Another line in the article stopped us cold. “I couldn’t help myself thinking, ‘Where are the old watering holes?’ with their rakı etiquette and their meze varieties,” the author wrote, as if some strange plague had swept across Istanbul and somehow made the city’s old-school meyhanes vanish. In response, we thought we’d offer a list of five of our favorite meyhanes, places that despite bans on smoking and outdoor seating and ever-rising liquor taxes, still manage to keep the old-time spirit of the “raki sofrasi” (literally “the raki table”) alive. Although the meze and booze flow at these places, these are not culinary destinations, per se. The food is good, but the real attraction here is to be part of the time-honored ritual of sitting down with friends, cracking a bottle (or two) of raki open and enjoying a long night of good conversation while small plate after small plate of food magically arrives at the table. Those are “norms” we can definitely live with.

Çukur Meyhanesi: When Liver Met Hamsi
It wasn’t quite as dramatic as Meg Ryan’s big moment at Katz’s deli in “When Harry Met Sally,” but a low-register, guttural moan of pleasure was detected from our table upon our tasting of the shredded celery root in yogurt, a house specialty meze at Beyoglu’s Çukur Meyhanesi. And we weren’t faking it.

We stop into scores of meyhanes, or traditional Turkish tavernas, and eat more yogurt mezethan we care to report, all for the sake of finding that one masterful meze among the goopy masses. Most meze in Istanbul are fine, but very few can be considered orgasmic….(to read the rest of the review click here)

Inciralti: Meyhane Time Machine
We like to think of Inciralti, a laid back meyhane in the sleepy Bosphorus-side Beylerbeyi neighborhood, as a destination restaurant – not so much because of the food, but because of the destination itself.

Not that there’s anything wrong with the food here, which is reliably well made. The meze tray at Inciralti (which means “under the fig tree” in Turkish) is brought to your table carrying all the classics, plus a few welcome and tasty surprises, such as the zingy brined twigs of the caper plant and a sea bass filet that had been cured in a piquant sauce redolent of curry. Among the excellent mains we had sea bass again, this time grilled wrapped inside grape vine leaves, and meltingly soft uykuluk (sweetbreads), that were also grilled and dusted with oregano and red pepper. Both were winners.

But it’s Inciralti’s location that will have us coming back, especially if we’re looking for an opportunity to take an excursion without leaving Istanbul….(to read the rest of this review, click here)

Mohti: All that Laz
“My heart starts pounding when a pregnant lady enters the room,” said Huseyin, the artist turned owner/operator of Mohti, a new “Laz Meyhane” in the back of the backstreets of the Asmalimescit area. While this might sound to some like the unsavory confession of a man with an exotic fetish, to us it was a breath of fresh air, redolent with the old-style charm of a classic meyhane patron, something that’s increasingly harder to come across these days.

There was a time when every meyhane around here had a true character at the helm, someone who knew how to work the crowd, comp a drink and indulge in the art of hospitality every night. Now, sadly, as Asmalimescit and other traditional dining zones go upmarket, the only trace of that old school proprietorship is found in yellowed photos on wall.  In this context, Huseyin — a boisterous host in an exceedingly sterile market — is almost as odd a fit as Mohti’s concept: thoroughly home-style Black Sea cooking in a meyhane setting….(To read more of this review, click here)

Salkim Meyhanesi: At the Car Wash
Like any place with real character, this spot is better known by its nickname: “the carwash meyhane.” Located, naturally, above a now defunct carwash, this small, no-frills meyhane — more commonly referred to as “otoyikamacinin ustu” or “Erkal’in Yeri” – is amicably run by a group of brothers who hail from eastern Turkey’s city of Van and who keep the place humming with a distinct sense of good cheer. A tiny kitchen in back, barely big enough to hold the one chef works inside it, turns out a constant stream of lip smacking pan-fried liver and grilled fish.
Address: Suslu Saksi Sok. #27a, Beyoglu (across from the Sakizagaci taxi stand)
(no phone)

Yazin ve Sanat Kooperatif: The Alchemist Returns
We had previously written about the unalloyed meyhane magic we experienced every time we ate at the boisterous Taksim restaurant run by the local branch of Turkey’s Metallurgist Union. Sadly, the place closed down not that long ago, but there’s a happy ending to the story. The heart and soul of the metallurgists’ spot was not metallurgy, but Huseyin bey, the host, an affable  and ever-present man from the Eastern Black Sea. Since the closure of the metallurgists’ meyhane, he’s migrated over to a spot run by his wife near the Beyoglu police station. He brought with him the metallurgist vibe and many of his old customers. Same menu, same comically low prices, same ban on the smoking ban in effect. We had some very nice lakerda and grilled barbunya there, as well and the popcorn-like fried “sole”.

A migrant from Malatya in Eastern Turkey who hustled tea near the Egyptian Bazaar as a boy, by the mid 1990’s he lorded over an empire of kokoreç stands – 33 at its peak – walked his own production floor, drove a white Mercedes (“when that model was in style,” Vahap Usta pointed out) and counted more than 50 tuxedos in his closet. Beyond the financial gain, though, Vahap Usta was a cult figure – the Willy Wonka of kokoreç – who helped make this street food iconic. And then he disappeared. “Vahap Usta is like a kite without a string. You never know where he will end up,” said Vahap’s old neighbor, optician Bilgin Bilgic, to the Aksam Newspaper in 2003.

The legend of Vahap Usta lives on in Facebook pages (“Vahap Usta Neredesin?/Where are you Vahap Usta?” asks one) and through claims of recent sightings and nostalgic blog posts of encounters long past. But for quite a while no one seemed to know what exactly happened to the kokoreç King himself. Our attention was brought to this story by friend and fellow trencherman Salih abi, author of the great food blog Harbi Yiyorum. We followed false leads for a year before we finally found Vahap Usta, working at his kokoreç counter on a commercial strip in the Sisli neighborhood.

So what happened to Vahap Usta? He sighed and removed his reading glasses, which, we noticed, were missing one arm.  “Nobody can lose money the way I can. It is an art form,” he said flashing a grin.

Though he says that he was the first to grill long thick rolls of kokoreç over coals as a street food, we’ve found evidence to the contrary. And there is no way to verify the claim that he sold around 12,000 kokoreç sandwiches and a truckful of ayran every day from his cart, because, like many things about Vahap Usta, his books are not available for review.

But we do know that Vahap Usta’s boom coincided with a wave of kokoreç popularity, when its image transformed from a somewhat obscure street food into a staple of Turkish pop culture. At the time, conflict in Eastern Turkey raged, Turgut Ozal, then prime minister of Turkey, was selling state assets like hot potatoes and Istanbul’s population doubled (again). As Turkey’s largest city and economic powerhouse, Istanbul was rapidly modernizing and experienced serious growing pains. Fortunes were made and lost along the way. On the streets of Istanbul, meanwhile, a revolution was taking place, with the business principles of western fast food meeting the flavors of traditional Turkish street fare to create a wholly unique hybrid. Did Vahap Usta start the revolution? Did he ride a wave originated elsewhere (at Hamburger University in Oak Brook Ill, perhaps)? What was the situation of street food in Istanbul, and Istanbul itself, in the 1980’s and 90’s that would encourage a man with no experience to declare himself a master of an old trade and model his business on Colonel Sanders?

The answers to these questions lie within the story of Vahap Usta. In this series we’ll try to unravel the rise, fall and possible rebirth of this ambitious culinary entrepreneur, the P.T. Barnum of grilled intestines, and see what created the kokoreç king and, beyond that, his kingdom.

In the meantime, if you’d like to drop in for a kokoreç, Vahap Usta is set up in front of Emek Kebabi in Sisli:
Address: Abide-I Hurriyet Caddesi 124, Sisli
Telephone: +90212 2341065

(photo by Ansel Mullins)

We’re especially fond of the islands in springtime, when their Judas, Mimosa and wild plum trees are starting to bloom and a walk along one of their tranquil trails serves as the perfect cure for the lingering effects of the Istanbul winter blues. Of course, a good meal is essential any time of the year and we’ve been lucky enough to find a few spots on the islands that are worthy destinations in and of themselves. For those planning a visit to the Princes’ Islands, some suggestions below:

Burgazada – Kalpazankaya Restaurant
Burgazada is the smallest and least visited of the Princes’ Islands. The island has few easily accessible beaches and picnic spots, but what it does have is a laid back atmosphere and several charming waterfront restaurants and cafes in the harbor. Better yet, Burgaz is home to Kalpazankaya Restaurant, an out-of-the-way, open-air meyhane on the island’s backside that will quickly help you forget about the crowded mass of humanity left behind on the ferry.

Getting to Kalpazankaya is easy: take the road that leads to the right when leaving the ferry terminal and continue walking along that road for about 30 minutes until it comes to an end. In front of you, sitting in splendid isolation on a hillside overlooking the blue waters of the Marmara Sea and a small pebble beach below, is the restaurant, a collection of vine-shaded terraces with rickety wooden tables and chairs…. (Click here to read the rest of the review)

Heybeliada – Heyamola Ada Lokantasi
The new-offshore-kid-in-town, Heyamola Ada Lokanatasi, is a perfect storm of inspired food, chill ambiance, and small-label Turkish wines, all at ridiculously low prices. Heyamola is reason in and of itself to plan a day trip to the Prince’s Islands, and if you are already organizing your island adventure, this place is a compelling argument for ditching the ferry at Heybeli Island, often overlooked in favor of the more popular Buyukada….(Click here to read the rest of the review)

Buyukada – Club Mavi
Considering you’re on an island, you probably want to eat somewhere with a view of the sea. Most visitors to Buyukada end up getting lured to the row of busy fish restaurants found just beside Buyukada’s ferry terminal. All have seaside terraces with a view of Istanbul’s rapidly developing Asian shore (and of the occasional piece of urban flotsam and jetsam that drifts by) and similar, predictable menus with decently made, but uninspiring food.

A more pleasant (but not cheap) island experience, though, can be had by hailing one of Buyukada’s numerous horse carriages and asking the driver to take you to Club Mavi, a restaurant and hotel located inside a rambling old house on the island’s undeveloped backside…. (Click here to read the rest of this review)

Buyukada – SofrAda
One of the questions that we frequently ask ourselves during visits to Buyukada is just where do the locals eat? The seaside fish restaurants are too pricey, while even the “budget” places away from the sea are clearly aimed at the tourist trade.

We recently found the answer to our question in the form of SofrAda Restoran, a homey version of an esnaf lokanta, located on a small side street near the aromatic lot where the horse carriages are parked while their drivers wait for rides….(Click here to read the rest of the review)

Merih Resturant

Datli Maya
Our first visit to Datli Maya started and ended with tirnakli pide that came right out of the oven. We used it to dab up everything from the breakfast bar – dark honey, chunky fruit preserves, and rich butter. Then we piled wedges of spicy tepsi kebab on it and then still couldn’t keep from tearing off pieces to go with refills of tea – washing down the tea with bread. Tirnakli pide is so typical in Istanbul restaurants, particularly kebab shops, that it is often simply called “bread”. And quite often it is just bread. Fresh but a bit limp, reheated over a grill if you are lucky, it’s never the star of the table. Datli Maya’s fresh pide opened our eyes to the glory of this staple and tapped into a deep unknown place in our stomach. On this blog, we’ve issued high praise of nearly everything else to come out of Datli Maya’s oven, but it was a simple tirnakli pide that hooked us on the place.

Siirt Seref Buryan
When life gives you lemons make lemonade, and when a Roman-era aqueduct runs just outside your restaurant, use it to create one of Istanbul’s most original alfresco dining spots. That certainly seems to be the thinking at Fatih’s Siirt Şeref Büryan Kebap Salonu, which stands in the shadow of the Roman-era Valens aqueduct. For a large group of friends on a celebratory Sunday this past summer, the restaurant cleverly set up a long table underneath the shade of one of the defunct waterway’s spacious archways. The result was pure magic, the archway serving as the ideal setting for a procession of food that culminated with what seemed like endless plates of Siirt Şeref’s exquisite kimikli (“on the bone”) pit-roasted lamb. It was a day of perfection, shaded by centuries of history.

7-8 Hasanpasa Firin
Based on the emphatic wording in some of our reviews (in Gaziosmanpasa we found “homewrecking beans”; a celery root meze at Cukur Meyhanesi once summoned “gutteral moans” from our table; at Urfa Sark Sofrasi, we found a kebab that was “bleat-worthy”.) it might seem that we are really easily impressed. Honestly, we are often impressed, but rarely are we totally blown away by a new discovery.

Our most recent eureka moment occurred on a boat crossing the Bosphorus, where the metaphoric value of two continents colliding was not lost on us. Prior to boarding we stood in front of a window display with dozens of beautiful baked goods at 7-8 Hasanpasa and picked a “paskalya” loaf and circular “tahinli” that looked something like a wide cinnamon roll sprinkled with sesame seeds. We wandered down to the dock and found our seats on the back deck of the boat and opened the backpack we’d stowed the breads in. The sweet smell of tahini along with that of mastika from the paskalya escaped from the bag, summoning such a reaction on deck that you’d think we’d just lit up a joint. All eyes were on us saying, “Let me get some of that.” Seagulls, defying their physical design to soar, awkwardly flapped their wings hovering in place by the rail like hummingbirds, begging for just one crumb of our tahinli. The deep horn of a tanker blew from far away. It seemed the entire Bosphorus was aware of our snack.

On the first bite of crusty edge flavored by the sesame seeds, we were struck with shame that we hadn’t had this treat until now. Once we got to the center, where moist pastry hid a lining of tahini so sweet and nutty, we were gushing and squawking like seagulls. We giddily tore off pieces insisting that each bite was better than the one before. Our companion for this epic journey, a friend from Greece, said he’d been eating a similar, tahini-spiked roll all of his life and this was the best one he’d eaten, “Ever!” Now there’s an emphatic description that we fully endorse.
Address: Sehit Asim Caddesi 12, Besiktas
Telephone: +902122619766

Mandabatmaz

Cigerci Lutfi
There was something extremely delicious, yet dusted with melancholy, about this very memorable liver sandwich spontaneously eaten in front of the IMC Carsisi. The delicious part was the warm liver whose oil soaked the bread, transporting us back to previous years when we made regular stops at an itinerant liver man in Taksim Square. The aftertaste of melancholy set in as we tried to recall the last time we’d encountered one of these old street food staples. As far as Istanbul street food is concerned, the appearance of the cigerci with his distinctive lantern-shaped case and a wicker basket of fresh bread was never as reliable as a simitci rounding the corner or quite as common as the sandvicci (the kind you still find slinging cold sandwiches to the roustabouts on the Galata Bridge). But, though less common, the cigerci’s fare is far more satisfying than both. We started the year 2011 with Lutfi’s liver sandwich and we’ve suffered occasional cravings since then that led us back to the IMC, on ultimately failed missions, never to find him again. Lutfi might be missing, for now, or working another beat, but he’s not forgotten. When 2012 comes around, we’re hoping to kick it off with one of his sandwiches.

Mohti
Whenever we are feeling down on ourselves for eating so much fatty lamb kebab, frustrated by the crowds on Istiklal, defeated by the taxi drivers, angry at the world, we head to Mohti. Huseyin bey, the owner and patron saint of this “Laz meyhane”, has a twinkle in his eye that reminds us of how lucky we are to be alive and in Istanbul, particularly in the damp cold months of hamsi season. It was one such night that we found ourselves sulking at a corner table. Huseyin, aided by few plates of plump, juicy hamsi slowly brought us out of our funk. When the clouds in our heads cleared we looked around and joined the party that Huseyin weaves between his guests every night. His hamsi is more than delicious and his restaurant is a living room in every sense.

Before we knew it, the sun had set, the ‘kordon’ had filled with promenading families, and my friend’s two-year old daughter had sweet-talked Esra out of ten pieces of home made baklava. There is some sort of special magic that happens with these sorts of unplanned plans in Turkey—somehow everyone you love takes time for a meal that meanders over the full course of the day, conversation is broken only by hushed appreciation of the dish just placed in front of you, and in the end, you are neither full nor drunk, though you should be. Heyamola in May was just such a day, with the added richness of companions who took such glowing delight in including us in their excitement over every recipe, every ingredient, every subtlety of flavor and texture. We just barely made the last ferry, but I think each of us felt a pang, and would not have minded had we been stranded, ‘forced’ to remain at the table together.

Dinner at a meyhane should be the perfect night out: A table full of tasty little bites to share with friends, free-flowing alcohol, and boisterous neighbors getting up to sing and dance. What’s not to love? But while I enjoy a night on Nevizade as much as anyone, the meyhane experience in Istanbul too often has a whiff of the perfunctory. The samemeze, lacklusterly prepared. The same songs spurring what can feel like compulsory fun. The same squabbling over padded bills at the end of the night.

Fortunately, the meyhane blues is not an incurable condition. This year, three very different establishments reminded me why the meyhane night is such a beloved Turkish tradition.

In a culinary world where a different cut of kebab is often what passes for innovation, a menu full of the completely unfamiliar is a rare and precious find indeed. At the humble but cozy Black Sea meyhane Mohti in Istanbul’s Asmalımescit neighborhood, every bite was bursting with fresh, new-to-me flavors (and, most of the time, hamsi): a savory pancake made from the little fish and shredded vegetables; a salad tossed with mint and hot peppers; hamsi-studded cornbread; a hot skillet of gooey cheese, butter, and cornmeal; and warm, custard-filled Laz böreği for dessert.

Other times, the same-old can be done so skillfully that it almost becomes new again. That’s the feeling I walked away with after a meal at Karaköy Lokantası, a packed two-story Istanbul restaurant done up in brilliant turquoise tiles. There’s nothing equally flashy about the food, but everything was so perfectly prepared, even this usually squeamish diner found herself going back for seconds of thinly sliced, roast-beef-like tongue and ever-so-delicately fried liver. Tangy squash blossoms stuffed with rice and pungent greens in olive oil carried with them a hint of Aegean sea air.

On an actual visit to the Aegean, a friend I was staying with in the seaside town of Ayvalık dismissed any thought of a waterfront meal, instead leading me down the cobblestone backstreets to Hüsnü Baba’nın Yeri. The interior of “Father Hüsnü’s Place” is faded and rather glaringly lit; far better to grab a table in the alley, underneath hanging vines, and let the friendly staff cover it with small plates – stuffed mussels redolent of the ocean, garlicky samphire, perfectly cooked calamari and zucchini fritters, all cheap as can be, and served until late. This, I think, is the meyhane stripped down to its essentials: good food, good hospitality, and a rakı or three. That’s a recipe that will never get old.

Hüsnü Baba’nın Yeri
Tenekeciler Sokağı 16
Ayvalık
(0266) 312 87 14

Eaten by a river outside of Tokat on sunny October afternoon, this humble cheese and rocket sandwich was one of our Best Bites of 2011.

We’ve come to love road tripping in Turkey, for the opportunity it affords for impromptu dining from a back-seat larder of the regional ingredients we can never resist hoarding over the course of a journey. On this day we assembled sandwiches from roasted red pepper paste purchased from a villager at a weekly market in the pretty Black Sea hamlet of Erfelik; perky rocket, juicy tomatoes and a crusty multi-grain loaf bought at a corner shop in Amasya; and plain old creamy beyaz peynir sourced from a bufe somewhere outside of Tokat.

We drove slowly along the highway north of Tokat until we saw a narrow dirt track, then turned off and followed it to an apple orchard set beside a sluggish river. We were famished and clouds were beginning to close in on what, after a Black Sea sojourn, was our first clear day in almost two weeks. After parking the car we carried our ingredients, along with the plates and basic utensils we always road-trip with, to a bridge whose wide hand rails served as prep counter.

Biber salcasi isn’t meant to be eaten uncooked, but its salty bite is a brilliant counterpoint to milky cheese. The bread was dense and chewy, the rocket fresh as could be, the tomatoes juicy enough to destabilize our sandwiches and send rivulets running down our wrists by Bite Five. As we ate we listened to the river burble and basked in the kind heat of an autumn sun. After a while the orchard’s owner, an elderly gentleman dressed in going-to-town trousers and suit coat, appeared and offered us a bag of yellow apples. It was time for tea, he said. Could he have a ride to his regular cay evi in Tokat? Of course, we answered. So we finished our sandwiches, packed up our supplies and headed into town.

Details:
We can’t tell you where to eat a rocket, tomato and beyaz peynir sandwich served in a setting as idyllic as this. But we can almost guarantee that if you fly almost anywhere in Turkey, rent a car and hit the road with open eyes, you’ll find something as memorable.

Hayri Balik
We always feel a bit like a cheating spouse when we walk past our longtime favorite – albeit dry – fish spot, Arnavutkoy’s Adem Baba, toward Hayri Balik, a lovely little fish shack up the street. But sometimes, well after the brunching hour, we like to have something a little stronger than a Fanta with our fish. Any sense of guilt is quickly numbed, though, as we drain a cold beer in the afternoon sun sitting outside of Hayri’s humble dining room…..

Cukur Meyhanesi
Çukur serves up other meyhane classics, such as grilled lamb chops and kofte, but – somewhat unusually – the folks at Çukur  have also figured out how to grill Black Sea sardines, or hamsi! Long considered a lost cause by grill men for its tendency to slip through the grill and into the coals, hamsi is usually fried or baked. At Çukur they’ve thrown caution to the wind and worked about ten of these little squirmy fish onto a skewer and bookended them with tomato and pepper. Hamsi is agreeable in just about any form, but fresh off the grill the fish’s characteristic smack of the Black Sea is even more pronounced….

Furreyya
From the outside, Fürreyya Galata Balıkcısı, a tiny new restaurant in Beyoglu’s quaint Galata area, doesn’t look like much. Two tables, two stools at a short counter, a smoky grill and not much else. But Inside this modest fish shack beats the heart of a more ambitious place. The friendly husband and wife team who own the place and share kitchen duties used to run a restaurant in Istanbul’s upscale Bebek neighborhood, and it’s clear that Fürreyya is in experienced hands….

Kemal’in Yeri
The neon sign in front of Kemal’in Yeri shines like a “Last Chance for Gas” sign seen on the highway before entering the desert. In your rearview mirror are the crowded tourist traps of the Galata Bridge. Ahead lie the shipyards and decrepit chandleries of the Golden Horn. But Kemal’s Place is not only the last place to eat on this stretch of the Golden Horn, it’s one of the last places in all of Beyoglu where you can eat reasonably well on reasonable budget sitting outside beside the water without another hungry soul in sight…..

Mohti Laz Meyhane
“My heart starts pounding when a pregnant lady enters the room,” said Huseyin, the artist turned owner/operator of Mohti, a new “Laz Meyhane” in the back of the backstreets of the Asmalimescit area. While this might sound to some like the unsavory confession of a man with an exotic fetish, to us it was a breath of fresh air, redolent with the old-style charm of a classic meyhane patron, something that’s increasingly harder to come across these days….

Hayvore
The Black Sea area is Turkey’s culinary misfit – not really about kebabs or meze. If anything, the food there seems to have been mysteriously transplanted from the American Deep South. We’re talking corn bread, collard greens and smoky bean stews. It’s simple, filling, down-home food and Hayvore is a great – and affordable – spot to get acquainted with it….