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)

Led by members of the Istanbul Eats team, the Kebab Krawl is a carefully curated nighttime feast of traditional southeastern Turkish cuisine that changes locations with every course, allowing you to take in the best of this atmospheric out-of-the-way ‘hood. The Krawl will begin with the gumbo-like masterpiece soup, beyran corbasi, and then detour for skewered liver from a 4^th generation Urfa griller. There will be a stop at a bakery for artisanal lahmacun straight out of the oven and then we’ll belly up to the kebab bar of Veysel usta, for his exceptionally delicious handmade kebabs, served up with sharp wit. We will not relent until the group has made one more stop, for the neighborhood’s best kunefe, a funky pastry of fresh cheese and crispy shredded wheat spiked with Antep pistachios. As it rolls along, the Kebab Krawl will also make stops at other local food and spice shops for a further taste of local flavor.

Less a tour than an organized movable feast for the hungry and intrepid, the Kebab Krawl may not replace a bus ticket to Urfa, but it is the next best thing.

The Kebab Krawl will be offered regularly starting in February. Please contact us at isteatswalks@gmail.com for more details.

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 post is part of our ongoing “wine chats” with sommelier and oenophile Serdar Kombe. Today he talks about a Turkish sparkling wine that’s actually worth talking about.)

1. A wine expert whose opinion we trust told us that “Turkish bubblies are positively undrinkable!!!” Is that the case? Is Turkey’s terroir not suited for sparkling wines?
Actually making good sparkling wine is related with making good white wine. Turkish wineries are improving their white wine making skills, but there is more to be done. Anyway, sparkling wines have been produced for approximately 40 years in Turkey. Mainly, local grape varieties are being used for the blend and mainly the charmat method [whereby the second fermentation takes place in large vats, rather than in the bottle] is being using for making sparkling wines, althoug this method has not been adapted properly. Whichever winery is making sparkling wine, their first purpose is to make wine, rather than dedicating themselve to making sparkling wine, which always stays in the shadow of still wines. I believe that Turkish wineries are not properly concentrating on making and selling sparkling wine. Another problem is that Turkish people think that it is for celebrations only. They only drink sparkling wine when they are celebrating anniversaries, birthdays etc.

2. That said, you’ve found a new Turkish bubbly that you like. What can you tell us about this one?
Yaşasın sparkling wine is different than the other sparkling wines produced in Turkey, in terms of the technique used to make it, quality, labor etc. They are really focusing on making the best one in Turkey! The producer in question is following Methode Champenoise rules, which is used for making Champagne in the Champagne region of France. The process of making Champagne is quite complicated and you need to be skillful and patient about it. Yaşasın is not as toasty, creamy, yeasty as Champagne. It is a more fruit-driven sparkling wine, but the bubbles are consistent and go up with such a beautiful harmony. It’s refreshing, crisp, zesty, with stone and fruit aromas on the palate.

3. What can you tell us about the winery that produced this bubbly?
The winery, Vinkara, is very young. They started releasing their first commercial wine just 3 years ago. They have a very modern winery that focuses mainly on the native to Turkey “Kalecik Karası” grape, grown in Anatolian vineyards near Ankara. The wines are produced under the control of Marco Manciero, an Italian wine consultant. One of the company’s goals is to take the relatively unknown “Kalecik Karası” grape to a better place.

4. Do you think the arrival of this particular bubbly could signal the arrival of more quality Turkish bubblies?
Absolutely. After the successful introduction of Yaşasın and the positive consumer feed-back, other wine producers have realised that the market is hungry for sparkling wines. We can say that the sparkling wine market of Turkey will be going through a big change within the next 5 years.

5. On what occasions would you drink this bubbly?
I would like to drink it on every occasion! Sparkling wines are known as a celebration drink, but in my opinion it is the best aperatif drink before the start of a meal. Also, it would be a great marriage with shellfish, served in a good seafood restaurant by the sea….

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.