Sifir Bir (01) is a popular TV series that is set in Adana. Tales of drive-by shootings, drugs and violence in the street capture audiences both in Turkey and outside the country. 01 represents the license plate of Adana, and Adana represents the idea of a dangerous place in people's minds here in Istanbul. But the town that - in food terms - lends its name to the spicier version of the two most popular kebabs based on mince that has been hand-cut (Urfa being the milder version), is also connected to freshly friend sweets swathed in syrup. Halka can be found all over Istanbul, a quick sweet bite, sold cheaply from street carts. Burma is a very similar idea, and to be honest, I'm not too sure about their exact difference. It will probably take another round of testing, eating them side-by-side. (It's not an easy life being a food blogger in Turkey). Yet other variations are Tulumba, and then there are walnut variations like taş kadayıf. This shop is located in Fatih. I passed by mid-afternoon, and there was very frantic frying going on. The wares went out the door like the proverbial hot chips. As I smelled the waft of hot oil and sugar, I vowed to abstain. "You talkin' to me? You talkin' to me? Then who the hell else are you talkin' to?" They must have. A few minutes later I held a sugary kringel-thing in my hand, encased by some paper. "A bit of a sugar hit to help me walk back" was the excuse. And with that evidence I join in the popular opinions on Adana being a hotbed of danger: it comes in a few shapes and sizes, and is always lavishly dipped into sugar syrup.
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An unassuming name for an equally very basic eatery, Enişte lies hidden from view. It’s only a mere couple of blocks away from Harbiye that sees thousands of people walking by each day along the busy Cumhuriyet Caddesi that leads to the middle-class suburb of Şişli.
The family-run place is proudly Adana, and the food won’t disappoint. The Adana kebab (of course!) is particularly enjoyable, with very high quality lamb meat used, and no added veal. Quite often you get served mince from an older animal, with a very strong smell and after-taste to it. Not entirely unpleasant, but lingering. At Enişte’s, every time I have eaten there now, I have not been disappointed. A good order is the kebab and the lamb shish, and go halves. In true Adana style, there are plenty of side dishes served: a mixed salad, a plate of pickles, radishes, the cooked onion, and on request they’ll make you also some sumac onions (fresh) that I love a lot. You can’t get past their Şalgam, a slightly fermented red carrot juice, that matches the grilled dishes, or the open Ayran. Don’t let the rather unsensational location put you off, nor the very basic decor. The quality of the ingredients, and the rapid, friendly service makes this such an attractive option when I’m near Taksim and in need of a substantial meal for a very reasonable price. It’s like taking your senses to a small trip to Adana itself. With the two meals as mentioned above and two drinks, you’ll end up paying 45TL. Fermented millet… Millet? Most of us may have only ever encountered millet in pet shops being sold as budgerigar food. Other grains for example wheat or rice, or a combination are also used. The cereal of choice is cooked, and later yeast and sugar added, then left to ferment for 2-3 days. A few different recipes for homemade boza can surely be found on the internet in its eclectic thoroughness. But if you are in Istanbul why would you bother when you can get a generous glass full for 3 TL. I couldn’t get a clear answer about the roots of it - some mention Mesopotamia, some Albania, but all the sources talked about a 1000-year long tradition of this wonderful brew. Because the thing is that it needs to be fermented. Brewed. So if you are wondering now. Yes, it has some alcohol content, but at around 1% you would need to binge really hard to get a buzz. One of the theories of where the name stems from is Persian: buuze darı (darı being the millet component). In the Ottoman days Istanbul was dotted with 300 shops, and over 1000 boza sellers supplied their wares in the streets (rare now but near Eyüp mosque is one I know of). That meant there was some serious quaffing going on this town. Frequently shops were owned by Albanians. Being a Bozaci must have been a fickle business back then as the arrival of a new sultan could mean the (for want of a better word) licensing laws would change, making it illegal over night. History suggest the alcoholic content was going up steadily (increasing with the intensity of a longer fermentation process) until it punched at a whopping 9% alcohol content. Booze indeed. A special concoction “Tartar Boza” containing opium was completely outlawed. One conjures up stories of rollicking fun. Nowadays Turkish people are still keen to tell you about the health benefits, the strengthening characteristics, aiding milk production in lactating mothers, and other benefits to physical and mental health. And to virility. An old story gets told with a wry grin of the Boza sellers making their rounds late at night. With their cries “Bozaaa” windows would open, and buckets on ropes lowered down the street. The tradesman would take the coins and place the precious product inside, the bucket pulled up again. Fueled by carbohydrates and sugar, and drunken on passion, a long sultry night could commence. Istanbul’s most famous place for Boza is in Vefa (in Fatih) which can be easily reached from Taksim by the buses heading to Aksaray. The bus stop is near the old city walls, and as you descend deeper into the old city quarters to find Vefa Bozacısı, to order this historical old drink, it doesn’t get any more ‘Constantinoplesque’. The business, established in 1876 by Hacı Sadık Bey, is still in the hands of the same family. Up high in a corner, proudly displayed, a copper mug, the very cup Atatürk drank out of. The shop has another income stream in selling natural lemon juice, pomegranate sauce and vinegars, and the wares displayed in glass bottles are adding to the charm of this old shop, housed in an historical building. I was definitely overdue for this visit. Vefa is practically a household name. Just a lack of opportunities, and time boldly galloping away at a steady pace meant I had actually never been to the store. We went on a Sunday midday, the weather brazing, the shop was full with families. The order procedure is simple: before going to the boza shop, buy a bag of leblebi (roasted chickpeas) from the Leblebici opposite. Then head over, take a portion from the counter - either served in a glass, or a take-away cup, and add any amount of cinnamon you wish. The freshly roasted leblebi get dropped in, and you are ready for a century-old treat. It is referred to as a drink, but the thick consistency means it requires a spoon. Yellowish in colour, it is quite thick and has a subtle tangy sweetness that is not cloying, but ever-so-pleasant. As we stood around spooning our probiotic treat, the backdoor swung open, and a worker brought in a carafe with a fresh batch, a beautiful copper vessel with an elegantly curved spigot. There was definitely another reason not to replace a trip to Fatih with buying the pre-bottled versions. These are poor copies, said to be full of powdered milk and starch. I pondered on this Istanbul icon. The setting, the art of fermenting shown here, aromatic cinnamon and roasted chickpeas making a drink that could easily replace a hankering for soup or a dessert, and has a most satiating effect, filling the stomach pleasantly for hours. Perhaps it’s the lingering memories of long-forgotten days embedded in the cobblestone, the grandeur of old Istanbul town that adds the last vital sprinkle to the brew. (Please see these links for more information about historical background: hurriyetdailynews and travelatelier.com) |
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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