[This article was published in the inaugural issue of Fare magazine in 2017.]
Beyond Baklava
By Jennifer Hattam
Tucked away behind rolls of powdered-sugar-dusted lokum (Turkish delight), heaps of chocolates wrapped in gold foil, and glass jars holding a rainbow array of hard candies, two battered and tarnished silver pots sit on the counter of Istanbul sweet shop Üç Yıldız Şekerleme. Proprietor Altuğ Dörtler lifts the lid of one pot and dips in a small spoon, offering a sample of the creamy white substance inside.
To me, it tastes rather like soft vanilla frosting eaten straight from the mixing spoon. To an older generation of Istanbul residents, however, this beyaz tatlı (white sweet) tastes like childhood.
“Greeks, Jews, and Armenians who come in here all have stories about how they remember having it in their grandparents’ homes,” Dörtler says, explaining how the sweet was often given to guests alongside coffee, as lokum is now. Based on his research, Dörtler believes beyaz tatlı originated with the Rūm, or Ottoman Greeks, and may even date back to Byzantine times.
Traditionally, beyaz tatlı was presented on a spoon inside a glass of water, which the guest would drink after savouring the sweet, a serving method that inspired the alternate names kaşık tatlısı, or “spoon sweet,” and denizaltı, which means “submarine “(Yet another name, çevirme, or “turning,” comes from the strong-armed continuous stirring in one direction required to make the smooth paste at home.)
When Dörtler’s grandfather Ahmet Fikri opened Üç Yıldız in 1926, its Beyoğlu neighbourhood, then known as Pera, had long been home to many European residents as well as large communities of Turkey’s non-Muslim minority groups, all of whom seemed to have a taste for beyaz tatlı. Though these populations are now much-diminished, their memory lingers, etched into the architecture of Beyoğlu’s grand old buildings, where a close examination may reveal a Star of David or an Armenian architect’s name carved into stone, and seasoning the culinary culture of the area’s meyhanes (taverns), once run largely by Greeks and Armenians.
To eat in Istanbul, whether its current residents realise it or not, is to taste a broad swath of the world and centuries of history, and the city’s sweets — many of which originated during the Ottoman era — are no exception. ‘The Ottoman palace could get any ingredient for its kitchens, and employed cooks from all over the empire,” says Hülya Eksigil, a Turkish food writer and culinary tour guide for Context Travel.
One can find a sample of the complex culinary lineages created across the wide geography that the Ottoman Empire controlled at its peak at Özkonak, a local institution in Cihangir that has weathered the neighbourhood’s decline and hipster revival, all with its fluorescent lighting and laminate tables and chairs intact. It’d be easy to walk by the humble-looking eatery if not for the rows of tantalising milk puddings displayed in Özkonak’s shop window — including one with a secret ingredient once savoured in Iran and England alike.
‘The medieval dish blancmange was a European pudding made with milk and chicken,” explains Eksigil. And so is the tavuk göğsü (chicken breast) served today at Özkonak, a thick, chewy concoction often sprinkled with cinnamon that betrays no trace of its gallinaceous origins. Recipes for a similar dish in Persian and Arab cuisine date to the tenth century, and kitchen records from the Ottoman palace show it was being served to the sultans by the 1400s. But Eksigil says the dessert wasn’t common in Istanbul until later on. “Milk was dangerous to transport, and there wasn’t much milk production close to the city until the arrival of dairy farmers from Albania,” she says. “More fresh milk led to more milk-based dishes.”
Many desserts and other dishes spread further into everyday cuisine in Turkey when the Ottoman Empire was abolished, and cooks previously employed in the palace kitchens started up small esnaf lokanta such as Özkonak, says Eksigil. In more recent decades, many esnaf lokanta have been opened by transplants to Istanbul from other parts of Turkey who bring distinctive regional recipes along with them, like the custard-filled, filo-dough layers of Laz böreği, a decadent specialty of the Black Sea.
Not long ago, I went in search of one of these little-known desserts, a pudding of Armenian origin called havidz that’s made from butter, flour, sugar, milk, and a pinch of salt, topped with cinnamon, and served warm. A lokanta in the Perşembe Pazarı area of Karaköy was said to still keep the tradition alive, despite the business having long since passed down from its original Armenian founder to Turkish owners.
The narrow streets around Bankalar Lokantası are bustling with workers and delivery vehicles and crowded with small hardware, electric, and motor shops. The restaurant was established in 1947, but the building’s rough stone exterior wall hints at a much longer history. The vaulted brick ceiling inside covered a courtroom back when the Genoese ran the area in medieval times, a waiter tells me. When I ask if they still serve havidz on Fridays, he raises an eyebrow. “Yes, every Friday… but we’re already sold out.”
Alas. But there was something sweet about knowing that there’s still more of Istanbul to taste and explore.
Jennifer Hattam is an Istanbul-based freelance journalist, writing about arts and culture for publications including The Atlantic, Discover, GOOD, Lonely Planet, and Sierra.