Every time I've gone to Istanbul to visit family, I stuffed my face with spicy köfte kebab and other meaty dishes. One of my fondest food memories in Turkey happened when I was 11 and we were driving through the countryside, en route to my grandfather's old flour factory with my entire extended family. We stopped to eat at a roadside restaurant where they ... killed a chicken and served it to us.
I've since been told I have "vegetarian vibes" — am I just that crunchy? — and I've certainly tried and failed at being vegan. But during a recent trip back to Istanbul, I discovered a new trend: vegetarian versions of all my favorite Turkish meals.
Veg on the European Side
My food adventure began as soon as I arrived. I dropped my stuff at an Airbnb in Cihangir, a trendy neighborhood on the European Side, the western half of this transcontinental city. An orange and white cat patrolled the street and stood watch atop a yellow taxi. I meandered to Urban Cafe, a busy restaurant with tables set up in the pedestrian street, and spotted my companion Elif inside. I was famished after my 10-hour Turkish Airlines flight from Chicago.
Elif ordered me a vegetarian köfte, with a creamy chickpea mixture replacing the meat, and a side of thick, crispy fries. While I was devouring it, my baba ("dad" in Turkish) called. I told him I'd made it safely, and he and Elif agreed that they were happy I was in Istanbul. After the meal, I ordered my first çay of the trip — Turkish tea that comes in a slender, clear glass.
The next morning, I navigated a few more narrow streets until I spotted the Ottoman-era Kiliç Ali Paşa Mosque. From there I walked up the busy Meclis-i Mebûsan street to Setup, just above the main road that runs along the Bosphorus Strait. The patio area is covered in red tiles and servers wear slick black shirts.
For lunch with my artist friend Sena Başöz, I ordered the simit kahvalti (or simit breakfast; 75 lira or about $4), which came with one perfectly sliced hard-boiled egg, tomatoes, sliced avocado, black olives, grilled olives, a strong and creamy ezine cheese, slices of simit (the to-die-for sesame seed-covered Turkish bagel) and çay.
"I remember you from last time," the waiter said to me in Turkish. "You came here."
"And we sat at the same table," I said, digging into the avocado. It had been 2 1/2 years since I was last in Istanbul. The waiter dropped two small plates of gingerbread cookies on the table. Merry Christmas, Istanbul-style.