Being squeezed in between two seas with very distinct features (the Black Sea and the Sea of Marmara) and sitting on a strait has meant Istanbul has always been a passageway for a plethora of fish migrating to and from warmer waters. Of such prominence was this plenitude that almost every traveler writing about Istanbul dedicated pages to it, describing in detail the central place seafood occupied in the city’s cuisine. And, it is not only fresh seafood that Istanbulites indulge in. Ever since the days of the Byzantine Empire, the residents of the city have excelled in preserving fish by pickling, sun-drying, or smoking it. Join us as we delve into the rich world of Istanbul’s seafood culture.

Of all the mezes lined up on a meyhane tray for the viewing pleasure of the clients, olive oil dishes occupy a special place in the hearts of Istanbulites. So much so that often one of the first questions that a barba or a waiter asks you when you are settled at your table is: “Which of the olive oil dishes would you like this evening?”

Prepared with copious amounts of olive oil – as the name implies – and consumed cold – or, at best lukewarm – olive oil dishes are made with almost any ingredient you can imagine: aubergines, bell peppers, vine leaves, cabbage leaves, chard leaves, artichokes, fresh fava beans, runner beans, borlotti beans, celeriac, leek, glasswort, sunchoke a.k.a. Jerusalem artichoke, and courgettes.

In this leg of our journey towards the opening of the first Istanbul meyhane of London, we delve into the rich world of Istanbul’s olive oil dishes.

Legumes have occupied a cardinal place in Istanbul’s culinary culture from the earliest days of the Byzantine Empire onwards. So much so that Athanasius I, the Ecumenical Patriarch of Constantinople from 1289 to 1293 and from 1303 to 1309, referred to Byzantines as kyamafagoi – legume eaters.

For centuries, legume dishes prepared in three different ways have adorned meyhane and rakı tables in the city: piyaz – salads with lemon juice/vinegar and olive oil dressing such as black-eyed peas piyaz; pilaki – cooked by braising the main ingredient in a mixture of onion, garlic, tomatoes, tomato/pepper paste, and copious amounts of olive oil, such as borlotti pilaki; and, ezme – mashed legumes, such as fava.

In this leg of our journey towards the opening of the first Istanbul meyhane of London, we delve into the rich world of legumes.

In his poem titled “Çilingir Sofrası” (Rakı Table) Metin Eloğlu lists what rakı needs the most: “This zıkkım requires

Albanian liver, first
çiroz, second
and, cacık, third.”

One of the most popular folk singers in Turkish music history Barış Manço concurs: “How can rakı resist such delicious cacık?”

How can an easy dish like cacık induce such inexplicable culinary ecstasies? The answer, of course, lies in the ingredients.

There certainly is a special relationship between rakı and cacık – or perhaps better put, a special place for cacık in Istanbul’s culinary history and culture. Take Neşet Efendi, a 19th-century Istanbul socialite, and an addict – a cacık addict, to be more precise. An otherwise affable, sophisticated Istanbul gentleman whose self-conduct leaves nothing to be desired, Neşet Efendi takes leave of his senses when even the slightest prospect of cacık appears before him. For him, the thousands of yogurt canisters that arrive from Silivri every day and the hundreds of thousands of cucumbers grown in Langa truck gardens have one purpose and one purpose alone: to be turned into cacık. The monotonous pounding sounds of a mortar in a pestle are a source of euphoria for him: is someone crushing garlic for cacık? And the captivating aroma of garlic puts him in a state of rapture. So, one day, realizing that it is futile trying to resist the temptation, he builds a pond under a gazebo in his back garden and keeps it filled with cacık at all times.

There are some mezes that even though they defy classification into a genus, are yet still indispensable for meyhane clientele. We start our journey into the delightful world of mezes with these odd ones out, aka the sidekicks (yancı).

Although they might not be as impressive as some of the other dishes on a meyhane table, the sidekicks have found a way to seep into Turkish literary consciousness. Take the eponymous hero of Metin Eloğlu’s short story, Mahmut Bey. After spending many hours crawling from one establishment to the other, we find him wobbling along the streets of Beyoğlu when another meyhane catches his eye. He stops, checks his pockets, and ponders: “I have 93 kuruş left. If the barba (the traditional name given to the owner of a meyhane) offers me a slice of white cheese, some pickled beets, and a spoonful of fried aubergines, I am the king of the world!”