City as hunger
A strange dream; Istanbul
Flavors that follow you like birds in Eminönü.
Istanbul is a strange dream. Every step you take calls out to you
“Taste me. Devour me.”
From the moment your feet hit the pavement, you're on a journey of flavors. You might be strolling down from Taksim toward Karaköy and, out of nowhere, it all begins, maybe with an içli köfte1, warm and unexpected. Or a sandwich stuffed with salmon. Why not?!
Before you even think to ask why or how, someone offers you slices of pineapple.
Fresh pomegranate juice drips down your fingers.
A hot pide. A perfectly roasted chicken?
Everyone you pass seems to have made it their mission to feed you.
It feels like visiting relatives where food is not just served but celebrated for no reason.
It’s always at the center, always the protagonist of the moment.
The city feeds you like it loves you.
And then… I step into the streets of Copenhagen.
A gentle melancholy settles in.
Here, no one throws food at you the way seagulls are fed by the sea.
Everyone floats in their quiet bubble. Everything is new.
There’s a pastry culture, yes, constantly evolving, but after for a while, it feels like it repeats itself like a song stuck on loop.
You walk around with cheeks full of gluten, happy but… detached. Don’t get me wrong, I love them but..
No chaos. No true hunger. Just sirens now and then and smiling faces.
In Copenhagen, if you want street food, you have to go where it lives.
In Istanbul, it finds you. That’s what I miss most…
Last night, I got strangely frustrated.
Why do I have to go to street food?
Why can’t it just jump out at me from the corner, like it used to? Wasn’t this the whole idea?
At the very least, someone should be selling those beautiful pastries right there on the sidewalk!
At least there’s still an ice cream man with a bell
passing by every so often a reason to feel childlike joy again.
I remember an old photo from when I was little.
Birds flying in Eminönü, seed scattered over us by a street photographer trying to catch the flutter in real time. No filters, no edits. Just reality.
I remember the look on our faces: hungry, wide-eyed.
Me, my sister, my parents.
We ate balık ekmek, mackerel sandwiches from the boats, pickles and brine on the side. Balancing on rickety stools, it wasn’t comfortable, but it was magic.
Not the world’s best fish, but that sea breeze, the noise, the mess…
Made it taste like a feast.
Then came the scent of grilled corn. We had to have it.
Then maybe ice cream.
Walking uphill, breathless, you’d burn it all off anyway.
Suddenly, someone might crave boza2 so off you’d run again.
Then my dad, like he didn’t have diabetes, would insist on Karaköy baklava.
And of course, we’d go.
In Istanbul, the cycle of eating never ends.
It is just how the city speaks to you.
And then, you stop.
You look out at the Bosphorus.
The sea.
Ah, Istanbul.
They’ve hurt you, haven’t they?
But still, you remain…
As a strange, beautiful dream where all of this happens at once.
Istanbul is that dream.
Now, for me, always.
Sincerely
Nesrin Eren
That said…
I’ll be cooking balık ekmek, mackerel sandwiches, just like in Eminönü on July 19th in Copenhagen.
If you're craving a little chaos and the true flavors of Istanbul, come find me at HAUSER bar.Want to book your spot?
Send me a message: nesrin@kavata.dkLet’s make the dream real, right here, for one night only.
Semolina covered beef balls. The place called; Sabırtaşı
Fermented chickpea beverage. Some people would say; it tastes like apple tart…
