think I fell in love with Istanbul, with its ability to surprise and astonish me, right then. We lingered in the city for 10 bitingly cold days, extending our stay when I came down with a horrible cold. For 48 hours I lay in our room, hunkered feverishly but happily beneath the duvet, watching snow fall as I ate lentil soup and rice pudding that Dave brought from nearby shops.

     I got better and we hit the road. We flew to Izmir and picked up a car, visited a deserted Ephesus and drove south. It was way, way off-season. In Bodrum a storm knocked out power. Our room's ceiling began to leak, making it impossible to use our fireplace to keep warm. We hastily repacked the car and drove through the rain to Aphrodisias, where the only pension open had no heat or hot water and was run by two strangely hostile brothers who served canned tomato soup for dinner. Our compensation was waking after a night of thunder and lightning to a spectacular and empty (except for us) archeological site set against a backdrop of mountains whose peaks had overnite been freshly frosted with what looked like swirls of buttercream.

     Further east at a lakeside resort, restaurants were closed; our hotel's owner took pity on us and defrosted two schnitzel. In Konya, which Istanbul people had warned us would be "very conservative", residents approached us on the street to shake hands and wish us a good trip. Antalya was our Turkish food epiphany. We stayed in an old house in Kaleici owned by a slightly eccentric woman named Perla who kept box tortoises in her large leafy courtyard. Perla and her partner Ali loved to eat, and drink. Every night was an orgy of meze and white wine followed by a perfect grilled fish. Further along the coast, in a seaside village walking distance to the Eternal Flame, we stayed in a bright white room with gauzy turquoise curtains and ate our breakfasts in an orange grove warmed by the sun -- in February.

     We returned to Istanbul in love and obsessed with Turkey, Turks, Turkish food, Turkish towns, Turkish ruins and the wide open Turkish road, all of it. On the flight back to Shanghai I turned to Dave and told him that as soon as I could find a teacher I would study Turkish. I added, "I don't know how and I don't know when, but some day Turkey will be a big part of our lives."

***

     Nine months later we moved back to the Bay Area, and I found a Turkish tutor, then joined first-year Turkish classes at UC Berkeley mid-year. My teacher was a Turkish cookbook author: Kismet! Only I and one other student enrolled in her second-year class, so she split us up for private tutorials. I gained halfway decent proficiency via a steady diet of food magazines and newspaper columns and stories that touched on Turkish culinary culture. Meanwhile Dave and I continued to vacation in Turkey once a year, always following a stop in Istanbul with a long road trip out east. (My biggest regret: no notes from any of those trips.)

     Midway through my sixth semester of Turkish we moved to Bangkok, and set our Turkey obsession aside to immerse ourselves in southeast Asia, a place we'd long wanted to explore. We moved to Saigon, then Kuala Lumpur. We started this blog. I began freelancing and, after leaving his corporate job at the end of 2008, so did Dave.

     In 2010, nine years after our last trip to Turkey, we returned so that Dave could attend a photography workshop. Being back was like slipping on a well-worn glove; Istanbul still fit. Before the workshop began we flew out east to Gaziantep and picked up a car. We drove and drove, first to Mardin -- where I stumbled across a travel story -- and then to Midyat, Van, Kars and Erzurum. Along the way we ate. And ate. Back in Istanbul we extended our stay beyond Dave's workshop, first by a few days, then by a week, then by another week. If we hadn't had a home and pets and responsibilities waiting back in Malaysia for us, it's entirely possible that we'd be one of those ex-pats you meet in Istanbul who came to the city for a visit, and then a second visit ... and never left.

***

      We returned to Turkey six months later, again in the middle of winter, way way off-season. I love Istanbul most in the winter under gray skies and drizzle; I especially love it under a blanket of snow. After eating fresh anchovies at a Black Sea restaurant in Beyoglu we decided to go to the Black Sea to eat them in situ. We met a fishmonger in Sinop and struck up a friendship. We visited wonderful markets and ate delicious dishes that didn't fit most Western pre-conceptions of "Turkish food". We met home cooks who allowed us into their kitchens and master bakers who invited us behind their marble slabs.

     And we returned home to Malaysia with an idea: a book. But could we? Could I write a book about Turkish food? More important: could I sell a book about what essentially began as a crazy obsession?

***

     After nine or ten research trips, two years of on-and-off book proposal writing (with the help of a great editor/coach) and photograph collecting, an at times demoralizing month pitching agents followed by six months of tinkering with the proposal under the guidance of the one who took our project to heart, and four weeks of nail-biting as the proposal went out to and was reviewed by publishers, we had our answer. Last October, as we were finishing up our latest eastern Turkey roadtrip with a few days in -- of all places -- Sinop, we learned that yes, we could sell a book born of our obsession with a country and a people and a cuisine that we came to know by chance, a place that -- Who knows? -- we might never have  visited if we hadn't been so eager, that winter 16 years ago, to put as much distance as possible between ourselves and China (Shanghai, thank you.)

     We have no title yet for our book, but we can tell you that it will be filled with mouthwatering recipes, plenty of gorgeous photographs, and stories -- about markets and farmers and cheese producers and other food artisans, and ingredients and home cooks in their kitchens and bakers -- from Istanbul and Turkey's eastern half. It will not be EatingAsia in book form, but you'll recognize my voice and Dave's eyes in the text and images on its pages. 

     I'm honored and still rather shocked to be working with a woman who has edited Jacques Pepin. Rux Martin Books / Houghton Mifflin Harcourt will publish [Title ToBeDecided] in 2016.

***

     Before I jumped wholeheartedly into freelancing I took a food writing class taught by a then-editor at Bon Appetit. One of her sagest pieces of advice: "Give into your obsessions. They can become great stories." And, apparently, books.

    Over the two-plus years that I worked on our book proposal I had so many doubts, and so many fears. (And as I contemplate turning in a completed manuscript in 18 months, I have new doubts and fears!) It often seemed silly, this gut desire to write a book on Turkish food. But I'm so glad I pushed on. You never know where an obsession will lead.

     For 2014, I wish everyone reading this the time and opportunity to really give in to an obsession. Am I telling you to quit your job, sell your belongings and travel the world? To chuck it all and become a writer? To pick up a camera and become a photographer? No. But if there is something -- an activity, a language, a dance, a species of orchid, a cuisine.... whatever -- that intrigues you, give in to your curiosity and pursue it, even if for only an hour a week. Life is short. Do that for yourself.

 Happy New Year!

Catching Up: Turkey Food/Photography Workshop Round-Up, an Istanbul Dining Guide, Asian Street Food, Taipei and More

A memorable breakfast on the Black Sea

    A little over a week ago we returned home to Penang after 7 weeks in Turkey -- our fourth trip there this year, and our longest stay to date since we started traveling to Turkey in 1998. We're not tired of that country yet, nor of road tripping there.

    Almost 4 weeks we spent on the road this time, starting in Ankara where we picked up our car and moving on to Corum, Zile, Turhal, Sivas, Tokat, Kahramanmaras, Antakya, Malatya, Kemaliye, back to Sivas and Tokat again, then Kastamonu, and up to our beloved Sinop on the Black Sea (where we ate the  fish stew pictured above), and then finally back to Ankara, where dropped off our car -- odometer reading some 3,000+ kilometers more than when we picked it up -- and caught a flight back to Istanbul.

    It was one amazing trip. We revisited favorite places (Corum and Tokat and Sinop and Kastamonu, especially), and met up with old friends, and ate favorite dishes. In Antakya, we worked, spending a couple days in a village learning about pomegranate molasses. We watched the pomegranates go from tree to bottle -- an incredibly laborious, time-consuming process that caused me to shake my head in disbelief when our host said that many Turks balk at spending 20 lira for a 1-liter bottle of the stuff. I spent alot of one of those days helping the village ladies seed the pomegranates by hand; by the time we returned to our room that evening my back was aching and my hands were black from holding the halved fruit in one palm as I used a rod to tap out its seeds. Most of the women I worked with spend days, weeks even, a year doing the same thing. They should be charging $50, not $10, per liter.

    Before we hit the road we spent a week in Sapanca, a town about 2 hours by car from Istanbul, where Dave co-taught a photography and cooking workshop with Olga Irez, who writes the Delicious Istanbul food blog. We -- Dave, Olga, Olga's husband Ozgur and I -- had been planning for the workshop since January, and we all had a bit of stage fright right up until the workshop's 8 participants and 3 non-participating partners arrived on a Monday evening. In the end, the week was more wonderful than I think any of us could have hoped for.

    We were a diverse group -- a Canadian travel blogger, a Croatian living and working in Oxford, England, a Russian-Canadian Bangkokian, two Indian Singaporeans, a South African food and travel writer and her Dutch husband, an Australian travel blogger and her husband, and two Americans. Ages ranged from (I'm guessing) late 20s to late 60s. Some new to Turkey, some not. Somehow, we all clicked.

A fishmonger wetting down his product at one of the markets we visited during the workshop

    Over 4.5 days we visited a couple of markets, spent a morning on a small farm watching cheese be made and baking bread in a wood oven, wandered a lovely old Black Sea town, rode 4-wheel drives to a high plateau where a hermit and his wife entertained us with music and then to the top of a mountain where a shepherd tended sheep to the backdrop of golden late afternoon light illuminating a sweeping view of hills and sea. Many photographs were taken. Much delicious food was cooked and eaten. (And yes, some beer and raki and wine was drunk too.) We laughed A LOT.

    At the end of the week, after our last dinner together, we watched a slideshow, 10 images selected by each participant. Given the quality of the work put forward by these folks, most of whom would probably call themselves amateurs, Dave felt a bit like a proud father. The next day we all parted as friends. All in all, a pretty wonderful experience.

    We're planning a repeat workshop, maybe two, for Spring 2014 -- which we'll announce within the next couple of weeks here, on Dave's photo blog and on his photography Facebook page, on Twitter and on EatingAsia's Facebook page. In the meantime, Dave has written about and shared some photographs of the workshop -- have a look at the shortened slideshow of participants' work, at the bottom of the post, and see if you don't agree with my kudos. Olga has thrown up a few workshop posts (with a recipe or two) on her own blog. A few participants have shared impressions of the week on their own blogs: here, here, here and here. You can see more work by participants on their Flickr streams, here, here and here.

Whew! That's a lot of linking. A few more:

Meringue made with mastic, topped with ice cream, at Istanbul's Gram cafe

    Last spring, while Dave and I were on a dream assignment on the Turkish Aegean, I got a call from an editor at Wall Street Journal Asia, asking if we'd be interested in another dream assignment: eating and photographing in Istanbul. (This sort of thing happens, like, never, by the way.) At any rate, the resulting piece, on eating "beyond the kebab" in Istanbul, was a great opportunity to promote cooks and restaurants who who serve up regional and seasonal fare. Read the article here. Do not view Dave's accompanying slideshow on an empty stomach. Share with anyone you know who's heading to Turkey's most touristed city. Kebabs are great but really -- there is so much more to Turkish food.

    The week before this article came out WSJ published another, on the Istanbul chefs behind what's been called "New Turkish" or "New Anatolian" cuisine. We ate at one of the more popular restaurants mentioned in the article and left disappointed (and with the taste of old oil -- from a deep-fried dessert -- in our mouths). It may have been an off night, and it was our first and only experience there, so I won't say which one.

    But Dave's workshop partner Olga who's been eating in Istanbul for a few years now and has become a formidable cook of Turkish food herself, has an interesting take on all the hubbub over Istanbul's recent culinary revival. You can read it here. I can't agree more with this sentiment:

Every time I travel in Turkey I am astounded by the wisdoms accumulated in the foods and preparations you can find even in the smallest towns and villages. How little is done to preserve and reproduce these important culinary traditions! How little people know about those foods and even less interest they have in learning about them! - See more at: http://www.deliciousistanbul.com/blog/2013/10/24/istanbul-culinary-revival/#sthash.Yg4J7Lh2.dpuf

    We are still publishing EatingTurkey, a tumblr with short, 1 or 2-photo food posts from our road trips (and a bit of Istanbul). It's off and on, more on when we're there than when we're here in Penang ... but we've got a bit of material up from these recent 7 weeks. View it here.

    And Dave's thrown up a first bunch of photos from our 4-week road trip, some food and some not but all pretty great (yeah, I'm biased), on his blog SkyBlueSky, here.

Every time I travel in Turkey I am astounded by the wisdoms accumulated in the foods and preparations you can find even in the smallest towns and villages. How little is done to preserve and reproduce these important culinary traditions! How little people know about those foods and even less interest they have in learning about them! - See more at: http://www.deliciousistanbul.com/blog/2013/10/24/istanbul-culinary-revival/#sthash.Yg4J7Lh2.dpuf

    In August a Portland, Oregon radio station aired an interview with me about road tripping and eating regionally in Turkey. The interview is about 3 minutes long, and you can listen via the MP3 below.

PortlandTravel.Robyn.2

    In July we spent a very short 6 days in Taipei, a city that too few foodies appreciate. When we returned to Penang I penned -- in 3 days, record time for me -- a feature story for the September issue of Travel+Leisure Southeast Asia. It's accompanied by Dave's mouthwatering photographs, and you can read it here.

    I penned an ode to George Town for the August issue of Malaysia Airlines' Going Places magazine. Here's a pdf of the piece, accompanied by Dave's photographs (which are, unfortunately, miscaptioned. These things happen.)

     I'm still writing a regular column on street food in Asia for Wall Street Journal Asia. I don't usually announce it here on EatingAsia when a column goes up, but all to date can be viewed here. Recently I've written on som tam as a technique and flavor profile, not a dish, and the joy of tofu, in all its various street food incarnations around southeast Asia. Anything you'd be interested in seeing me cover in the column? Leave a comment below.

    Finally -- and congratulations if you've made it this far -- Dave and I are pondering the possibility of staging a worshop, for a maximum of 4 to 6 participants and with a bit more emphasis on photography than the workshops in Sapanca (but with plenty of delicious food) in Turkey next autumn away from Istanbul, in an photogenic region that we have come to adore. No details on that yet, but if it sounds like something you might be interested in knowing about please drop me ([email protected]) or Dave ([email protected]) an email. As with the Sapanca workshop -- all photographers welcome, amateur to professional.

    That should do it for now. It's good to be home. Now to get back to regular posting.....

Cook, Photograph and Eat with Us in Turkey this September!

This space has been quiet, and finally we can tell you why. We've been working on some Turkey projects. 

The first is a collaboration with Istanbul-based cooking instructor and food tour leader Olga Tikhonova Irez, publisher of the blog Delicious Istanbul: a 5-day food and photography workshop this September in Sapanca, a lovely small town two hours by car from the big city.

Our partner Olga's story is compelling: Russian, well-traveled, multi-degreed with extensive experience in the consulting industry, Olga visited Istanbul a few years ago and fell in love (as so many of us do) with the city, its people and its food. So she quit her high-level job, left her home in Moscow and moved to Turkey to make a new life and career in food. Determined to learn everything she could about Turkish home cooking Olga talked her way into an apprenticeship to the female owner-chef at Zelis Ciftligi, a family-run lodge in Sapanca. There she met her future husband, son of said master chef. Now fluent in Turkish, Olga splits her time between Kadikoy, Istanbul where she introduces travelers to the delights of marketing and cooking Turkish-style with her tours and classes, and Sapanca where she helps her family run their business.

When I first stumbled across Olga's blog about 1.5 years ago I spent hours stuck in the archives. I was struck by her honest musings on topics like adjusting to her role in her Turkish family's business and the challenges of finding her place in her mother-in-law's kitchen. I salivated over her descriptions of home-cooked meals at Zelis and found that we share preferences for certain Istanbul restaurants. I found too that we share a dismay at the fact that Turkey's cuisine is little known and underrated.

So when Dave and I were in Istanbul last November we met Olga for coffee. The three of us clicked, and the seed of this workshop was planted.

Earlier this month Dave and I visited Olga and her husband at Zelis. Right away we knew we'd found not only the perfect partners for such an enterprise, but the perfect place: a comfortable, family-style lodging in a beautiful, quiet setting. A casual place where guests could truly feel relaxed and at home. A lodge large enough to easily accomodate a group but small enough to maintain intimacy. A kitchen equipped for a restaurant but homey enough to be right for a small group of people learning and cooking together. Lots of windows and beautiful light for photography. Proximity to great markets. Access to local producers. Gracious and friendly hosts. Even an adorable cocker spaniel named Bakir ("copper" in Turkish).

And the food? Spectacular. We've been eating in Turkey since 1998 and we have never eaten such delicious, lovingly prepared meze. We were served liver that turned me, a liver-hater since childhood, into a liver lover. Breakfast was an orgy of gorgeous fresh baked goods (Best. Borek. Ever.), cheeses, a killer menemen, too many made-on-site jams and preserves to name, fresh yogurt, an intriguing cheese salad that is a specialty of Olga's mother-in-law. It was hard to leave. We wanted to move in.

The four of us ate and visited a market and walked around Sapanca and brainstormed and took notes. Dave and I left excited for the workshop that he and Olga will lead in September.

So here's the deal: 5 nights, 4 full days and two half days of cooking, eating, marketing, photographing, with one long excursion further afield, to a sweet little Black Sea town, for a bit of street, architecture and nature photographry. We'll visit a local farm and meet a cheesemaker. Olga will lead in the kitchen, where you'll get your hands dirty (or dusty) baking bread, making borek and traditional cookies, crafting meze, patting together kebabs, seasoning soups, and more. She'll draw on the sort of deep knowledge of Turkish home cooking and food culture that can only be gained by immersion in a Turkish household -- and she will share it with you. 

Meanwhile Dave will be there to coach you to great photography. He's been shooting for international publictions for a few years now, off next week for his fourth Saveur assignment in 6 months. Dave's also been teaching individual and small-group photography workshops since 2010 -- he loves it, and he's good at it. In Sapanca you'll tell Dave about your goals for the week -- whether it's getting comfortable taking photos of people, maximizing your time at markets to walk away with great images, or using light and shadow to bring out the best in a plate of food, whatever -- and he'll help you get there with plenty of one-on-one coaching time.

This has been a long time coming; we've wanted to offer a workshop marrying the two major elements of EatingAsia -- food and photography -- for a long while. But we're picky about who we work with. Olga is good folks. We're on the same wavelength. We enjoy her and her Turkish family and we learned so much during our brief stay at Sapanca. We certainly did eat well.

If this sounds of interest please hop over to the workshop website [here], read the detailed program, learn about the venue and see Olga's and Dave's bios. If you're interested, head to the sign-up page. We're limiting participation in the workshop to 9 individuals -- first come, first served. There is also room for 3 non-participating partners at a reduced rate.

I'm not teaching (nor am I photographing) but I'll be there, along for the ride. Dave and I hope to see you in Sapanca in September!

 

 

 

In Istanbul, a Market That Brings a Taste of the Black Sea to the Big City

It kind of blows my mind that residents of Istanbul, one of the world's busiest, most densely-populated metropolises, have ready access to fresh unpasteurized milk straight from the cow, bread baked in a single village's community oven, pear molasses produced in small batches year after year by the women of one family and fruit harvested from one farmer's orchard before being dried in his garden.

These are truly "artisan" foods, rare and small-batch, of the type fetishized in America. But in Turkey, a country still largely agricultural, they're not all that unusual. Labels and signage don't declare foods like this "artisan" -- it's taken for granted because so many foods here still are. In fact there are few cities in Turkey whose residents can't lay their hands on small-batch, small-producer, single-farmer goods if they're willing to make a minor effort.

This isn't to say that big ag doesn't exist in Turkey, or that mono-cropping isn't a problem (see kiwi orchards on the Black Sea). Yes, pesticides are over-used here, people buy sub-par ingredients in chain stores and battery-raised, plastic-wrapped chicken on styrofoam trays is sold at Migros and Carrefour. But to an extent that is perhaps difficult to imagine unless you get out into the hinterlands and do some serious road tripping, much of Turkey is still a land very much the Land of the Small Producer.

If you are planning a trip to Turkey that doesn't include time beyond Istanbul and you're even remotely interested in knowing how much of the country still eats you owe it to yourself to hit up Istanbul's weekly Kastamonu market, which is named for the province from which most of its vendors come.

Just a few hours' drive east of Ankara airport, Kastamonu registers on the map of few visitors to Turkey -- perhaps because it lacks an airport of its own, or maybe because its Black Sea climate (gray, rainy) puts off potential tourists. That's a shame, because it is spectacularly beautiful.

Kastamonu's capital (also called Kastamonu) is an intriguing if slightly brooding city chock full of photogenically crumbling Ottoman mansions. Ninety minutes away on the Black Sea coast is Inebolu, an exceptionally lovely hill town. Kastamonu is blessed with an extravagant amount of of natural beauty; think conifer-clad mountains, rivers winding through dramatic valleys and stretches of pretty pebble beach backed by rocky crags and lush green hills that plummet to the sea.

And then there is the food, born of microclimates that endow Kastamonu with a wealth of gorgeous produce. In autumn its markets overflow with all manner of leafy greens, fruits, nuts and mushrooms both farmed and foraged. From the Black Sea come fish, kalkan (flounder), hamsi (anchovies) and palamut (bonito), among other varieties. Hectares of velvety pasture provide nourishment for herds of beef and milk cattle (lamb is less often on the table here than in some other parts of Turkey). The province is known for its excellent pastirma (salt-cured, air-dried beef), luscious cheeses, yogurt, kaymak and fresh milk.

During three sojourns on the Black Sea we've been lucky enough to hit up many of Kastamonu's weekly markets, which are attended by vendors bringing fresh produce and prepared goods from their homes in small and often remote villages. In fact we've trolled Inebolu's twice-a-week market so many times that some vendors now recognize us (or maybe it's Dave's camera they recognize). We never fail to come away from each visit to the province envious of Kastamonulu and their ready access to such marvelous ingredients and laden with kilos of edible souvenirs to pack back home to Malaysia.

On this last trip to Turkey, despite almost three weeks on the Black Sea and several days in Inebolu, we still hadn't had enough. So last Sunday we set off to the Kastamonu Market in Kasimpasa, an Istanbul neighborhood on the Golden Horn just north of Tarlabasi (home to another great market). Kastamonulu make the long slog to Istanbul overnight by car (and truck) and set up around 6am. When we arrived late at 10:30 or 11 there was still plenty to see and buy.

First up, the essentials: dairy and bread. A table at the market's entrance displayed cow's milk kaymak -- 3/4 inch-thick shards stacked in plastic containers at 5 Turkish lira (about U$2.90) for enough to generously garnish four to six desserts -- as well as six types of cow and goat's milk, salted and unsalted cheeses. There was fresh, unpasteurized milk in plastic water bottles to take home and drink hot (or cold) after boiling. Along with kaymak, some milky semi-soft cheese and a 250-gram bag of suzme (drained) yogurt thick enough to stick to an upturned spoon we purchased grassy, tasting-of-the-beast butter at 7 lira a kilo, 

to slather thickly on köy ekmeği or "village bread", a massive crusty loaf made with unbleached flour.

Pazı ekmeği, bread made with chard and herbs (scallion greens and parsley, usually), was also out in force at the Kastamonu market. We know this bread well from Inebolu and to tell the truth this version was a pale comparison of that made by the talented baker woman we usually buy from there. That said, it was one of maybe 10 loaves left for sale in the entire market -- early risers will probably score a tastier loaf.

On the Black Sea autumn means apples and pears and persimmons. As we road-tripped along the coast we ate dozens of the latter, ripened until sugar oozed from the cracks in their skins, which were covered with so much black we would have sworn the fruit was rotten. It was anything but; sliced open, flesh scooped from skins like pudding, these persimmons were the sweetest, most delicious that we've ever eaten, something like a honey-enriched fruit jam.

There were also plastic water-bottle punnets of what might be Myrica rubra or Chinese bayberry, small nubbly fruits in pretty fruits sporting sunset hues. These we didn't try; vendors were not offering samples (in most market you can taste almost everything, cheeses included) of this relatively pricey fruit and, with only a couple of days in Istanbul, we feared we wouldn't finish a punnet full. Next year. 

In addition to fresh fruits there were plenty of dried specimens as well. In Giresun we purchased little pears sun-dried whole, chewy as Milk Duds, molasses sweet and ever so lightly bitter, like Vietnamese caramel. We saw the same shriveled pears at the Kastamonu market, along with sweet and sour dried plums and quartered apples dried with their skins on.

Giresun is also known for its hazelnuts, but further west towards Kastamonu walnuts and chestnuts rule. At village markets on the coast single vendors might display as many as ten grades of either or both, divided by size and quality. The smaller chestnuts, called kuzu kestane (lamb chestnuts), are for eating raw -- their skin is easily broken with a fingernail, they're slightly juicy and taste like raw mature coconut -- while the larger are meant to be roasted.

The market offers much treasure for vegetable lovers in the form of several types of pumpkin and winter squash,

leafy greens like chard, sturdy lettuces, young leaves of rocket and tere (a jagged-edged leaf that tastes a bit like wasabi) and collard green-like kara lahana or "black cabbage". There were even collard green roots for sale, massive specimens weighing half a kilo and more. Several vendors recommended making soup with these roots. We purchased one and snacked on it raw. It's a wonderful vegetable, super crispy and sweet with no cabbage-y funk. This vegetable, grated, would make a wonderful salad with olive oil and lemon and it would be super stir-fried with garlic and finished with a bit of sesame oil.

Cooler temperatures and autumn rains bring mushrooms to Kastamonu's copious forest land and there were no shortage of these at the market, both farmed and foraged on the coastal mountains. We bought a kilo and a half of several types and cooked them simply, sauteed with loads of that fresh butter and dusted with finely chopped parsley. Outside of Italy during porcini season, I've never eaten tastier mushrooms in my life.

Any Turkish market worth its salt has a mobile tea stall or two; most (especially on the Black Sea) hang photographs of Ataturk.

Turks are great picklers and preservers and both tendencies were well in evidence at the Kastamonu makret, at stalls offering any and everything brined -- including peppers, beets, turnips and carrots,

as well as all manner of preserves, jams, sauces and pekmez (fruit molasses) made from figs, apples, pears, grapes, cactus fruit, rose hips and mulberries.

There's no shortage of protein for sale at this market. We saw dainty baskets of school bus orange-yoked eggs cradled in straw, live turkeys (American expats in Istanbul, take note for next Thanksgiving!) roped to a truck wheel and freshly killed gangly free-range chickens. One vendor even had a few goose carcasses for sale.

The birds we had to pass on, for the cookware in our rental apartment wouldn't have been able to accomodate any of them. But we did return to our temporary home with bags and bags of goodies. That night we dined buttery stewed mushrooms ladled over pumpkin mashed with full-cream milk and yet more butter. Dessert was fresh, milky "village" cheese and apples, and a syrupy compote of orange peel-scented dried apples and plums with a generous -- no, make that HUGE -- crown of rich kaymak.

Our stay in Istanbul came at the end of a road trip along the central Turkish Black Sea coast, during which we reported a story on one of our passions -- anchovies -- for the New York Times. Read it here. And Dave has put together a slideshow of out-takes from the trip, set to "Hamsi" (Anchovies) by the Anatolian pop group Mogallar. View/listen here -- it gives a great feel for this very special, and under-visited, part of Turkey.

Kastamonu Market, Kasimpasa, Istanbul. Every Sunday morning. True market hounds should follow a stroll through this market's aisles with a visit to nearby Tarlabasi for its own (admittedly more wholesale but nonetheless good fun) Sunday market.

Dinner Number One

Note: The photos here may be pretty but unfortunately we can no longer recommend this restaurant. Datli Maya's ownership changed at some point in early 2013; so too the food and vibe, and not for the better. But all is not lost: just a half block up the street, Mucver still serves great Turkish homecooking with a twist.

Yes, we're back in Turkey, in Istanbul for now, and we ate our first proper dinner at Datli Maya because it's become habit and it's good to be recognized and -- most of all, absolutely most of all -- because we always leave satisfied, rubbing our bellies and lamenting that we ate too much but, if we were to be honest, not regreting a single bite.

What we like about the place: the wood-fired oven that you can't miss as you walk through the door. The casual friendliness of the staff. That you have to walk through the teeny-tiny kitchen to get to the just-as-tiny dining room. Sitting by the window, right in sight line with the minaret of Firuzaga Mosque, and watching the sidewalk traffic as we wait for our order. Self-service tea, as strong or as weak as you like, pulled from an old samovar on a little table in the corner of the dining room.

And the ever-changing menu. There are always lahmacun and pide and desserts, but what is cooked long and slow in the wood-fired oven revolves according to what's in season, what's good, what's at the market, what inspires the cook. Today's specials are displayed on the counter, there for your perusal when you walk in the door.

Tonight we ate woodsy, meaty mushrooms with bits of strange but deliciously bitter green chilies, blanketed with mild, oozy cheese and reheated in a guvec (a clay baking dish) in the wood-fired oven. Also, "village chicken", a lovely stew of a zucchini-like summer squash, potato and chicken in what tasted like the richest bird broth ever (enriched with butter, perhaps?), and a guvec of sweet pumpkin stewed with red peppers and onions. There were chickpeas stewed with onions and peppers, and a salad, always a salad. Datli Maya excels at them -- they're generously proportioned, include a variety of greens and usually house-pickled beets and just-sprouted mung beans, and are dressed with a lemony pomegranate molasses and cumin "vinaigrette". We often end up ordering a second salad to avoid fighting over the first one.

Mung beans? Chickpeas? Is this really Turkish food? some may ask. Let's call it Turkish with a twist. The ingredients are good, the execution is inspired and the result makes us happy.  We are quite happily off to other parts of Turkey in less than 36 hours but, for now, it's good to be back in Istanbul

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 14 visits in the last three 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.

Update June 4 2012: Please note that cash is no longer an option on buses -- it's Istanbulcart only. Thanks to commenter sarahlizp for the heads up.

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, Kabatas to Kadikoy, Besiktas and Princes' Islands.  Note that in most cases ferry terminals are named for their DESTINATION. So, for instance, at Eminonu there are Uskudar and Kadikoy ferry terminals.
• The tram 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), Findikli ("secret" tea spot -- see below and Prince's Islands/Kadikoy ferry terminals) and Kabatas (connect here to underground line up to Taksim, catch a bus or taxi to Besiktas and beyond to Ortakoy, Arnavutkoy, Rumeli Castle, Sariyer, etc., or access same ferries as at the Findikli stop).
• The funicular (two stops, the top and bottom) runs from Karakoy uphill to Tunel (just above the Galata Tower), which sits at the base of that famous (and famously annoying, if you are in a hurry) pedestrian shopping mall known as Istiklal Caddesi.
• And there's a quick little underground line that will get you from Kabatas 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. Taksim Square is a node, and a good place to catch buses across the Ataturk Bridge to say, Fatih and Balat. 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 bit of public transport info lodged in your brain you can just about anywhere.

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. They offer fantastic photo opportunities. 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 incredibly romantic (at sunset especially).

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 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. 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 (salted water-thinned yogurt, incredibly refreshing on a hot day) and sometimes herbal teas -- zahter [zah-tair] = thyme tea and ada cayi [a-dah chai-yuh] = sage tea. Sorry, but apple tea is for tourists.

We have a few beloved secret tea spots. They're not literally "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 Prince's Islands ferry pier, almost exactly across from the Findikli tram stop, 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, when most patrons bring along something breakfasty to nibble as they take their wake-up tea, have their wake-up smoke and gaze at the water.
• At the far edge of the parking lot across from the Istanbul Culinary Institute in Beyogulu's Pera neighborhood, there's an indoor tea space with al fresco 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 giant beachball view-spoiler 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.

Update, May 2013:

• The teahouse in the manicured park aroundn Dolmabahce Palace boasts many, many tables right on the water; it's a great sunset spot. You needn't pay to enter the palace grounds (though your bag will be X-rayed). You'll be offered a menu as you sit but it's perfectly fine not to order food. Tea is on the expensive side (2 TL per glass) but we think the view and nice setting justifies the price.
• As you exit Karakoy ferry terminal (having arrived by ferry, obviously) turn right. There, just on the water next to a row of fishermen you'll find two guys with the ubiquitous coal-fired portable tea maker. Grab a plastic chair or stool and order. You'll be expected to move along fairly soon after you finish your tea but feel free to bring along a simit or other tea snack. (In late afternoon/evening there are two fish sandwich grillers right behind.) This is an outlaw tea operation Irregular hours, and no guarantee these guys haven't been chased off by now. But tea was still being offered here as of April 20, 2013.

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. 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 whatr you want andwill just generally make your life all around easier.

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 much about, actually, as Turks have always been very pleasant -- to my face at least -- when 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 that  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! The ancient cistern is there! You know what else is there? Carpet sellers, a lot of them. Touts, postcard and trinket sellers. Irish pubs. Overpriced, mediocre food (chicken breast pudding -- it's wild, it's crazy but you know what? It's not the best dish to ever come out of the Ottoman kitchen).

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 full days sightseeing in Sultanahmet. But there is really no reason to spend your nights there too. After all if you visit New York you may put the Empire State Building on your bucket list, but must you stay in the same neighborhood to ride the elevator to the top?

You have absorbed Tip 1, right? So you know that getting to and from Sultanahmet is as easy as brandishing your Istanbulkart and hopping on and off the tram. Or the ferry. Or as simple as walking across the bridge on a beautiful morning and back across as the sky turns orange.

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 minutes to wait for a train and 5 more to get to Sultanahmet and you're talking 25-30 minutes tops.

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 in (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), a stereo, room to move and unpack your bags and pile up your dirty laundry 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. As are summer's strawberries with a blog of fresh kaymak (clotted cream). Neither of these combos is likely to show up on your Sultanahmet hotel breakfast buffet 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.

10.

Know that you're never far from a toilet. This bit of advice will not apply to readers who don't guzzle water as if they'd just finished a desert marathon, or who have chosen to ignore my bit of advice about tea drinking and are abstaining -- if you're one of them you can skip right on to the next point of advice. But I know that there are some of you out there who, like myself, consume more liquids than the average Joe and are constantly on the lookout for a public toilet. It's hard to enjoy a beautiful sunset from the Galata Bridge or a cruise through the lanes of the Kadikoy fish market when you're preoccupied by the urge to pee. The good news: in Istanbul it is almost always the case that where there's a mosque there is a public toilet, accessible for a fee ranging from half a lira to one and a half or two. "Bay" means Guys and "Bayan" means Gals. After making use of my share of mosque toilets I've concluded that the older the caretaker/change accepter, the cleaner you can excpect the toilet to be. It's also worth noting that the toilets at either end of the Galata Bridge (beneath the bridge itself) are surprisingly -- given their situtation and frequency of use) inoffensive.

One of my mother's favorite bits of advice: Go now because you never know when you'll have another chance. Mother's wisdom does not apply in Istanbul.

Every Istanbul stay should include a proper breakfast out -- one that includes menemen

11.

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? a glass of tea beneath a centuries-old aquaduct!), 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 do?), 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.

12.

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 I can almost guarantee you'll leaving wishing you'd spent more.

Addendum - June 04 2012: Commenter seoulgirl asked for recommendations for reputable apartment rental companies in Istanbul.

I can't make any guarantees, but we've had good look with a couple of rental sites:

• We've been renting places in Cihangir and Galata, Beyoglu, through Istanbul Sweet Home since 2010. The Galata apartments are in lovely old buildings; one of our favorites oozes character and overlooks a lovely Crimean church. That said, we're partial to Cihangir, for its convenience: there are a number of good places to eat, several wonderful fresh fruit and veg shops and a lively cafe scene. Our favorite ISH Cihangir pad is usually booked, probably because of its roomy terrace with a view and a barbecue. It must be said that if you're a first-timer to Istanbul or otherwise a bit nervous about staying outside of a hotel this probably isn't the apartment rental service for you -- management isn't as hands-on as others. But we've never had a bad experience. ISH arranges airport transfers, at a reasonable 25 euros from Ataturk Airport. If you're flexible about travel dates the site lists "discounts" for unrented aparments at the beginning of every month.
• In February we rented this Cihangir apartment through HomeAway.com. The kitchen was tiny but we made it work. Otherwise the apartment was great and the management very responsive. We'll no doubt revisit this apartment in the future.
• In June 2012 we rented an apartment in Cihangir through Cross-Pollinate. It was our first time renting through this relatively new agency and we had a fantastic experience. When we changed our date CP replied promptly with a confirmation email. The apartment owner was on top of everything, the place was spic and span and exactly as advertised on the site, and it was probably our best-equipped pad to date. We will use Cross-Pollinate again.

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.