On a recent stroll down Istiklal Caddesi, we spotted the newly opened Asmali Canim Cigerim, featuring Ilhan Usta at the grill, and smelled a story. For years, we’ve been getting our liver fix at a restaurant of the same exact name just around the corner in the Asmalimescit area. So we decided to stop in for some grilled liver and gossip.

We immediately recognized a few of the old crew standing awkwardly at a long grill with a funhouse mirror over the hood that distorted one’s body, making us all look like plump sausages. Refugees from the leafy garden of the Asmalimescit location, we stood uncomfortably in the bluish light of the new shop’s energy efficient lighting trying to act as if nothing had changed.

What happened?

It took some prodding, but eventually, the manager explained that Ilhan Usta, the grill master whose name and presumably wisdom were behind the ever-tasty liver at the original spot, had a falling out with his old boss. The two decided to go their separate ways, Ilhan Usta taking his name and the owner of the old shop keeping the liver business alive under the name Asmali Canim Cigerim.

As the story unraveled, we wrapped five skewers of freshly grilled liver with the contents of about a dozen small plates of bitter greens, onion with sumac and ezme. Our hands worked automatically, sliding tender juicy liver bits off of the skewer with a handful of thin lavash, then loading it with crisp arugula. But while the crew here seems to have transplanted the flavor of the old Canim Cigerim, the vibe was distinctly different. Perhaps it was the absence of the “asma” (the “Asmali” part of the name promises vine-laden pergola), making us think of a biergarten with no garten.

Days later, we went back to the old Canim Cigerim — the one with the garden and outdoor seating — and found the liver much as it had been before Ilhan Usta’s departure. Many of the old staff seemed to have survived the schism. On a Wednesday afternoon it was bumping, business as usual.

As we polished off our liver, our thoughts strayed back to the exodus of Ilhan Usta after ten years of manning the grill at the old spot. It must have been quite a row that actually ripped the name of the place in two — one owner maintaining the pergola and the other keeping the title of Ilhan usta.

For weeks, we were still troubled by the split and where we stood on the subject. If the liver is roughly the same in quality, where did our loyalty rest: with the usta or with the place filled with warm memories?

We discussed the situation with a local vendor of pirated DVD’s, who also happeneds to be a former kebapci. He said, “Look, Canim Cigerim kept the same green grocer, same butcher, same waiters. So what’s the difference? Ilhan usta is just a brand. He’s not sitting at the grill you know.”

We found peace in this former grillman’s insight. Once a successful kitchen is set up, it doesn’t require the grandmaster of liver to keep it going. On the contrary, it would take the determination of a new boss to ruin that kitchen. So, in the end, we didn’t have to take sides in the battle for Canim Cigerim. We remain loyal only to good liver, wherever it may be found.

Asmali Canim Cigerim, Ilhan Usta
Address: Istiklal Caddesi 162, Beyoglu
Telephone: (212) 243-1005

Asmali Canim Cigerim
Address: Minare Sokak 1, Beyoglu
Telephone: (212) 252-6060

(photo by Ansel Mullins)

We love this itinerant liver man and his sandwiches for many reasons, including his wisdom. Of all the wandering food vendors, the cigerci has the niftiest gear. Lutfi usta, a wandering cigerci for more than thirty years, carries a large metal and glass lantern-shaped case which holds fried cubes of liver and grilled peppers in the bottom and whole tomatoes in an upper compartment. It is at once a cooler and an attractive, portable vitrine complete with foggy windows.

But a man in this economy cannot survive on looks alone. Lutfi’s “Albanian-style” liver sandwich is a delightful mid-day snack. We took a seat next to him and ordered a ceyrek, or quarter loaf. He pulled a pre-cut 5-inch fresh loaf of crusty white bread from wicker basket and started loading it up with a generous spooning from each compartment of the liver case – first the liver, then the peppers and tomatoes and finally a dash of salt – before handing it over.

The liver, bulked up with cubed potatoes and laced with onions, was warm and tasted less like the liver from some of our favorite grill spots but more like a hash. The liver’s batter barely gave way to a peppery oil bath it sat in, softening the loaf and the pepper and generally creating unity within the confines of the sandwich.

We handed over the three lira for the sandwich and thanked Lutfi usta, saying we’d see him again soon.

“Inshallah,” he said. Apparently, not even the will of an Istanbul street hustler can challenge that of fate.

Address: IMC Blok 1 (Near the bank machines), Ataturk Bulvari, Unkapani
Hours: 10-2pm (Inshallah)

(photo by Ansel Mullins)

The members of the Iştay family, who opened the place in 1947, seem to think the same thing, running the place with ship-shape efficiency. Seventy-six-year-old father Ali is constantly sweeping the floor and wiping down the Formica-topped tables, like a sailor dutifully swabbing the decks. Daughter Mine, meanwhile, stands by the front door, issuing clipped, urgent orders to the hustling grillmaster and waiters, as if she were the captain of a tanker navigating particularly treacherous waters.

Of course, we’re talking köfte here – and in Turkey, grilled meatballs are serious business. In Istanbul, like in other Turkish cities, every neighborhood has several small restaurants serving köfte, usually for a demanding lunch crowd that doesn’t forgive any missteps or badly prepared food. There really is little room for error. Of course, with so many köfte restaurants competing against each other, how does one place distinguish itself from the others?

In our experience, the truly winning places (like Köfteci Hüseyin near Taksim) veer away from the traditional style of meatball, which is a slightly chewy (even rubbery, but in a good way), log-shaped köfte, and cook up something more patty-like. In the case of Köfteci Arnavut, the final product is a very tasty and unusually thin, square-shaped köfte that reminds us of American-style country sausage, cooked on a charcoal grill until it is slightly crispy around the edges. Along with the köfte, the restaurant serves piyaz, the cold white bean salad that is the traditional accompaniment to the meatballs, as well as a small assortment of soups and cooked dishes, such as chickpea stew and Albanian-style liver (Arnavut Ciğeri), small cubes of fried lamb’s liver.

What also sets Köfteci Arnavut apart from other meatball purveyors is its location, right at the entrance to Balat, one of our favorite places in Istanbul for a walk. Once a primarily Jewish and Greek enclave (there are a few functioning synagogues and churches still left in the area), parts of Balat feel preserved in time, with narrow streets lined with small, Ottoman-era buildings, many of which have been renovated in recent years as part of a UNESCO project.

Köfteci Arnavut, on the other hand, seems to have fallen outside of UNESCO’s purview. The small, two-story brick building the restaurant calls home certainly looks like it could use some restoration of its own, while the interior – though spick and span thanks to owner Ali’s constant sweeping and wiping – is well worn. Still, as the top-notch köfte and the dedicated service shows, the restaurant has set a course that needs little improvement.

Address: Mürselpaşa Caddesi No: 139, Balat
Phone: 212-531-6652

(Editor’s Note: This review originally appeared on June 29, 2009. Photo by Yigal Schleifer)

(Editor’s Note: In Salih Seçkin Sevinç, creator of the fantastic Turkish-language food blog “Harbi Yiyorum” (roughly translated as “Eating For Real” in English), we’ve found a kindred spirit and a source for great eating tips. We’ve asked Salih to share with our readers some of his culinary wisdom this week. This is his second post about the mind blowing food scene in southeast Turkey’s Gaziantep.)

If you ask for directions to Ciğerci Mustafa in Antep, everyone will show you where it is (right inside of the city’s bazaar). And what makes Ciğerci Mustafa such a destination is the current conductor of this place: Asef.

He is such an interesting and colorful person that if you stretch your imagination a little bit you will probably say, “This guy is Şems-i Tebrizi or something”. He never holds his tongue, saying whatever comes to his mind. His heart and brain work simultaneously. When we first stepped into his place to eat liver kebab, the first thing we asked him is, “What is the tradition of this place?” As you can see, we were getting used to being in Antep, understanding that here one asks about tradition first. His eyes shined like crazy and started to tell us his secrets for how to eat liver, Antep style.

At Ciğerci Mustafa they usually put the chunks of grilled liver on a piece of lavash in front of you and leave the flatbread open on the counter.  It’s then up to you to put onion, fresh mint, and other greens from open buffet inside the wrap and begin your feast. But in our case, Asef advised us to squeeze some lemon on top of everything that was inside our lavash.  We responded reflexively, “What? Since when does lemon get squeezed on ciğer?” He said “You can squeeze lemon on everything.” We certainly weren’t going to doubt Asef. After all, he is the spiritual guide on all things relating to liver.  We squeezed the lemon on it and ate the wrap with uncontrolled shouts of joy coming out of our mouth. Asef also added, “In Antep, liver is to be eaten in the mornings. Come back at nine in the morning and I will show you ciğer kebab which you can’t find after 11:00 am.”

We did exactly as he said and returned at the appointed time the next morning. We had our liver kebab for breakfast and this time put lemon on it without asking. Asef saw this and he erupted with an “ Aferiyyyynnnn!! – Well Done!” Busy with kebab making, he invited us to meet up later for an Antebian evening talk under a large tree that grows in the shade of the city’s old citadel. That evening’s talk under the tree is something that we will never forget. Here is a very special tip from that evening. Here is what Asef advised: “The truth about liver kebab? It must be made from male liver. Female liver is not tasty. I say to the butcher ‘Does the liver cost 9 lira for a kilogram? Here is 9.50. Give me a liver from a male.’” This, it turns out, is the secret of Ciğerci Mustafa.

Asef learned his trade from his master, Mustafa, and maintains his respect for him. When Mustafa saw that Asef was ready to be a usta (master) himself, he quit working in the restaurant, saying: “There shouldn’t be two acrobats on one rope.” Now Asef runs the restaurant and keeps the tradition of this delicious liver alive.

When you find the restaurant, you will spot Asef very quickly. Try to talk with him. Listen to his stories and to what he has to say. If he asks you out for a drink under that tree, you will know that he liked you.

Address: Bayramoğlu sok. No: 1/B, Gaziantep
Telephone: 0342-230-9182

(Translated and adapted from: http://harbiyiyorum.blogspot.com/2010/03/gaziantepte-en-iyi-ciger-nerede-yenir.html. Photo by Salih Seçkin Sevinç)

You can read the article, which includes several of our favorites (such as Hatay Akdeniz Sofrasi (pictured) and Canim Cigerim) here.

(photo by Yigal Schleifer)

Recently we noticed the arrival of Ciğerimin Köşesi (“My Liver’s Corner,” roughly translated), a gleaming, new kebab spot in the Galatasaray area that had a somewhat similar sounding name and even had some of Canim Ciğerim’s waitstaff working there. Loyal fans of the original, we initially ignored what we believed to be an upstart copycat. Located down a dim alley off the pedestrian-only Istiklal Street, the restaurant’s bland modern look – more hair salon than kebab house – also didn’t appeal.

It didn’t take very long for us, though, to break down and go and give Ciğerimin Köşesi a try – and we’re glad we did. Turns out the upstart just might give the original a run for its money.

Like at Canim Ciğerim, the real fun here is in what comes along with your kebabs. Before the skewers even arrive, your low table is piled high with plates of radish, parsley, mint, arugula and slightly charred grilled onions and peppers dusted with red pepper. Along with those comes a serving of the restaurant’s superb ezme salad – a mix of extremely finely diced tomatoes, onion and parsley flavored with tart pomegranate molasses – which is made by a knife-wielding usta, or master, who lords over a well-worn cutting board near the grill.

The skewers arrive along with a pile of very thin flatbreads that look a lot like the wraps that are served with moo shu dishes in Chinese restaurants. The wraps are used to grab the meat off the hot skewers and are than filled with a bit of everything that’s on the table and rolled up, eaten in two or three flavor-filled bites. If you want, order a durum – a Turkish-style buritto – and the chef will do all the work and make a giant wrap for you stuffed with grilled meat, fresh herbs and onions.

Ciğerimin Köşesi offers the usual choice of liver or beef kebabs – both very tasty – but, unlike it’s Asmalimescit rival, also serves up superb chicken kebabs, the skewers threaded with very moist chunks of white meat that have been marinated in a red pepper sauce. Although we tend to order the beef kebabs at Canim Ciğerim, Ciğerimin Köşesi’s chicken kebabs have us reconsidering our preferences.

So, will we now have to choose between our original favorite and the new kebab kid on the block? Fortunately, this town – and our appetite – is big enough for the two of them.

Address: Tütüncü Çıkmazı No:3/A, Beyoğlu
Telephone: 212-245-7777
Web: www.cigeriminkosesi.net

(photo by Yigal Schleifer)

We visited Edirne several years ago and had what was a very fine plate of liver done in the local style. Although we’re not liver-mad enough to make the drive to Edirne just to eat the stuff (as some Istanbulites do), we were very happy to discover a few months ago Can Ciğer, a small spot in the Besiktaş neighborhood that is one of the few places in Istanbul serving up Edirne-style liver.

The formula for making the dish is simple: extremely fresh cow’s liver is sliced into very thin, almost bite-size pieces, coated with flour and then deep fried until crisp and approaching something that could be described as Liver McNuggets. On the plate, the liver is served with nothing more than a hunk of raw onion, which compliments the fried slices of meat perfectly, a few slices of tomato and a hot pepper that has also been deep-fried. Like at most Edirne liver restaurants, the main feature of Can Ciğer is the frying station at the front, where the Edirne-born frymaster stands in front of a deep pan of oil that he tends to carefully, constantly adjusting the flame below.

The attention he pays to the oil shows off in the liver. On a recent visit, the meat was perfectly fried and – perhaps because of its thinness and crispy coating – had none of the “livery” taste we usually associate with the dish. Sitting around us, meanwhile, were local liver freaks, some who had even ordered a double portion of the crispy nuggets, clearly happy that instead of having to go to Edirne to get their fix, Edirne had come to them.

Address: Barbaros Bulvari No: 25/4, Besiktaş
Telephone: 212-260-2154

(photo by Yigal Schleifer)

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)

Canım Ciğerim, a very fun and tasty kebab spot in Beyoğlu’s Asmalımescit area, makes things easy. The menu only has two items which to choose from: liver, or what is simply referred to as “meat.”

Before we lose any more readers, let’s talk about the first option. Turkey exists in a kind of alternative culinary universe where liver is not the punch line of a joke or the basis of a bad taste memory that haunts you for the rest of your life, but rather something that’s sought out. In parts of eastern Turkey, ciğer (pronounced gee-ehr) often trumps other cuts of meat in terms of popularity. Edirne, a city near Turkey’s border with Bulgaria and Greece, is so famous for the dish, that some Istanbulites make day trips there just to eat in one of its numerous fried liver restaurants. After several years in Turkey, we’ve even found ourselves occasionally under liver’s powerful spell, our previous disdain for the organ now gone.

At Canım Ciğerim, the lively restaurant’s namesake dish (“canım ciğerim” is actually a Turkish expression that translates into “my liver, my dear,” used as a term of affection) is made from tiny cubes of tender lamb’s liver that are grilled over hardwood coals on long, thin skewers. The kebab is still unmistakably liver, but its taste and texture are much more delicate and simply less “liverish” than what you’ve probably had before. (If you want, ask your waiter for a “yarım porsiyon” – a half portion – of liver, just to give it a try.) Fortunately, for those not interested in taking the liver plunge, Canım Ciğerim’s “meat” (or et, in Turkish) option is an extremely fine one. In this case, small morsels of tender beef are skewered and grilled.

Either way, the real fun here is in what comes along with your kebabs. Before the skewers even arrive, your low table is piled high with plates of parsley, mint, arugula and slightly charred grilled onions and peppers dusted with red pepper. Along with those comes a serving of the restaurant’s superb ezme salad – a mix of extremely finely diced tomatoes, onion and parsley flavored with tart pomegranate molasses – which is made by a knife-wielding usta, or master, who lords over a well-worn cutting board near the grill.

The skewers arrive along with a pile of very thin flatbreads that look a lot like the wraps that are served with moo shu dishes in Chinese restaurants. The wraps are used to grab the meat off the hot skewers and are than filled with a bit of everything that’s on the table and rolled up, eaten in two or three flavor-filled bites. If you want, order a durum – a Turkish-style buritto – and the chef will do all the work and make a giant wrap for you stuffed with grilled meat, fresh herbs and onions.

The restaurant is open from noon to 5am, so perhaps the only other choice you have to make is whether to come for lunch, dinner or an after hours snack. But liver or “meat,” we’ve found that having a bad meal at Canım Ciğerim is not an option.

Address: Minare Sk. No: 1 Beyoğlu
Telephone: 212-252-6060
Web: www.asmalicanimcigerim.com

(Photo by Monique Jaques)