Approaching the Grand Bazaar from the northeast you encounter the market’s “Nuruosmaniye Gate,” named for the nearby baroque Nuruosmaniye mosque, built in the late 18^th century. But to us, this will always be the “Kofte Gate” for its proximity to Nuruosmaniye Koftecisi, established in 1974.

Stepping inside this humble shop, sawdust underfoot, we were instantly calmed by a rhythm we recognized from any busy neighborhood eatery at lunchtime. Delivery orders were called out by the cashier who worked a calculator with one hand and cradled a phone with the other. Behind the cashier, we heard the constant pad of the waiter’s loafers hustling orders up the stairs to the tiny domed dining room above. Logjams of customers coming and going, paying and ordering formed instantly and were settled as quickly by the tight crew that run this place. This place was alive and a wonder to observe in action, particularly the man who held it all together, the griller.

The charcoal grill in the corner, loaded with short and stubby kofte were flipped and switched in different directions and angles by a deft hand, reminding us of a chalkboard with a lengthy mathematical proof in progress. Finally, our order, birbucuk porsiyon, an order and a half of meatballs, made its way through the equation and arrived still sizzling. Freshly chopped onions with parsley, a cool wedge of tomato and a hot pepper could be a salad to some or the fixings of a sandwich to others. A pyramid of fresh, sliced bread stood tall on our table beside a coffee mug filled with a piquant salça-based sauce. This was exactly what we’d expect to see at a neighborhood kofte joint, an expectation rarely met in this tourist zone.

Like many independent meatballers, Nuruosmaniye Koftecisi does not comfortably fall into any partiular kofte classification, though there is a striking resemblance here to the kind made in Tekirdag. The usta at the grill explained that this is actually a meatball of their own design with its own secret recipe, prepared on the premises and cooked everyday by him, therefore it is his meatball. Ten lira to sit in the personal workshop of a master of the culinary arts while he prepares a unique work for each customer? That’s more memorable than the overpriced kilim or handbag that most people come looking for around here, which should really make Nuruosmaniye Koftecisi a destination in itself. In fact, we wouldn’t be surprised if, among some locals, the Grand Bazaar is referred to as “Koftecide’ki pazar” – the market near the meatball shop.

Address: Vezir Han Caddesi 73, Cemberlitas
Telephone: +90 212 526 7169

(photo by Ansel Mullins)

Dear Istanbul Eats,

Dear Concerned,
Thanks for the great question. Pandeli is indeed a venerable spot and, for a certain generation of visitors to Istanbul, often the first culinary stop made in the city. Which is to say that we haven’t been there in years. In order to answer your question, we asked our resident guest blogger, “Meliz,” to check things out over at Pandeli and come up with strategies for others who plan to visit the restaurant. Her report is below….

Someone mentioned the film Midnight Express to me the other day, and my first (ok, second) thought was hmm, wonder how Pandeli is these days? Let me explain.

When I first arrived in Istanbul, there were two things I used to hear about with some consistency: the film Midnight Express, and the restaurant Pandeli (not due to any connection between the two, mind you). Interestingly, as the years have passed and the city has gussied itself up a bit, one hears about both of these cultural touchstones less and less. I cannot argue that it is a shame that nowadays visitors are thinking more about what events to attend at the Biennial than “Joey, have you ever been… in a Turkish prison?” But I have to say, after a recent visit to Pandeli, after a decade-long hiatus, the place deserves a little revival of interest.

This is not to say that every single item on the menu is earthshaking. Nor that every item on the menu is priced within the average diner’s budget. But, the menu has not changed in a decade, and the things that I recall as special are still consistently so today. And those things are tasty enough to justify a visit if one happens to be skulking around the Spice Bazaar, especially with out-of-town guests. Because, let’s face it: Eminonu holds quite a treasure-trove of street food, but sometimes, after bumping elbows with its teeming masses, even the most inveterate chowhound might crave a linen tablecloth and a bit of quietude.

At Pandeli, as is the case with so many places in Istanbul/the world, you are paying for the ambiance and view. But only to an extent, and as these things go, I for one would rather pony up for Pandeli’s turquoise tiles and 17^th-century domed ceilings than fork over my precious lira for a panoramic city view blocked by grazing socialites. But that’s just me. So how do you ensure that all you pay for the ambiance is the two-lira cover? Let’s get to it.

Be forewarned: the first page of the menu had me breaking a bit of a sweat. At first blush, this appears to be a listing of appetizers priced between 30 and 60 lira each. And it is just that. But the appetizers are not your average meze. And 30-60 lira per portion for things like caviar and smoked bonito is not utterly outrageous. Just sort of outrageous. The list does smack of a funny nostalgia, a sort of executive’s lunch circa 1962, but as Pandeli does not offer martinis or champagne, I would skip it (and insist that no unordered plates of anything stay on the table).

For small plates, Pandeli offers a variety of vegetables cooked either with olive oil or butter – not something you find everywhere. That said, this is not an esnaf lokanta, not really, and while the veggies may be good, they will not be the most beautiful you have ever eaten. Better to go straight for the eggplant salad, a creamy puree of smoky deliciousness. Having said all that, the donerli patlican borek (henceforth DPB), listed as a small plate, is a) a good solid-sized portion, and b) the single best item on the menu. You know how quiche often comes close to perfect, but is held back by an eggy or over-cheesed heaviness? The DPB at Pandeli delivers on the elusive textural promise of quiche. You have a buttery but not lumpen yufka crust at the bottom, on top of which is a baked layer of that amazing eggplant puree, mixed with a subtle amount of kasar, the hard melty cheese of Turkey. There is enough kasar so that the top bakes to crispy perfection, but not so much that the eggplant puree loses its fluffiness. This stuff is darn good, but then, then, they heap on a generous but not gratuitous portion of doner slices. The crispy texture and the meaty flavor of the doner bring the perfect counterbalance to the creaminess of the eggplant borek. And at 10 lira for a portion the size of a Dickens novel, DPB also wins the prize for best deal on the menu.

If you are in for a somewhat more substantial meal, there are a few main courses particularly worth noting: the hunkar begendi (lamb bits over eggplant puree), the kuzu tandir (roasted lamb) and kagitta levrek (sea bass baked in parchment). None of these are cheap, but they are good. The sea bass dish is the single most famous dish at Pandeli, and it is done in a style one would be hard-pressed to find elsewhere. But at 38 lira, this is where one starts to pay for the ‘experience’. For my money, the prices on these main dishes indicate a splurge, but I am not convinced that the dishes themselves warrant that splurge.

Time to hit a sweet note, no?

At Pandeli, you will want to save room for dessert. We went for the sample plate, being the gluttons that we are, and while all the items on the plate were tasty, when I return, I will go straight for the standouts. The kabak tatlisi (stewed pumpkin) is a light, beautifully textured take on a dish I usually find to be a bit too much, like a sugary punch to the solar plexus. Not so at Pandeli, where it has a great texture and a balanced sweetness that allows the pumpkin to flaunt its flavorful self. Pandeli’s sweet specialty is an almond cookie, a bademli kurabiye of the crumbly variety. The spicing is a light touch, and the ground almonds in the cookie are crunchy-licious, great with after-lunch tea or Turkish coffee. The third standout is the kazandibi, and here I am about to get myself into trouble. Let me just say, reading Istanbul Eats was a big part of how I learned to stop worrying and love the Turkish chicken-breast pudding. Now one might even call me a pudding snob (I’m looking at you, Saray). So before whipping yourselves into a frenzy of clucking rage, take a deep breath and hear me out when I say I really like the kazandibi at Pandeli. I fully acknowledge that it is not chewy. It does not fight the spoon. In fact, it is more of a crème brulee texture, a bit custardy. But it is the real deal, the chicken breast was in there. Proof’s in the pudding, so to speak. And, when I head back to Pandeli, I’ll be calling dibs on the kazandibi.

Pandeli is a lovely space (worth reserving a table in the rooms facing outside onto the square), the service is old school and nonintrusive, and offers a quiet refuge from the madding crowds below. In the wild and woolly world of ‘touristed’ restaurants in Istanbul, there is much to be said for consistency, and Pandeli seems to have that down pat, judging by my experiences, decades apart. The place does deserve a visit, both for its pleasantly anachronistic vibe, and its time-tested tasties. I will definitely head back soon, most likely dragging a gaggle of guests shell-shocked by the Eminonu backstreets, for a lunch of their donerli patlican borek, followed by a little sweetness with my coffee. No more, no less. The 2 lira cover thus ends up being very little money, very well spent.

The More You Know… Pandeli is a lunch spot, though they get the busiest around 2 P.M. It is worth making a reservation for a table in the front rooms, though not necessary. To reach the restaurant, one must climb a somewhat daunting staircase. Alcohol is served, but expensive, and selection is not particularly exciting.

Address: Misir Carsisi No. 1 (just inside the main entrance to the Spice Bazaar, door is tucked away on the left)
Phone: (212) 527 39 09
(Open for lunch daily, except for Sundays, when bazaar is closed as well)

(Photo by Yigal Schleifer)

(Editor’s Note: This guest post was written by “Meliz,” an intrepid explorer of Istanbul’s culinary backstreets and a frequent contributor to these pages who would like to keep her anonymity.)

It all started with Laz boregi.

It was not just any Laz boregi that showed up at the dinner party that evening, but perfect Laz Boregi—layers of yufka (phyllo) buttery and moist, dusted with confectioner’s sugar, in a symbiotic balance with the custard, which was neither too sweet, nor too eggy; neither too runny, nor too stiff. Goldilocks would be proud. Juuuust right. And, it turns out, this stuff is addictive.

So that got me on the ferry and up the hill to Moda Caddesi in Kadikoy, on a pilgrimage to the source. And that is where I really got myself into trouble.

Bizim Ev is a storefront on one of the arcaded stretches of Moda Caddesi, tucked in between discount stores, karate studios, the best butcher in town, and five million coiffeurs. Glowing and cozy, the place welcomes you with an immediate barrage of choices. And therein lies the problem. How to choose just one thing? Turns out, I am incapable of this.

So. In addition to the Laz boregi mentioned already, they do an amazing savory borek stuffed with roasted eggplant (kozlenmis patlican muska boregi), and a daily selection of other savory boreks. Again, perfect yufka, perfect fillings, perfect borek. My greatest weakness at Bizim Ev, though, is an item best described as When Veggie Quiche Met Ev Pogaca. A baked batter that falls somewhere on the eggier side of biscuit holds together a cornucopia of vegetables (usually potato, red pepper, onion, zucchini) laced generously with fresh dill. Irresistible.  And there is still so much more to choose from: cookies, cakes (the sour cherry cake, ooooh the sour cherry cake), baklava…and then there are the zeytinyagli dishes. Bizim Ev manages to rock the baked goods AND to roll out an impressive variety of cold appetizer classics, all made daily from the best ingredients, and all delicious enough to impress even the most stubborn zeytinyagli snob.

Although Bizim Ev is primarily a take-away type of operation, they do have a few tables, inside and out. If I am in a social and sharing mood, I will sometimes pick up some goodies to bring with me when meeting up with friends at the nearby (and lovely) Moda Tea Gardens – those guys never raise a fuss over BYO snacks.

I do not joke when I say that I am incapable of picking just one thing, but I suspect I am not the only one, as owners Nezahat Hanim and Ali Bey never bat an eye when I look shifty, clutch at my pearls, and let out the clarion call of a closeted addict: ‘oh, and maybe just a few of those, too…’ So go ahead, do not be shy, try it all. Everything at Bizim Ev is outstanding. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.

Address: Moda Caddesi #9/A, Moda 
Telephone: +90-216-336-1681

Dilara then surfaced for a short tenure in the kitchen of Cezayir, a grand space just around the corner from her old place on French Street. Her touch was apparent for a while but it quickly faded with her departure. Then at Abracadabra, the behemoth on the Bosphorus – complete with a merchandise line – that was her next venture, we saw bright, encouraging moments – usually when Dilara was in the kitchen for the night – eclipsed by stormy mismanagement. The entrée side of the menu featured a troubled marriage of Turkish and Thai, but the starters were all classic Dilara material. The fragrance of her cinnamon-laced Armenian rice, in essence stuffed mussels without the shell, stays with us to this day. But the restaurant never seemed fully settled. It’s closing, though certainly a low moment, must have been of some relief to Dilara’s fans and perhaps even to the chef herself.

Most recently, we started getting Facebook messages in that familiar Dilara-speak (eg. “…kurufasuliye, hot n sexy”) sent from a place called Datli Maya, the itinerant chef’s latest project, housed in an old Cihangir simit bakery that she recently purchased. Decorated in a rustic utilitarian style, without even the embellishment of a wait staff, the center of attention here is the old oven, as it should be. Modified to burn gas a long time ago, Dilara restored the oven to its previous wood-burning glory, scalped a master baker from Antakya and the concept was born: traditional Turkish food prepared with a chef’s attention to detail and cooked by a true usta in the smoky, natural heat of the oven. That means lahmacun (we prefer the one with onion), pide (don’t miss the one with ground beef and pistachio), a daily guvec (i.e. dishes, from stews to white beans, slow cooked in a clay pot), a spinach and spicy Antakya cheese borek that is in a category all it’s own, and a rotating cast of traditional breads, including the old sesame-studded simit.  There are playful drinks on offer like Gazoz and little bottles of ayran, but we prefer to belly up for bottomless cay from the hulking samovar in the corner of the dining room.

Most days, Dilara works with Saban usta, who stands with a slight stoop, bringing him right to the height of the over door. For Dilara, the enterprise almost looks like an apprenticeship, with the veteran chef up to her elbows in ground lamb for tepsi kebab while the usta feeds the oven with a long wooden paddle. Turning away from Abracadabra’s arty fusion cuisine, chauffeured clientele and sweeping views to a business whose only assets are an oven and a delivery scooter might seem like an odd choice for an ambitious chef. But it’s one we applaud and sincerely hope to be indicative of a developing trend, one that sees greater cooperation between the traditional usta and the trained chef.

Within the strict boundaries of what constitutes traditional Turkish food, there is no magic sauce to fall back on. It’s all about technique and the quality of materials, subtleties that Dilara is not skimping on here. Rather than reinventing the baked bean, her kitchen is manipulating every detail to tap vast reserves of flavor that many similar businesses left back in their hometowns when they made their migration to Istanbul. What you get here is delicious village food fresh from the oven, served in Dilara’s way, and once again as spontaneous as when she first fed us eight years ago.

Datli Maya’s Facebook page probably does the best job of summing up what the restaurant is all about. Beside a photo of a dump truck delivering a pile of wood for the oven, it simply says: “If we have wood, we have fire and if we have fire, we can make lovely food!”

Address: Türkgücü Cad. No:59/A, Cihangir (Behind Firuzaga Mosque)
Telephone: +902122929057
Web: www.datlimaya.com
Open everyday 8am-midnight

(photo by Monique Jaques)

Unlike the fish markets of Beyoglu and Kumkapi, which have grown savvy to the tourist hordes that trample through, that of Samatya – a thoroughly authentic neighborhood by the southwestern edge of Istanbul’s city walls – seems a place frequented mostly by Samatyans. The feeling, upon entering this small plaza of meyhane and fish stands, is that you’ve wandered into the kitchen of a very hospitable, curious family.

That’s the Samatya fish market for you – a sleepy place with small town main street atmosphere ala Turca, where a text message sent from America is a newsworthy event. (Click here to read the rest of this archived review)

This was supposed to be a quick run down to the Karakoy hardware market for a faucet and some sandpaper, but our culinary backstreets antenna, always up, automatically changed the the afternoon’s priorities. So we followed the commotion to a tiny restaurant called Urfa Şark Sofrasi and pulled up a stool outside of this humble kebab shop.

The owner, Saim bey, convinced us to start with kurufasuliye, which was kept warm in a charred clay pot at the front. More famous in the Turkish Northeast and Central Anatolian regions, these beans were done in the Black Sea style with meat and plenty of butter, but also delivering a little extra kick of heat, that we attributed to the place’s link to Urfa, home of the diabolical isot, an oily, almost black dried and crushed red pepper.

Faced with the difficult task of choosing between a list of kebab, we ordered a mixed grill platter that included kanat (chicken wings), patlicanli kebab (minced lamb sheesh interrupted by thick slices of eggplant), and a kebab called haşhaş (pronounced, “hash hash”), which was as intoxicating as the name indicates. The meat was buried under mounds of fresh bread slathered with a spicy rub, rolls of soft lavash and spicy green peppers and tomatoes hot off of the grill. Working our way through the platter we kept seeking out chunks of the particularly crumbly, crispy yet soft sheesh. Finding the last piece hiding under a triangle of lavash, we asked Saim bey what we were eating.

“That’s hashas kebabi, knife-cut beef with lamb fat, super!” he said.

Super indeed, we agreed – even bleat-worthy.

Address: Persembe Pazari Caddesi, Keresteci fazil sokak 4, Karakoy
Telephone: +902122496963

(photo by Ansel Mullins)

The medieval Ottoman travel writer, Evliya Celebi, wrote of Beyoglu streets filled with humble little stew and dolma restaurants, bustling at lunchtime with merchants getting a fill. He counted more than five hundred of them. Surveying today’s culinary landscape for its Ottoman roots, the eyes fall directly on the esnaf lokantasi, or tradesmen’s restaurants, that now serve the working man much as they have for centuries. If Evliya Celebi were walking the streets of Istanbul today, hungry, we are sure he’d feel perfectly at home at Tunclar Lokantasi on Elmadag Caddesi.  

Like most esnaf lokantasi in the area, Tunclar is a packed with regulars during lunch rush. The single waiter hustles food out from the open kitchen at the back and the boss mans the register and a bank of telephones at the front. Specials change daily, from stuffed zucchini under a blanket of thick yogurt (kabak dolmasi) to an excellent moussaka, as well as white beans over rice and stuffed cabbage leaves – this is unfiltered home food. At Tunclar the bread is also notable – whole-wheat loaves studded with sunflower seeds. From the grill we had chicken thighs with fresh cut French fries and chased the whole meal down with a house specialty, kabak tatlisi, or stewed pumpkin sprinkled with crushed walnuts.

The post-meal discussion turned to the five hundred or so proto-esnaf lokantasi that Celebi visited back in the 16^th century. How many had we been to in Beyoglu alone and how many had we missed? Then we caught a glimpse of the exhausted waiter in a daze of his own. The rear windows by the kitchen are covered in a trompe-l’oeil sticker of a Hawaiian beach scene – a silhouette of a sunbathing hardbody backlit by the afternoon sun, palm trees leaning down to kiss a crystal blue sea. There’s something that surely hasn’t changed since Ottoman times: a waiter’s dream of vacation.

Address: Elmadag Cad. 9, Elmadag
Telephone: +902122410295

(photo by Ansel Mullins)

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….

At the airport, Turkish Delight, or lokum, may be sold in neat vacuum-sealed boxes, but in the front window at Altan Şekerleme it is stacked into psychedelic pyramids, laid out into long white rows that are impossibly pink or deep amber on the inside, and even built into little, Technicolor log cabins. Feast your eyes on this dreamy sugar-dusted world for a while and prime yourself for the stimulation of the senses that awaits inside. (Click here to read the rest of the this archived post. And click here to listen to a recent episode of “The Dinner Party,” an American public radio program, which recently visited Altan Sekerleme.)

After the initial surprise of stumbling on this little meatball shack, we quickly took a seat outside and settled into the rhythm of the hardware market into which it is tucked. Across the street from Cemal’s stands another tiny shop that sells nothing but black rubber washers, from the gauge of a car wheel down to that of a pencil. As we got ready to eat, a man who had been going shop to shop with a thick bolt in his hand asking where he might find more arrived at the restaurant. Hakki bey pointed down the street and slapped his forearm indicating a right turn ahead and watched the man disappear behind a colorful pile of rope coiled up outside of a shop that looked to be perfectly coated in axle grease. This is the stage upon which a typical lunch in the Persembe Pazari plays out.

Any corner tea stand in this market delivers such vistas, but Kofteci Cemal, of course, also has meatballs. Hakki bey hand pats them into loose nuggets, roughly the size and shape of the famous spoonmaker’s diamond in Topkapi Palace. These kofte are a precious commodity around lunchtime, when hungry shopkeepers come over for an order or call Hakki on his phone by the grill. Shot through with parsley and spiced with black pepper, these are a common form of kofte, but fresh off of the grill we found them uncommonly soft and as juicy as kofte can be.

Though lacking the secret sauce that got us hooked on Kofteci Huseyin’s kofte or an outstanding piyaz ala Kofteci Arnavut, Kofteci Cemal is still a destination meatball by our count. The meatballs are well above average, but we see them as an excuse to gain access to Hakki bey and his regulars who seem to have stepped right out of the black and white photos of Ara Guler. And like the long-gone gritty society depicted in those photos, there are rumors that this hardware market may be lost to another great urban transformation, the Golden Horn Marina project. We like to think that this little meatball shop would survive such a radical transformation, but without his regulars – men who wear cover-alls, not top-siders – Hakki is not likely to carry on. But, at least for now, the writing on the wall still says “kofteci”.

Address: Yemenciler Sokak 16, Persembe Pazari, Karakoy

(photo by Ansel Mullins)