Click here for a list of some of our favorites.

Entering through the hall lined with photos of esteemed guests our attention hung on the huge wall-covered grotto, the likes of which we haven’t seen outside of natural history museums. We won’t get into the ceramic bas-reliefs of Anatolian construction through the ages featuring Greek temples, Ottoman mosques and soaring office towers that adorn the other walls, or other such subtle details. Let the over-the-topness of the grotto – with its stuffed doe and gurgling brook – stand as a symbol for the glory of all things at Has Kral, including the food.

Looking at the menu, we spotted many similarities to one of our favorite restaurants, Akdeniz Hatay Sofrasi, which also serves the cuisine of Turkey’s Hatay area, near the southern border with Syria. Has Kral has the metrelik kebab, sheesh served by the meter, a sporting man’s choice. We also noticed the hallmark of Hatay whimsy, chicken or lamb baked in a salt dome and set ablaze at the table. Both are excellent at Akdeniz, but require advance order so we couldn’t sample Has Kral’s version.

We started our meal with a number of meze that we know and love from the Hatay kitchen – a zingy zahtar (fresh thyme) salad, fattush, or green salad riddled with crunchy fried pide chips, and lubnan ezmesi, which combined a salty soft cheese with roasted eggplant yogurt and dried red peppers. The starters, along with one of our favorite guilty pleasures between courses, icli kofte, were delicious.

Selecting from the list of kebabs is an overwhelming part of a meal at Has Kral. However poetic, items with names like “the dance of kebab” didn’t help us make a decision. We asked the waiter to translate the list into plain kebab language and settled on one of the specials, featuring an assortment of three kebabs. Here’s where Has Kral earned its crown.

Two of the three kebabs were shockingly good. The third, a çöp şiş, was very good by any normal measure but paled in comparison to its compatriots on the plate. One of those, made of fatty ground lamb shot through with bright green pistachios and shreds of red pepper, was crumbly and almost sweet. We found its partner, bursting with pine nuts, so moist and delicious that we thought we might be hallucinating. But that’s the Has Kral experience – trippy, down to the last detail.

There is a tempting desert menu, including candied unripe eggplants and walnuts, but by the end of the kebab course the atmosphere of Has Kral can get a little heavy. We suggest wandering the little streets around Has Kral, , in search of that perfectly plain kunefe shack. They are out there and we find kunefe, a traditional kebab house desert of shredded pastry and cheese soaked in syrup, is somehow sweeter when sitting on a rickety stool on the sidewalk, rather than when being stared down by a stuffed doe perched on a concrete grotto.

Address: Ragib Bey sok. 25/A, Aksaray
Telephone: (212) 534-9707
Web: http://www.haskralsofrasi.com/

(Editor’s Note: This guest post was written by Salih Seçkin Sevinç, creator of the fantastic Turkish-language food blog “Harbi Yiyorum” (roughly translated as “Eating For Real” in English) and the man behind our recent mouthwatering series of reports from Gaziantep.)

Kanatçı Haydar started providing services in the chicken wings sector beginning in 1996, a year after the wings craze first appeared in Turkey. What Colonel Sanders means to Americans, Kanatçı Haydar is for Turks. Just like the Colonel, Kanatçı Haydar Abi started his business from scratch, complete with his own special chicken recipe. A conflict with his partners led him to leave his original restaurant – in the Yenibosna area, not far from Ataturk airport – and never return. Instead he opened a new chicken wings restaurant (called, of course, Kanatçı Haydar), not so far from his first place.  Anyway, to find out more about the real Kanatçı Haydar (his life, story and his fight) you can always check www.kanatcihaydar.com. But part of his legacy remains the original “Meşhur Kanatçı Haydar’in Yeri,” which is the subject of today’s review. Don’t get angry Haydar Usta!

This decision was made based on the old and nice memories of the original place, which still provides service in the original Haydar style. The restaurant itself looks like it was converted from a 3^rd-class wedding salon. It’s huge, with a quirky but pleasant garden that has a large fountain in the middle. If the crew you are with consists of only men, then you will be forwarded to the restaurant’s ground floor, which is adorned with signs that feature various Turkish saying extolling the virtues of drinking raki. If you are in a group that includes women and children then you will be sent to the second floor’s “family salon.”

The most important thing is you can never forget the taste of the wings you eat here. They are always perfectly grilled, never too charred or undercooked. In one word: the chicken wings of Kanatçı Haydar are delicious! That’s why in Istanbul this place’s name is synonymous with the word “wings.”

And the other thing that you can’t forget is the endless stream of small moist cloths you are given to clean your hands. The chicken wings are always served on toasted slices of bread that have soaked up the wings’ hot sauce. This is the tradition. In addition, your wing will be served with cacık (diced cucumber, garlic and mint in yoghurt), salad and, if available, brined or grilled hot peppers. And it’s worth noting that unless you specify otherwise, your wings will be served spicy.

Fake, real, whatever. After a recent visit to the original spot, we feel compelled to send out our greetings of selaam to the holy Kanatçı Haydar Usta who founded these juicy and delicious wings!

Address: Mahmutbey cd. Depo Durağı No:371, Kocasinan/Istanbu
Telephone: 212-550-5130

(photo by Salih Seçkin Sevinç)

We looked within ourselves and answered, “Yes.” Just then, Hassan usta, the grill man who would be God, ducked down and flashed us a wide grin through the smoke of the grill. He worked beet-red hunks of lamb the size and shape of sea scallops onto thin metal skewers. A dark stream of marinade leaked down Hassan usta’s forearm as he held the skewers up for our approval. Be it the key to paradise or to eternal damnation, who could refuse this kebab?

Musa Ustam is considered Beyoglu’s premier purveyor of Adana kebab, a spicy ground lamb sheesh hailing from Turkey’s arid kebab country to the south. A Malatya man himself, Musa got his training in Adana and headed for Istanbul where he and his disciples have been serving up a very fine Adana since 1972. This traditional kebab house has street-side seating – perfect for people watching – but we prefer to sit at the marble counter that circles the grill like ringside seats.

On one recent visit, before the question of kuzu fileto was posed, we ate a delicious Adana kebab that crumbled pleasantly and smelled of grill smoke.  A delicious gavurdagi salad of freshly chopped tomatoes, onion and parsley was doused with pomegranate dressing – a sort of palate cleanser between kebabs.

We were just considering an order of kunefe, a dessert finely shredded pastry stuffed with cheese, when Hassan convinced us to consider another kebab. The thick medallions of lamb filet were as tender as promised and unusually rare, more suited to a steakhouse than a kebab restaurant. With the last wedge of flatbread, we wiped the plate where the remains of grilled tomatoes, peppers and juice from the meat pooled, a sinful pleasure that Hassan usta approved of with a smile.

Address: Kucukparmakkapi Sokak 14, Beyoglu
Tel: 212-245-2932

(photo by Ansel Mullins)

In Turkey, ancient Urfa (called Edessa in Roman times) is best known as the supposed birthplace of Biblical patriarch Abraham and the actual birthplace of Ibrahim Tatlises, the undisputed heavyweight champ of the Turkish Arabesque music scene. The city is also known as a major food spot, famous for its dried red peppers and its kebabs. During a visit a few years ago to Urfa – which seems to have two kebab houses for every resident – a local “historian” told us that the town was also the birthplace of yogurt and (perhaps more plausibly) çig kofte, both invented, he claimed, by Abraham himself (the Biblical figure, not the singing star).

In Istanbul, Aksaray’s atmospheric Ragip Bey Street has over the years turned into Little Edessa, lined with a number of kebab joints and spice shops selling the fiery red peppers of Urfa. Following a good recommendation, we made our way to Urfali Haci Usta, a veteran kebab house on the street that has a large dining room decorated with plastic palm trees and walls painted a shockingly bright red. We sat down at table across from a mustachioed man in a black tank top who quickly struck up a conversation with us. Did we know, he asked us, that one of Barack Obama’s grandfathers came from Urfa?

We didn’t put much stock in our new friend’s knowledge of the Obama family tree, but we did realize he might be a good guide for what and how to eat in the restaurant.

Like him, we ordered the patlican kebab, chunky discs of fatty minced meat that are interlaced on a skewer with big hunks of eggplant and which are then all grilled together. Our kebabs arrived accompanied by a mound of chewy flatbread and various small plates holding parsley, sliced onion, grilled tomato and peppers and an ezme (chopped tomato, onion and parsley) salad flavored with dried red pepper that gave it an intensely earthy and rich flavor.

Our friend, meanwhile, got to work, separating the tender eggplant flesh from its charred skin and then placing it, some meat and a bit of everything else on the table on top of one of the flatbreads, which he then deftly rolled up into a monster wrap, washed down with a big glass of ayran. We followed suit, wondering as we bit into our scrumptious durum if Urfa might in fact also be the birthplace of the burrito.

The Bible’s Abraham was known for his graciousness, his tent open on all sides to visitors. Once done with our food, our friend – in true Urfa style – invited us over for coffee, kunefe (syrupy shredded wheat wrapped around cheese) and conversation.

We left the restaurant filled with good food and good cheer, hoping to find ourselves again drifting toward this part of Aksaray very soon.

Address: Ragip Bey Sok. No: 23/B, Istanbul
Telephone: (212) 534-9962
Web: www.urfalihaciusta.com

(photo by Yigal Schleifer)

Not just any kebab, mind you. Clearly an unorthodox and clever lot, the people of Kilis have a distinctly different approach to cooking meat. While a wide swath of humanity stretching from the Balkans to the Hindu Kush make their kebabs by putting meat on a skewer and cooking it over a fire, the people of Kilis are famous for their pan kebab, a thin disc of ground meat that is cooked in a shallow metal dish that’s put in the oven. It’s a kind of Turkish meatloaf – only juicier, spicier and, well, better than any other meatloaf we’ve ever had.

Why make kebab in a baking pan, you may ask? We asked the question of Hasan Kucukoglu, one of Öz Kilis’s owners, who simply answered, “It’s our specialty. It tastes better that way.” Realizing that we’re dealing with a native of Kilis, we figured there’s something he probably wasn’t telling us. And, indeed, there was. After a bit more prodding, it turned out the pan kebab is the delicious result of ingenuity fueled by necessity. In Kilis (and other towns along the Turkey-Syria border), one takes their circular baking pan to the butcher, buys a few liras worth of meat that the butcher minces and mixes with herbs and spices, puts the mince into the tray and flattens it into a big, thin patty and then takes it to the nearest bakery where it is cooked to perfection in the bakery’s large oven. No need to mess around with cooking at home.

At Öz Kilis, the pan kebab is served personal size, in a dinner-plate sized tray. Underneath the flavorful and red pepper-infused ground meat lies a layer of thinly sliced eggplants that have turned meltingly soft during the roasting in the restaurant’s brick oven, while on top are chunks of tomato and green pepper that have also been roasted. On the side was a refreshing salad of extremely finely-chopped onion, tomato and parsley that was livened up with piquant pomegranate molasses. More like gazpacho than a salad, we ate it with a soup spoon.

The restaurant also turns out very good lahmacun, another Kilis specialty. Like with kebab, the good people of Kilis take an unorthodox approach to making this classic item, offering something we’ve never seen anywhere else: garlic lahmacun. Where other lahmacun’s are covered with a reddish minced meat and tomato mix, this one is heavy on the parsley, coming out of the oven a beautiful green and flecked with small chunks of garlic whose flavor has mellowed during the roasting process.

We finished our meal with a glass of exceptionally strong tea, the kind served in southeast Turkey and known as kaçak çay (“smuggled tea), usually made from tea brought across the across under the authorities’ nose.

We quietly enjoyed our Kilis tea, this time asking no questions.

Address: Bedrettin Simavi Sok. No: 5, Fatih
Telephone: (212) 523-4457

(photo by Yigal Schleifer)

My approach to Turkish food can be characterized by a predictable ritual: try a Turkish regional cuisine in Istanbul, become obsessed with it, plan a trip to said region for more.  Such was the case with food from the Hatay, a province in Turkey’s deep south sandwiched between the Mediterranean sea and Syria.

My first introduction to Hatay cuisine was at Antiochia in Beyoğlu, where I became fixated with the region’s sumptuously textured and complexly flavored mezes. Their spicy notes and bold use of walnuts and herbs evoked fond gastronomic memories of Aleppo and Damascus. And with good reason. The Hatay region was annexed to Turkey in 1939, so its recipes mirror those of Syria more so than those of its Turkish neighbors to the north.

Antiochia’s mezes may have sparked my interest in the Hatay but it was the region’s desserts, like ceviz tatlısı (candied walnuts drizzled with tahini) at Ciya in Kadikoy and künefe (soft white cheese enveloped in shredded phyllo dough and soaked in syrup) at Koşebaşı that really sealed the deal for me.

I arrived at the suburban bus station in Antakya, the region’s main city, well after midnight. The shuttle service dropped me off on the deserted Istiklal Caddesi between the sludgy Orontes River bed and the old town. I found a hotel nearby, strategically located near Sultan Sofrasi, the next day’s lunch destination.

Sultan Sofrasi was highly recommended both for the quality, as well as for the ample of selection of dishes. My main objective in Antakya was to try as much of the local cuisine as possible during my brief sojourn and with over 20 homemade dishes to choose from, Sultan Sofrasi fit the bill.

I spent the next morning wandering around the covered bazaar and working up an appetite for lunch. At noon sharp, I pushed open the door of Sultan Sofrasi and made my way to the back of the dining room where steam tables and stainless steel pans displayed the day’s offerings: hummus, muammara (a walnut and red pepper paste), oruk (called içli köfte elsewhere in Turkey, a shell of bulgur wheat filled with minced lamb and ground walnuts), yoğurt aşı çorbası (yogurt soup with herbs and oruk), aşur (pounded lamb meat, boiled wheat, chickpea, ground walnuts and herbs).

Much to the dismay of the staff, I ordered all of these things, as well as a few types of börek, flakey pastry filled with vegetables. I admit this is a revolting amount of food for one person, but I wasn’t about to squander a precious culinary opportunity. I had come far enough, after all!

I grabbed a table and waited anxiously as my selections were plated and colorfully garnished with sliced veggies and fresh herbs. The meal that followed was a lesson in terroir. Peppers that grow in the Hatay make deeper, sweeter muammara. Ewes that graze on the region’s plains make a richer, more pungent yogurt. And bulgur wheat that dries in the intense Hatay heat just taste better.

After a considerable pause, I ordered künefe for dessert. The local kral cheese was wrapped in a web of phyllo shreds woven just yards away in the covered bazaar. The syrup soaked pastry, and indeed the meal that preceded it, was a clear affirmation: Sultan Sofrasi was worth the 500-mile trip.

Address: İstiklal Cad. 20/A, Antakya/Hatay
Phone: (326) 213-8759
Web: www.sultansofrasi.com

(Photo by Katie Parla)

We like to think of Istanbul’s Grand Bazaar – open since 1461 – as the world’s oldest shopping mall. If that’s the case, shouldn’t the Grand Bazaar be home to the world’s oldest food court? That may be taking the analogy too far, but for us, the Grand Bazaar can be as much a food destination as a shopping one. As we see it, one of the hidden pleasures of going to the bazaar (once you get past the overzealous shopkeepers hawking souvenirs) is exploring some of its quieter back alleys and interior courtyards for new dining possibilities, especially some of the smaller restaurants that cater not to tourists but rather to the locals that work in the sprawling marketplace.

Below is a list of some favorites:

Kara Mehmet Kebap Salonu
This is one of our favorite places – not only in the Grand Bazaar, but in all of Istanbul. The restaurant, a tiny hole-in-the-wall, serves the usual assortment of kebabs (including, for the daring, kidney and liver kebabs), all expertly grilled by the mustachioed usta. As a testament to the appeal of Kara Mehmet’s kebabs, we recently went there with a vegetarian friend who was so taken with the restaurant’s Adana kebab that he ended up taking his first bite of meat in 30 years.

Food aside, what really draws us to Kara Mehmet is its location, deep inside the open-air courtyard of the Cebeci Han, one of the Grand Bazaar’s numerous out-of-the-way caravanserais. Compared to the bustle in the rest of the bazaar, Cebeci Han is an oasis of peace and calm, mostly filled with small shops where people repair rugs, rather than sell them. Even the owner of the one actual rug shop inside the courtyard seems more interested in playing backgammon with his friends than moving carpets. When you’re done with your kebab, order Kara Mehmet’s delicious kunefe and a tea from the small teahouse next door and enjoy the behind-the-scenes look at bazaar life.

Address: Iç Cebeci Han No: 92, Grand Bazaar
Telephone: 212-527-0533

Gaziantep Burç Ocakbasi
A friend recently directed us to this small Grand Bazaar eatery and we are now forever in her debt. Located on a narrow side street off one of the bazaar’s busier thoroughfares, this unassuming grillhouse serves up very tasty Gaziantep-style food (Gaziantep, a city in Turkey’s southeast, is considered one of the country’s culinary capitals). Our Ali Nazik, tender morsels of marinated beef sitting on a bed of a
garlicky yogurt-eggplant puree, was perfectly made. The delicious shepherd’s salad served on the side, topped with chopped walnuts and zingy pomegranate molasses, was impeccably fresh. We were even more excited about the restaurant’s specialty – extremely flavorful dolmas, made out of the shells of dried eggplants and red peppers that are rehydrated and then stuffed with a rice and herb mixture and served with yogurt on the side.

Gaziantep Burç Ocakbasi only has a few tables, which are lined up along the length of the alleyway that is the restaurant’s home. The ambiance is provided by the strings of dried eggplant and peppers that hang above the tables, the smoke and sizzle coming from the grill and the thrum of the bazaar activity all around. We’re already looking for excuses to go back to the Grand Bazaar so that we can stop in at Gaziantep Burç Ocakbasi again.

Address: Parçacilar Sok. No: 12, Grand Bazaar
Telephone: 212-527-1516

Havuzlu
Figuring out what to eat is easy here. A large steam table at the front of the restaurant’s open kitchen holds a daily assortment of some 25 dishes, including a variety of meat and vegetable stews that we like to think of as Turkish soul food – homey, well made and fresh. After you make your selection, waiters in black vests and matching ties swiftly bring the food to your table in the slightly tacky 500-year-old dining hall, which has large Ottoman-style blown glass chandeliers hanging from its vaulted ceilings.

In a certain way, Havuzlu – named after the small havuz (water fountain) in front of the restaurant – makes us think of what a Denny’s restaurant might have looked like in Ottoman times, a well-oiled machine serving up comfort food for weary travelers. Of course, rather than burgers, grilled cheese sandwiches and Grand Slam breakfasts, they serve spinach stew with yogurt, döner, creamed eggplant and, for dessert, stewed figs with kaymak (Turkish clotted cream). The only proper sit-down place in the Grand Bazaar, Havuzlu may no longer be a secret, but it’s location, on a quiet corner of the market, gives it the feeling of a refuge – a place to hide out once the shopping has worn you down.

Address: Gani Çelebi Sokak No: 3, Grand Bazzar
Telephone: 212-527-3346

(Editor’s Note: After this feature first appeared, we discovered another great Bazaar dining spot — Aynen Durum, reviewed here.)

(photos by Melanie Einzig)

The only positive thing about the torturous annual visit we make to Istanbul’s main police station in order to renew our residence permit is the chance to drive through the low-rent Aksaray neighborhood, home to dozens of intriguing off-the-beaten path restaurants, most of them opened by migrants from other parts of Turkey.

On our last trip through the area, we noticed a large, newish-looking sign belonging to a restaurant called “Akdeniz Hatay Sofrası.” Hatay is the name of Turkey’s southernmost province, an area bounded by the Mediterranean and the border with Syria. Until the 1930’s, the Hatay region was actually part of Syria, and the food from there is closer in spirit and flavor to what is found on menus in Aleppo or Damascus. Hatay, the restaurant, is run by a family that hails from the area and does brisk business serving up authentic and very good food from the region. On the several occasions that we’ve been there, the two-floor restaurant was packed with large groups, mostly families who also originally came to Istanbul from Hatay, sitting at long tables covered with countless plates of food.

Hatay’s Syrian roots are especially obvious when it comes to starters, where a creamy hummus – an item surprisingly hard to find in Istanbul – and a smoky eggplant and yogurt salad called mütebbel are the stars. Two zesty salads tossed with tart pomegranate molasses – one made with cracked green olives and another with za’atar, a wild herb that tastes something like fresh oregano – are also highly recommended.

The extensive main course menu has several kinds of kebabs and a rotating lineup of daily specials, mostly hard-to-find home-style soups, stews and savory tarts. But the menu’s real stars are two show stopping dishes: chicken or lamb stuffed with rice and baked in salt (tuzda tavuk and tuzda kuzu in Turkish), which need to be ordered at least 2.5 hours in advance. Slow cooked in a wood-burning oven, the meat is entombed inside a dome of rock salt and then the whole thing is wheeled to your table on a cart. A waiter then douses the dome with a clear flammable liquid, while another waiter lights it and runs away as the salt erupts in a massive burst of fire that would be the basis of a lawsuit in most other countries, but here is all part of the fun. Once the flames have died down, a waiter returns with a mallet and an industrial sized chisel and cracks open the salt to reveal steaming, succulent meat (and in the case of the chicken, deliciously crispy skin).

If you still have some room left for dessert, try Hatay’s excellent künefe, a traditional Middle Eastern sweet made out of a mozzarella-like cheese sandwiched between layers of crispy shredded wheat and doused with a sugary syrup (believe us, it tastes better than it sounds).

Hatay is a quick cab ride from Beyoglu (and even closer to the Sultanahmet area) and we have recently found ourselves going there more and more. In fact, we’re already looking forward to next year’s visit to police HQ.

Address: Ahmediye Cad. No: 44/A, Fatih
Telephone: 212-531-3333
Web: www.akdenizhataysofrasi.com.tr