Börek. I probably shouldn’t love you as much as I do!
It packs a hefty cholesterol punch, a substantial ingredient being butter (or at times I suspect margarine) as well as oil. Börek is based on yufka, the Turkish cousin of Phyllo pastry, or Filo by which name it made its way into western shops. There is nothing particularly Turkish about this dish. It is found in some variation all over the Balkans. The Albanian type is renowned around Istanbul - typically very piquant, filled with meats and eggplants. To find out more is a project on my To Do list. There are quite some variations in the fillings you can get: kıymalı, that is ground meat mixed with onions spreading a non-too-subtle smell. Various cheeses, spinach, potatoes, or a combination of all of them. One type known as water (su) börek is a little bit different in its preparation as the yufka sheets get quickly parboiled in hot water first, then assembled. The consistency therefore is not unlike that of Italian Lasagna pasta. Mostly they get baked in large trays, then cut with a wooden ruler, others are portion sized, shaped round or oblong, and taking their names from those shapes: for example Sigar or Gül (rose). Oh, the magic moment when you walk into a Börek shop and they pull a tray fresh out of the wood-fired oven, using a long-handled baker’s peel, the kürek. Whichever came out last will well influence my order. This is the sort of food you can eat at all hours. Indeed, it is available just about around the clock, and a Börekçi is never too far away. Of course when you live here, you’ll have your trusted places to frequent. In my case I have my local, where the food is ok, but nothing worth writing home about. But he is a few houses down my street and so it’s a bit like an extended living room. You go there, purchase a portion of the pastry of your choice, some tea and then indulge in small talk. And then there is another place near Istiklal Street where it’s the opposite. There is no social aspect, the purpose for visit an unalloyed culinary pursuit, or to fill a growling stomach. It is a budget food, and you will often enough see elderly ordering “3 Lira worth”, or similar. My particular favorite is the plain type, or translated to Turkish Sade Börek but more often referred to as Kürt Böreği. Several sheets of pastry form a crunchy dish. The thick dusting of powder sugar will transform this into a satisfying small meal which I consider breakfast, or lunch, or an in-between mid afternoon snack, or at a push even dinner. My usual MO is to order a half portion of plain and a half portion of white cheese filled börek. Together with 2 glasses of large tea it will come to around 6-8 TL. When I was back in Australia recently I really missed the simplicity and versatility of börek (and the economical price too). I know some places sell it, but it’s more of a novelty than for example country cousin Pide (Turkish pizza) or some listless derivations thereof. And I couldn’t help thinking how it could take on the Aussie pie in its category of readily available, low cost snacks.
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When one arrives in this bonny city where history greets visitors from every corner, it is only natural to seek an ‘authentic’ meal in the Sultanahmet area in Fatih. There, the restaurants cater for the tastes and wallets of the passing through foreigner in themed restaurants that try to evoke images of village cooking and Anatolian authenticity. I avoid places like that, but in fairness, these places are quite nice to look at, and their proximity to historical splendour is of course attractive for someone who is trying to cram in as much Istanbul as they can in a few days.
There are many shops where one could get her sugary baklava fix, because isn’t that a famous dish? Just don’t ask the Greeks. The recent sharp decrease in visitors is palpable. The forecourt between the Blue Mosque and Hagia Sofia, normally abuzz with travelers, is for now no more populated than a market square of a lesser known city. For dishes like baklava, prepared on huge baking sheets, then waiting for prompt consumption, this slow trickle means that now they just don’t sell them as fast as nuts, butter and crunchy yufka pastry would require. But the finest kadayıf in town is neither found in Fatih nor in Taksim. Kadıköy? That’s a fair guess too, but again, no. Surprisingly, my most loved source is from a suburb that would take one 30 minutes to reach from Taksim by public bus. It’s in Alibeyköy, not a place where sightseers will stray unless they got lost in the Eyüp Sultan area and keep stumbling north. And the establishment is called Beyzade. Beyzade is a title given to the sons of noble families. As Alibeyköy is named indeed after the son of a dignitary by name of Gazi Evrenos: my digression into history and language explanations are somewhat validated. So one could connect all sorts of sugar-coated clichés of the fairytale side of the Ottoman empire to an outing at Beyzade. Focusing solely on social life, culture, the grandeur of the upper castes: it was a life of opulent aesthetic constructions, arabesque ceramic tiles, hamams, of music and cultural renaissance. And of Cafe houses (if you were a man). The food traditions from those days are still very prevalent in the modern Turkish cuisines today, proudly carried forward. One of the peaceful fragments lingering from those bygone days. I don’t mind. Beyzade proudly draws attention to its origins, something you will see over and over when you walk past shop fronts and restaurants in Turkey. And why wouldn’t you, coming from Gaziantep, one of UNESCO’s world gastronomy cities, where 60% of its working population are employed in the food industry (source). Gaziantep, the ultimate home of so many of Turkey’s favourite dishes. Gelin Bohça is a name that is quite frequently used for pastry dishes, and the interpretation of what this means differs widely. Literally it is the parcel, the pieces, that a bride brings into the marriage. Beyzade’s Gelin Bohça is a beautiful rendering of kadayıf. Like in a Şöbiyet (a type of baklava filled with clotted cream, and absolutely to be consumed the day it's made), a sheet of kaymak mingles amidst the generous layers of pistachios.
What surprised me pleasantly the first time I ever ate from Beyzade is how light-handed they are on the use of sugar. After over two years in the Middle East and Turkey I have become accustomed to the sweetness that is the hallmark of local desserts, or a sweet palate generally. I am now well prepared when I am offered tea, and pre-empt any tests of sugar tolerance with the request of “no sugar, please”. That was more an issue in North Iraq where tea generally came out primed, ready to deliver a sugar shock. Or perhaps I should say where your half glass of sugar was dissolved by some tea?
But Beyzade pastry shows a constraint on the sugar, letting the other ingredients take the limelight. Pistachios and the clotted kaymak cream are of outstanding quality, fresh looking and tasting. The tel kadayıf (pastry strings) have a wonderful crunch, and are ever-so-gently met, dew like, by the syrup. Add a glass of tea, with or without sugar whatever your taste bud’s behest, and for a short moment let your imagination run wild: be transported to some olden days, too perfect to have ever existed. Colorful woven carpets, the distant sound of a reedy ney flute and a fork full of old-times culinary perfection.
Rice with beans and boiled meat.
It sounds hardly like you'll be dressing up and expectantly dashing to this restaurant with the aim of 'dining out', does it. Rather it's more something you associate with mother's household staple and an old (edible) family friend, and you just eat it, and swear nobody does it better than her. Perhaps Kalkanoğlu is the uncle (or aunty) of many Istanbulites. How else could you explain the existence of a food business since 1856 in a suburb bursting at the seams with restaurants? And, strictly speaking, a culinary one-trick pony at that? The answer lies in exactly the plate of pilav. The rice is very robust, telling stories of being boiled in a rich beefy broth. The beans are soft and delicious as a result of a long cooking process. The kavurma (braised meat), finally, falling to pieces-tender complete the unpretentious delight. If one didn't know at the outset, by the time you start seeing the ceramic underneath the generous portion, one will realise that this is a Trabzon restaurant. The yellow butter residues are a dead giveaway. And nice Trabzon butter they use, too! Not that you will be needing more food, but the way the flavours all combine to make a hearty meal makes you reach for the Karadeniz village-style bread and mob up every single last bit. Damn the torpedoes, and the cholesterol anyway. The family has passed down their pilavcı (Pilav maker) tradition from generation to generation, on last count 5 times, and they keep their successful recipes close to their chest. But it's safe to say that butter is a major ingredient. We went on a Sunday mid afternoon, and the place was full. The service is very efficient, quite likely due to the lack of complications when ordering: you can order rice, beans, meat, or a combination of the three. There are a couple of other dishes to choose from like Kuymak - this being more a breakfast food - but looking around every patron really ate the same. Like a fine wine matching something flashy, their open, fresh Ayran complements the Black Sea wonderfulness. If you are looking for a meal reminiscent of eating in your mother's kitchen (and with a general sweeping statement that they can all cook), and you're in Taksim, a place abundant with (often quite average) eateries, make sure to check out Kalkanoğlu. And if you don't trust this one blog entry, I refer you again to their track record. They have well and truly earned their rights to call themselves tarihi, historical. A 160-year old Istanbul institution, going strong and likely to be there when your grandchildren are looking for a simple, hearty lunch, evocative of workday sustenance around a village kitchen table. Cost: kavurma, pilav & kurufasulye 12.5 TL Winter months are fish eating months in Istanbul. There are many possibilities to get a ‘fish fix’ - one can wander down to the Eminönü fish stalls set up on the Haliç (Golden Horn) shores near the Galata Bridge, on colourful, fake historical boats screaming “Tinsel Touristy!!” at the approaching visitor. We all know it, it seems, but everyone is happy to just keep going with the charade, and queue for Balık Ekmek (Fish bread), that can we washed down wonderfully with şalgam*, a piquant drink made from turnips, tasting not unlike the brine from pickled gherkins. Or one could walk across Galata Bridge over to Karaköy and sit down in one of the fish restaurants, most having terraces that look out over the Golden Horn, where it enters the Bosphorus. I am honest, they are not my sort of place. I avoid any place that caters too obviously for tourists only, service can be quite fake and superficial.. I once went into one of those places upon my visiting mother’s request. I was very underwhelmed with the food, which was later somewhat balanced out being overwhelmed by the bill. Beşiktaş offers many small fish restaurants, especially around the vicinity of the Balık Pazarı (fish bazar). It’s generally a pleasant place to visit, and has a number of attractive choices for a quick meal, some renowned amongst Istanbulites who will form spectacular queues if the food is right. Between two people, we ordered the hamsi tava (fried anchovies pan), the Karadeniz Mezgit (whiting), and as an afterthought a half portion of fried mussels that come with a garlic sauce. I particularly enjoyed the mussels and I’m a huge fan of Hamsi anyway. You eat them whole, the bones and head too small that they require removal. So it’s no picking around. Just grab some between slices of bread, some lemon and salt, and down the shute they go. The Mezgit were a bit more finicky eating, needing halving and removing the bones. I didn’t feel that the result was worth it, for my taste they were a bit insipid. Perhaps the mussels and the luscious garlic sauce were too much of a tough act to follow. You couldn’t exactly accuse Hamsi of having a shy, modest flavour. It will linger long after you have eaten, and removed the fishy smell with washing hands and rubbing cologne on. This meal got me through the rest of the day, without wanting another meal (bar something sweet later on, to have with tea). Cost 2 ppl: Half portion Mussels, 1 portion Hamsi, 1 portion Mezgit, 2 types of salads, drinks - 48TL *This drink deserves a dedicated entry, so that’s all I will say for today. The fishmonger is right next door to the restaurant |
AuthorInnate curiosity, learned (discovered) deep love and appreciation for Turkey, a bit of time at my hands, and always hungry: voila, a food blogger! Archives
September 2019
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