Istanbul is For [Food] Lovers, Part 2

With a name meaning "Rosewater Pudding Palace," how can you go wrong? Our first night we almost passed Saray in our kebab-induced haze. But those of us who zero in on desserts were drawn to the display window, with its centerpiece pastry tower in a pan of syrup flanked by baklava, fried syrupy dough balls, kunafe and more. Various staff members laughed as we stumbled over each other trying to rush in.


Saray is a cavernous place on Istiklal Street where many Istanbulis also come for dinner. However, we were focused on dessert. We blocked the front counter while the clerks chuckled at our excitement, ordering one of everything we saw. We had baklava, pistachio rolls, kadayif (similar to baklava) and various puddings. Some were covered in chocolate sauce, but not a type that was familiar or particularly good to me.

The most intriguing pudding was the tavuk gogsu, made with everyone's favorite sweetstuff: chicken. An odd flavor combination, as the chicken pieces are clearly identifiable while the pudding is very sweet—it's weird but sort of hard to put down.

After we finally tore ourselves away, paying about 3YTL each for our many desserts, the staff volunteered to pose for photos. One in particular was VERY excited about being featured, posing in the doorway, putting his hat on April, and running to dramatically pour syrup over the pastry tower in the window for our amusement.

Saray is popular with locals for good reason, and is one of the few pastry shops with late-night hours—if you stumble out of the clubs and crave chicken pudding, you can hit up Saray until 2AM.

Saray Muhallebicisi (Turkish only)

Even though I happily gorged on various sweets while in Istanbul, normally I prefer straight-up ice cream or candy to any sort of prepared desserts. I can easily pass on cookies, brownies, baklava and especially pies and cakes if good ice cream is available. And in Istanbul, "good" is an extreme understatement.

Mado is a local ice-cream chain that I indulged in daily on my first trip to Istanbul. Even though it didn't compare texture-wise to the ultra-gooey maraş dondurma of the South, in other parts of the country the stretchy concoction only comes in chocolate, vanilla, pistachio, and sometimes one other flavor.


Mado takes the same secret ingredient from Maraş—salep, powdered orchid bulbs—and updates it for the sophisticated Istanbuli palate. Mado's mouthwatering flavors include dark raspberry, almond, cherry, mango, tiramisu, caramel and so much more. Mado's chocolate is especially divine, and normally I don't like chocolate ice cream; it rarely tastes like real chocolate to me. Last year I was delighted to find that chocolate maraş dondurma in the south was superb, tasting like cold fudge; the texture is key to the deliciousness of this flavor.

If you can resist, a little time at room temperature brings out the best in the ice cream's texture—this is why traditional vendors use a large paddle to beat the ice cream in deep containers, working in warmth and stretchiness. We generally dove right in, but with so many different flavors to try, the ice cream would soften enough eventually to maximum viscosity. On our last night we threw out all restraint, got 3 different flavors each while gobbling everyone else's choices, topping it off with a couple final bowls of the winning flavors. Calories don't count on vacation.

The owner was incredibly pleasant. On one night we were the only customers, so he kindly took the time to explain the work that went into making Mado's special ice cream and discussed the magic of salep with us. He helpfully told us we could purchase salep powder ourselves at the Spice Bazaar (to make hot drinks at home), but told us truthfully that we probably couldn't find or afford any that matched his quality.

On our final trip to Mado we spent 8YTL each, but we really had a lot of ice cream. Normal price is probably a third of that. We excused it because we'll never get ice cream like that again—New York is an ice cream lover's town, but that texture is unmatched and of course Turkish price is much better.

Mado Dondurma (Turkish only)

Located in Kadiköy, but I've forgotten the street. Near Güneşlibahçe Street, where we found Çiya and Eta Bal. Later I found out there was another branch in Sirkeci near our hotel. We were stuffed after Çiya (well, except Rubina, who has a "dessert stomach") but as soon as I saw the name "Gaziantep" on the sign I knew we'd have to stop. The most amazing baklava I'd ever tasted was in Antep last year and I hoped this Istanbul outpost could replicate it.

The young clerk's face split wide open beaming when we entered. He spoke about 20 words of English; our Turkish was worse. Food was our only common ground. He watched us babbling in our unintelligible language, then participated in the conversation by donating free samples. We tried chocolate-coated baklava, extra-intense pistachio durum, kadayif soaked in milk…the more we cooed over the desserts' impossible sweetness, the more the boy's sweetness increased.

Soon his brother stopped by to check out the fuss. Then his friend from the store next door wandered over. Who was left watching his store? I guess when random giggling American women show up in Kadiköy, who needs to make a sale?

The boys were eager to pose for photos, as usual, and we were happy to take advantage of their good nature. Every time Jamie aimed her camera, the baklavalari clerk would self-consciously ensure a different pan of baklava was featured, carefully clearing out stray crumbs and straightening the rows of pastry if needed. It was too cute to be believed.

We had spent about half an hour laughing so hard with these boys our stomachs ached. Back in New York, every delicious piece of chocolate baklava induced wonderful memories.

Turkey is secular and Istanbul is very modern—and modernity often clashes with religious faith. But from the glorious perch atop the Galata Tower at sunset, voices rising from floodlit minarets all over the city in the azan and combining in an amelodic buzz reminiscent of throat-singing, modernity is easy to forget for a moment.

View from the Galata Tower

View from the Kadiköy ferry

Istanbul's skyline is studded with prominent mosques—Turkish mosques are among the loveliest in the world.

New Mosque, seen from the Galata BridgeThe New Mosque (completed in 1663, so it's only "new" to the Turks) is one of the grandest from the outside, and particularly impressive when lit at night. Inside, however, almost appears to still be under construction, and may be intimidating because it's less of a tourist site.

The most famous mosque in Turkey is the Blue Mosque, named for the lovely blue tiles and blue painted walls within.

Inside the Blue Mosque

Kip and Jamie, Blue MosqueThe outside is particularly refined, with its six minarets and elegant domes rising above the city—marred only by the vast numbers of touts harassing the tourists walking through the gardens.

It's beautiful, but overly popular. Although still a working mosque which requests visitors to leave during the 5-times-daily prayer sessions, the rest of the day the mosque is filled with chattering tour groups and an onslaught of camera flashes. In the summer I was required to cover my shoulders, but only devout women cover their heads here.

Suleymaniye mosque

Perched on Istanbul's highest hill, Suleymaniye Mosque is one of the finest mosques I've ever seen. Built under the reign of Sultan Suleyman by chief architect Mimar Sinan, this mosque exhibits the epitome of Ottoman architecture, and was the blueprint by which all of Istanbul's major mosques were designed.

Suleymaniye's courtyardApril in Suleymaniye's garden

The walk up was interesting as well, winding through small streets among schoolchildren. Most tourists who go (not many at this time of year) take a taxi straight up to the mosque gate. Crossing the gardens we heard the call to prayer and began to run so we could at least see a little of the complex before it closed for 30 minutes. Striking pillars and soaring archways graced the grand courtyard. In this beautiful place we felt automatically compelled to cover our hair—for once the cold weather was a good thing, as we all already had scarves.

Surrounding the mosque is a lovely cemetery complex, extensive greenspace and a nice view of the city.

Inside Suleymaniye mosque

On my final day in Istanbul, I found myself alone again after my friends all left on an early flight. I sought out tiny Rustem Paşa Mosque, which was actually very near Namli and the Egyptian Bazaar. There is a doorway engraved with the name, but there's also an unlabeled entrance…I accidentally went this route and circled a bit until an old man realized I was seeking the mosque and pointed in the right direction.

Rustem PaşaIt was quite early, and as I covered my hair and climbed the steps, I encountered the janitor who indicated the mosque was not yet open but welcomed me in. He led me to the small courtyard where I met the imam. The imam's English was very limited but he treated me so warmly. He invited me to his office so he could eat breakfast—of course inviting me to join him—and sit in front of his computer so whenever he stumbled on a word he could use his computer translator. He had taken an English course lasting only 10 days! Pretty impressive skills. Inside I also met the blind muezzin, the man responsible for that mosque's beautiful call to prayer.

Rustem Paşa from the balconyThe imam offered me the chance to "go up," which I hoped meant up the minaret, but was the second-best offer—I was let into the balcony of the tiny mosque. I was so charmed by the imam's eagerness to show me the beauty of his mosque. Also designed by the great architect Sinan, this mosque shows his Ottoman designs on a much smaller scale. The inside is coated in lovely colored tiles and the courtyard is graceful and appealing.

Almost hidden from the streets, the mosque is best spotted when standing further away. Once inside, there's really a sense of being in a secret place. Compact, peaceful and beautiful, Rustem Paşa feels like a retreat from the city.

On my first trip to Turkey, I didn't feel the hospitality could ever compare to what I experienced in Syria; partly because I started in the Southeast, a region not particularly open to foreign tourists, and partly because I traveled alone. People basically had no real reason to approach unless attracted to me, and then generally I didn't feel comfortable talking to them anyway.

This trip to Istanbul was vastly different; warm welcomes were offered in often-shocking forms. On our first night April was feeling sick, so when we went to a bar she ordered only herbal tea. The very kind waiter—who professed embarrassment April's helpful bar waiter
Jamie and Rubina pose with Hafiz Mustafa's clerkat not speaking English while we apologized profusely for not speaking Turkish— gestured that they had run out of tea. Although April then decided not to order, our sweet waiter chose on his own to run to the restaurant across the street so she could have her tea.

Every restaurant's staff greeted us with questions of "where are you from? You like Istanbul?" We always gushed back that we adored Istanbul. All our conversations were overheard by people eager to join in.

The staff at stores like Gaziantep Baklavalari and Malatya Pazari treated us not as commercial prospects but as instant friends—often the proprieters seemed more interested in taking photos with us than making a sale, even seeming surprised when we indicated we actually planned to buy.

Strangers offered advice on their favorite places in Istanbul. When I inquired at a paper store about buying a simple notepad, the owner unearthed a tiny one and gestured it was free—then thanked me for taking it. And Askoç Hotel's staff could not have been more hospitable.

Rubina and April shop for scarves

We had a great group, which definitely makes a difference—whenever I was with either locals or foreigners-living-as-locals last year, I wasn't particularly noticeable. When alone, I was too noticeable. But this group was constantly chattering and laughing and so plainly loving every minute of being in Istanbul that people perked up as we passed, laughed along and wanted to become our friends. I never felt self-conscious or worried that men were only talking to me for one reason; even if they were I had 5 friends with me, what did I care? I couldn't have felt safer or happier.

At Suleymaniye mosque

Of course in Sultanahmet the experience is different; there tourists are targeted and people rarely let that unconditional kindness through. Thankfully apart from one day of straight sightseeing and our one trip to the Grand Bazaar, we were mostly out of that area. Everywhere else, people were less accustomed to seeing tourists and delighted to talk to us.

No one ever likes ending a good vacation, but Istanbul on this trip was particularly difficult to leave. Everyone felt loved by the city as a whole; we had been treated so well, all day every day, and as much as crowded, loud, pushy, fast-paced New York is our home, Istanbul had charmed us more than we could have imagined.

Kids spotted when coming down from Suleymaniye

Me and Patrick in Galata Tower


I was most surprised at how much passion I felt for the city—considering I had already returned in love last summer, so much that I wanted to live there! And yet, this trip managed to surpass the last.

No doubt part of the reason was that I finally had a good job, could afford to splash out a bit and really take advantage of the best of Istanbul, but I also traveled with an amazing crew eager to enjoy delicious meals, great shopping, and laughing until sick. This time I especially hated leaving Istanbul because the hospitality was over-the-top amazing—never felt sleazy, never felt false.

Headscarved women in the bakery
Istanbul is an amazing place to experience the Middle Eastern character—a modern city boasting sophisticated culture, world-class cuisine, reputation for beautiful architecture and fashion, yet retaining the same sense of kindness and generosity held by people I met in Egyptian desert villages. It almost physically hurts that it's too far and expensive a flight to go all the time—but I can reassure myself that I will definitely be back, and if this trip is any indication, it just gets better every time.

The New Mosque during a rare sunny moment

What could be better than an amazing Turkish meal? Buying Turkish delicacies to bring home, of course!

Eta Bal
This small store in Kadiköy is dedicated to honey and honey only—sweet dreams, Pooh Bear. Just a few store fronts away from Çiya on Güneşlibahçe street, we were almost sidetracked by the beauty of the honey before we'd even had lunch.

Two large display cases are filled with different grades of honey, a golden tower of honeycombs stacked in the center of each. The walls are lined with honeycombs for purchase. The store's owner revels in the drawing power of his products; from the moment we entered, he said delightedly, "I will be very rich man in 10 minutes." He was right.

His English sufficed to tell us the honey came from Karakova, but not enough to explain the differences in grades. Luckily we were allowed a sampling!

Priced by the kilo, the 18YTL version was one of the most deliciously gooey honeys I've ever tasted. The beautiful dark 56YTL honey had a slight edge, but we decided it was an unnecessary splurge. A tantalizing small jar on the side was filled with a deep brown substance labeled "108YTL." 108YTL?!!

We were almost ashamed to beg for tastes of such an expensive honey—almost. If molasses taffy could be combined with dark maple syrup, it might taste something like 108YTL honey.

With a sly grin, the owner theatrically scooped the 18YTL honey over its tower of combs; we drooled as it oozed its way back down to the reservoir below. He met no resistance—we each walked out with at least 2 half-kilo jars.

Eta Bal (Turkish only)

Malatya Pazari
Misir Çarşisi, aka the Egyptian Bazaar aka the Spice bazaar, is located behind the New Mosque in Eminönü in a lovely L-shaped building. We came in search of powdered salep and true to its name, most of the nearly-identical stalls sold spices. At first it seemed like basically a scaled-down version of the Grand Bazaar, but with even more harassment and less selection.

But then we discovered Malatya Pazari. This grouping of 3 shops at the corner of the "L" are owned by the loveliest, friendliest gentleman in the whole bazaar. Cemal Atalay took over the shops from his father, and his adult son now worked beside him daily. Warm and welcoming to a fault, he invited us to taste all of the delicacies in his shop before buying, almost sidetracking us from our goal of salep.

Malatya Pazari stocks delicious dried fruits, from the usual mango and apricots to the more exceptional guava, kiwi, papaya and strawberries. We gorged on chocolate-covered banana chips and salty Turkish corn-nuts, Cemal declaring "Afiyet olsun! (bon appetit)" with every sample. Cemal treated us to hot tea and urged us to sit and chat—his limited English often brought unexpected phrases such as "I love you" out of his mouth, but he was so charming and sweet.

His son was also extremely friendly and not at all sleazy; both treated us like queens while the rest of the staff and shoppers looked on in amusement. We did find our salep at a decent price, and also bought jars of sour pomegranate syrup called pekmez to use as salad dressing. The staff happily vacuum-packed all our goodies for easier travel. Each of us was weighed down with all the treats we purchased.

The best delicacy at Malatya Pazari was the most unusual: dried chickpeas in a coffee-flavored candy shell. We ate more than our fair share of free samples, but then each bought several bags' worth. On my last day Kip assigned me to return to the shop for more. Cemal and his son were delighted to see me, showered me with hugs and kisses and tea, sent me off with my candied chickpeas and several pretty gift bags and ribbons, making me promise to return soon. I hope to keep that promise.

Malatya Pazari (Turkish only)

Namli Pastirma
Walking straight through the Spice Bazaar to the exit at the "L"'s corner, we found Hasırcılar Street, filled with more aromatic spice stalls, an extremely popular coffee seller, and Namli, a gourmet deli. This shop was one of the more frustrating because we were dying to buy the gorgeous cured meats and raw-milk cheeses but weren't sure we could bring them back through customs.

Instead, we ate lunch there. The ground floor is the meat and cheese lover's paradise, and there are two floors of seating upstairs. A smiling man behind a mouthwatering display of salami, sausages and pastirma—a dry version of pastrami—happily sliced up whatever we wanted to sample. Everything full-flavored, smoky, sliced razor thin. We ordered 2 giant sandwiches made with different house-made meats and cheeses, as well as a salad dressed in tangy, sour pomegranate pekmez. Perfectly filling for 4.

Namli Pastirma

Turkish Delight
Turkish delight, or lokum, is available everywhere in Istanbul but two shops in particular are absolute candy wonderlands.

The most renowned Turkish Delight shop is Haci Bekir, which has a few outposts, and is named after the candy's inventor. We visited the shop in Eminönü on Hamidiye Street, which is lovely, quiet, and lined with dark wood—a sedate candy shopping experience. The lokum (Turkish delight) is delicious and varied—I was so pleased to find coffee-flavored lokum as one of the many options. This store is known as Haci Bekir's "living museum," as one of the oldest sweetshops in Turkey (est. 1777) and managed by descendants of Haci Bekir himself.

Koska is a company known more for halvah than Turkish delight, but its large outpost in Beyoğlu on Istiklal street had every type of sweet we could possibly want. One of my favorites for last-minute food items on my first Istanbul visit, the store lines its windows with various halvahs, marzipan balls and Turkish delight. The staff is extremely friendly and happy to entice customers with free tastes. In addition to candy they also stock tea and sweet groceries like honey, jam and hazelnut spread.

Both shops have multiple branches, with addresses listed on their websites. Koska is much more fun than Haci Bekir, but Haci Bekir's packaging is better if buying gifts.

Haci Bekir
Koska Helvacisi