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”.

We were then equally puzzled a couple of weeks ago to see a new hamburger restaurant, with the same décor, menu style and a suspiciously similar logo open in the same location. We can’t speak for the food, but in the category of originality, Roll Burger scores very low.

Skulking around Beyoglu, thinking about the injustice visited upon our friends at Mano, we turned the corner at Asmali Mescit, and, like a mirage, saw hanging off the side of a building the sign of Mano Burger – the real Mano Burger.

We stopped in for one of their classic “Oxnard” burgers, fries and a chat with the management about what happened. In the previous location in Tunel, it seems the municipality had complaints about their ventilation system, which often left the square smelling like one big grilled patty. When they extended the chimneys up above the roof, the whirling dervish museum right behind them complained about the unpleasant view from their yard. Stuck between the angry dervishes and municipal inspectors licking their chops, the Mano team decided to leave the Tunel location and moved over to Asmali Mescit Caddesi.

So what about Roll Burger?

Mano’s old landlord seemed to think there was still good burger-flipping potential in the shop despite its ventilator blues. Apparently hoping to retain Mano’s traffic, he opened Roll Burger right on their heels. The Mano crew isn’t pleased with Roll Burger’s ambush but remains confident that it won’t hinder their business or their claim to be the best burger in town. “The flavor is here and people know that,” said Mano manager Cihad bey.

Address: Asmali Mescit Caddesi 7, Beyoglu
Telephone: +902122927542

(photos by Ansel Mullins)

In the back of Osman’s truck, with the winter sun reflecting off of the Golden Horn just 20 feet from the hitch, the subject of discussion on a recent afternoon was freedom. “Commerce has ruined the free spaces, the nature within this city,” said Osman from behind the counter, located in the back of the covered truck’s cargo area, now converted into a cozy café, with low tables and padded benches. “There’s no pleasure in it!” added Mehmet, whose role here seemed to fall between maitre d’ and mascot. A young man speaking beyond his years, he must have grown up hearing stories of bygone Istanbul when there were woods, shorelines and historic ruins teeming with free spirits and enterprise of all sorts. He stood at the truck’s gate wearing a bright yellow sweater and loudly ordered us a tea from Osman when we stepped into the truck. He swigged at a fat brown bottle of Efes and spoke of this place as his own though.

“At least we are free down here,” he said.

Shanty businesses, like Osman’s, used to crowd the shorelines of Istanbul. Many of the celebrated fish restaurants from Arnavutkoy up to Tarabya started as floating pirate restaurants grilling up the day’s catch rent-free. Then the municipality banned such activity, and these fishermen reluctantly joined society, shifting to land-based businesses.

But down in Karakoy, on that lonely stretch west of the Galata Bridge, the spirit of freedom lives on unhindered in Osman’s truck. “It’s not easy to come down here and tangle with a man’s business,” said Osman, explaining how his business operates. His roots in that very spot go back three generations. His grandfather and father spent their working lives piloting the rough and lovely water taxis that run between here and Eminonu. Quite naturally, the small dock and its environs came to feel like an extension of the family’s living room. But to us, Osman’s truck feels just like the little bar in the finished basement of a beloved uncle – a fully stocked clubhouse.

Most of the time Osman slings cay to the boat captains and beers to Mehmet and his ilk. On one recent afternoon a teenager sat quietly on one of the upholstered benches at the mouth of the truck taking a break from his job at a paint shop around the corner. No cay, no beer. He didn’t pick up the deck of cards on the table nor did he chat. He just sat there and soaked in the afternoon sun for twenty minutes and left without a word. Freedom!

In the summertime, after some renovations are complete on the interior, Osman says anything is possible. He’ll exercise his right to grill fish and serve raki to anyone interested. He’s open to the idea of special events and thinks that there might be film crews coming to film something.

He pooh-poohed the thought of the rumored Galata Port project or other development endeavors that threaten to privatize this area, but didn’t doubt what some people will do for money. “In Istanbul, anything’s possible,” he said.

How true, we thought. In Istanbul, even a cup of tea in the back of a rogue tea truck with a priceless view is still possible.

Address: Golden Horn water taxi dock to Eminonu, Karakoy
No phone

(photo by Ansel Mullins)

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)

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)

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) 

Tarlabasi

In almost a decade of living in or near this neighborhood we’ve come to appreciate its blemished beauty, but, as much as we’ve tried, never managed to find a restaurant worth mentioning.

Then came a tip from a reader promising great pide just off of Omer Hayyam Caddesi on the Tarlabasi market street, Kurdela Sokak. As most of our business on this street falls on Sundays, when the street is filled with fresh fruit and vegetable stands, we’ve never noticed the little sign reading “Etli Pide Salonu” with a black Camel logo. Oz Develi has been obstructed by the Sunday market here for 18 years with Ahmet “Five Fingers” Besparmak working the oven, six days a week. Here they serve a very particular style of pide made in Besparmak’s hometown of Develi, near Kayseri. In this tiny pide shop, only a few tables and chairs stand between the front door and the oven. On the walls are pictures of Ahmet in Develi in the 1970’s, glossy posters of Develi pide, and a memorial poster to the “Martyrs of Develi”, soldiers from his hometown killed in battle. In case, you missed it on the way in, the name, Oz Develi, means “pure” or “authentic” Develi. That’s hometown pride.

Develi pide is a type of Kayseri pide or, to use a less subtle name, etli ekmek, “meaty bread.”  If the classic Black Sea style of pide is canoe-shaped than this is more of a flat and wide barge. True to its name etli ekmek is not going to be topped with cheese or slathered in butter, as it is in the Black Sea. This is a stark production; the dough is adorned with knife-cut beef, diced tomatoes and peppers only. It is then fired in a traditional brick oven that occupies the back half of the room.

The resulting pide is quite light and crispy. We tasted the sweetness of ripe tomatoes as the peppers gave a quick kick cushioned by the lean and lightly seasoned beef. The loose arrangement of ingredients, devoid of any grease or binding agent, like cheese, allowed each voice of this pide choir to sing.

Across bustling Tarlabasi boulevard, in the back of the Beyoglu fish market, “famous” and “historic” pide joints line the street serving the same soggy old fare. We’ll gladly stick to our local option, if not to spend a little more time in the Tarlabasi backstreets, but because, pide at Oz Develi is simply the real thing.

Address: Kurdela Sokak 6A, Beyoglu
Telephone: +902122503438

(photo by Ansel Mullins)

Since the indoor smoking ban went into effect, outdoor seating has become even more prized on this street, a hot destination for revelry. While most businesses held permits for their outdoor seating area, violations of the space were clearly rampant. Over the past year, tables seemed to multiply like mushrooms overnight until finally, pedestrians were forced to pass in a single file line between the gauntlet of tables filled with diners, drinkers and smokers.

But this afternoon, police and municipal inspectors swept through, confiscating outdoor furniture and ordering the demolition of decks built outside of restaurants. A pile of rubble, previously a deck, stood just downhill from the stylish House Café, while across the street waiters worked frantically with crowbars to remove a particularly permanent looking structure.

Pushcart vendor Murat said, “This affects all of us. Who am I going to sell pogaca to if no one is outside? How can I live if I can’t make money? They’ve just killed Asmalimescit.”

But a waiter from Perentez café said, “Think about this, if there’s a fire and the trucks can’t get through the street. In two hours how many lives will be lost?” Located just off of Sofyali Sokak, Perentez, for now, remains one of the few bars in the area with outdoor seating.

According to a report in the daily Radikal, the Beyoglu municipality is responding to citizens’ complaints of the illegal blockage of streets and sidewalks. But today, on Sofyali Sokak where business owners, loyal customers and others stood in knots discussing the sweep. The murmur going through the crowd was “Tayyip,” as in Recep Tayyip Erdogan, indicating the Prime Minister as the hand behind the lightning brigades. According to one version of the rumor, the PM was incensed after his motorcade was unable one recent night to get through Beyoglu’s people-crowded narrow streets because of all the outdoor seating and gave the order for what could be dubbed Operation Table Clearing.

According to Bade, the owner of the ever-popular bar and café Badehane, the other night at around 11pm an ominous handwritten note was delivered saying, “Your use of the sidewalk has been cancelled.” Today Bade didn’t put any tables outside and doesn’t know how her business will survive. “We make all of our money in the summer thanks to our outdoor seating that I paid the Municipality for in advance. I’m not sure if I’ll be able to pay my rent. But I’m hopeful that we’ll find a solution.”

Around the corner on Asmali Mescit Caddesi, which was cleared out over the weekend, a shoeshine man sat in front of his large brass box as a deliveryman with a handtruck urged him to move out of the way. The shoeshine man shook his head and took another bite out of his sandwich, for now the last man in Asmalimescit still sitting outside.

Step out of the dingy stairwell of the Rumeli Han and into Govinda’s Vejeteryan Evi and you will feel as if you’ve crossed a cosmic divide. The warm and cozy room has café tables, pillowed floor seating, walls covered with a friendly looking blue deity and gentle chants that play over the sound system. The color palette at this Indian vegetarian restaurant is dominated by orange and yellow, as if the high exposed brick walls and handsome old wooden doors were painted with vindaloo sauce and saffron. We’ve written before about the parallel universe that exists in the Taksim area’s Rumeli Han – oddball shops, anarchist bars – and Govinda’s, which is run by members of the Hare Krishna movement, fits right in. But beyond the novelty of the place there are genuine good intentions and a menu that offers some variety to the offerings of the typical Beyoglu esnaf restaurant.

“The thali system says the body should get 5 flavors to create a peaceful, balanced mental and physical state,” said Balarama, founder of Govinda and of the next-door Indian Cultural Center, who greeted us upon arrival with a smile and a slight bow, his hands pressed together.

Thali, the ubiquitous Indian lunch, is a sort of subcontinental value meal that includes four or five small bowls of food. One recent day, the thali at Govinda’s consisted of an excellent stewed eggplant with tomatoes and onions, zucchini soup, rice cooked with carrots and crowned with a little pakora, a green salad and little cookies flecked with raisins. In the eggplant dish and zucchini soup we felt the hint Indian spicing without being overwhelmed, as if the cook were rationing from a dwindling stash of garam masala. Balarama told us the cook didn’t favor heavily spiced food, but, upon request, she could be convinced otherwise. We’ll return with that in mind.

Don’t go to Govinda’s expecting an encyclopedic menu of Indian cuisine. The daily thali menu is all they serve, but the food is always fresh and accomplishes much in five flavors. This is a humble, honest operation that is vegetarian primarily and Indian incidentally. At only 9 TL for the thali menu, the only thing out of balance is all that leftover lunch money jingling around in your pocket.

Address: Istiklal Caddesi, Rumeli Han C Block, 1^st Floor
Telephone: (212) 252-7719
Web: www.govindasistanbul.com
Hours: 12pm-10pm (takeout and delivery available)

(photo by Ansel Mullins)