Small plates, a.k.a. shared plates, a manner of dining where small dishes resembling appetizers are ordered à la carte and often shared, has gained immense popularity in North America since the turn of the millennium. A decade later, England jumped on the bandwagon and, in the blink of an eye, restaurants and bars offering small plates and allowing their customers to try a variety of dishes alongside their choice drinks cropped up all over the country, particularly the capital. Although a novelty in the Anglo-Saxon world, sharing plates has been a significant part of various culinary cultures – especially Mediterranean and Russian – for centuries. And, no institution illustrates what sharing – plates among other things – means better than the meyhane.

Wine was the indisputable queen of the famous Byzantine phouskaria and the Ottoman meyhanes until the late 19th century. But at the turn of the century, a significant shift occurred in Istanbul’s drinking culture, and rakı came to dominate the colorful, vibrant tables in the taverns scattered all over the capital. Rather than a mere change in the drinking habits of Istanbulites, this reflected a malaise that had spread around Europe and has haunted the continent for more than a century now: nationalism.

Although there has never literally been a meyhane in London, a similar establishment, attesting to the common Roman heritage that characterizes the two imperial capitals has been around for centuries: the tavern. Originally a men-only space serving wine to its clients who desired to socialize with their fellow urbanites, the tavern, or taberna as Romans called it, has been redefined, reconfigured, and reinterpreted to respond to new social needs and demands.

Although beer arrived in Istanbul at the beginning of the 19th century, boza – dubbed the “earliest beer” by some historians – had been available to the imperial capital's residents since Constantinople's conquest. A malt drink, made by fermenting wheat, boza was so popular with Istanbulites that when beer made its way to the capital in the early 1800s, they had no trouble getting used to what famous author Ahmet Rasim described as, “Blondish water with white foam.”

John Finch, British Ambassador to Constantinople between 1672 and 1681, once wrote, “No part of the globe has been so liberally blessed with the things that enter into the mouth as the Levant. The soil here yields its fruits and the sea its fish in equal profusion.” Similar sentiments were voiced by his compatriots traveling to Istanbul in the 18th and 19th centuries – Julia Pardoe, John Auldjo, Robert Snow, and Charles White were all impressed with the city’s victual offerings. Clearly, the queen of cities titillated not only the visual but also the palatal senses.

The 19th century, a.k.a. the century of change, was characterized by vast social upheaval, sweeping socio-political and cultural reforms, tectonic shifts in the balance of power in Europe and worldwide, and unprecedented advances in intercultural dialogue and interaction. The Ottoman Empire – still a major international player despite its ailing state – and especially its capital, Istanbul (a.k.a Constantinople), also witnessed expansive social transformation during what came to be known as “the empire’s longest century.” And, at the epicenter of this seismic wave of change was the Westernization of social life.

“Nor indeed doth a Turke at any time shew himself to be so truly pleased and satisfied in his sense, as he doth in the summertime, when he is in a pleasure garden,” wrote the Venetian diplomat Ottavio Bon of 17-th century Istanbulites. Many a traveler, amongst whom a considerable number were from London, mirrored Bon’s sentiments as they joined the locals feasting, dancing, smoking, and even enjoying wine and flirting in the breathtaking meadows that formed a mesmerizing part of Constantinople’s silhouette. Welcome to the world of Istanbul’s notorious pleasure gardens.

The coffeehouse was the first nonreligious, urban space where male residents of Constantinople could socialize. The first coffeehouse in Istanbul appeared shortly after the arrival of coffee in the Ottoman capital, and it made an immediate impact on how Istanbulites comported towards their fellow urbanites, how they amused themselves, how they spent their free time – in short, how they socialized. Despite various prohibitions, threats, mishaps, and the emergence of alternative spaces of socialization, the coffeehouse protected its status as an institution for centuries – not only in Istanbul but also in London.

In 1599, as part of her plans to ally with the Ottoman Empire against her arch-enemy Catholic Spain, Queen Elizabeth I sent a clockwork organ as a gift to Sultan Mehmed III. Organ builder Thomas Dallam accompanied the organ – dubbed a “technological marvel of its time” – on its voyage to Constantinople and reassembled it in a kiosk in Topkapı Palace. So impressed was the Sultan with his new toy that he asked Dallam to remain in his service, but to no avail. The organ builder’s brave decision to reject the Sultan’s offer was also going to prove to be the best of his life.

In 1851, London hosted the world’s first genuinely international fair, the Great Exhibition of the Works of Industry of All Nations, also known as the Great Exhibition. Sir Henry Cole, the mastermind behind the fair, identified its ultimate goal as finding new potential markets for British products. However, the impact of the Exhibition was not confined to economics and trade alone; in fact, 1851 ushered in a new era of international and cross-cultural communication and interaction unimaginable hitherto. Hoping to demonstrate to the rest of the world that it was still a force to be reckoned with, the Ottoman Empire partook in this milestone event, offering a glimpse of the exotic Oriental life to hundreds of thousands of curious visitors.

Istanbulites’ proper introduction to London did not occur until the late 18th century. Travelogues were not as widespread in the empire, but perhaps more importantly, the Ottomans' self-perception as being vastly superior to what they called “infidel Europe” meant they felt no need to visit the Occidental lands. As the balance of power shifted in favor of Europeans in the 18th century, Ottomans began to show genuine interest in Western capitals, specifically Paris, London, and Vienna. As was the custom in those days, literary figures were assigned to posts in resident envoys sent to major European capitals, and it is through their letters and memoirs that we get a glimpse at the image of London in Istanbulites’ eyes.

What drives a traveler to undertake an arduous, protracted, and often dangerous journey to a city she only knows from the engravings and drawings made by her predecessors? The answer is simple: curiosity. An irresistible desire to observe and – if allowed, of course – experience, or even partake in the daily lives and routines, social habits, and cultural rituals of the locals, the Istanbulites. And, it is this unquenchable thirst, this insatiable hunger, this unslakable yearning that brings this group of Londoners together.

A lady traveled to Istanbul with her Ambassador husband in 1716. For two years, she befriended Ottoman women, became a part of their lives, and shared her observations in letters to her friends. This was an Istanbul no traveler had seen before – a city brimming with homoerotic desire and unambiguously sapphic in nature.