Mahmutpaşa Bazaar in the middle of Istanbul
Few bazaars feel both as real and surreal as the one leading downhill from the Grand Bazaar toward the Spice Bazaar in Eminönu. Commissioned in the 15th century by Grand Vizier Mahmut Paşa, this frenzied market gives a unique glimpse into the synthesis of East and West, religion and consumerism that underlies modern Turkish culture. Inside the jumbled buildings and brightly lit basements is a bustling world of bargain shopping, where stores selling circumcision costumes stand side by side with those trying to sell discount underwear and fresh sweet corn.
Shoppers are largely left alone to peruse the labyrinth of stores along the hectic main street and its arteries, which sell everything from pajamas to handbags, fabric, headscarves, shoes, cosmetics and elaborately decorated wedding dresses. Alongside brands like Pierre Cardin and Polaris shoes, there are also many wholesale suppliers selling cheap clothing, factory seconds and rip offs; if you have the time to rifle through it all, some of the best deals in the city can be found here.
Bring an adventurous spirit and be prepared to veer off into the unknown, where some of Istanbul’s best kept historical secrets lie. All along Mahmutpaşa is a sprinkling of caravanserais or “hans.” These ancient roadside inns were once used to house travelers who typically entered by camel through a narrow corridor and came out into a large, open courtyard with surrounding stalls for the visitors and their animals and merchandise. These days, clothing, textiles and general kitsch have taken over.
One of the most fascinating of Mahmutpaşa’s hans is Kürkçü Han, the only one of its kind still standing from the time of Mehmet the Conqueror. The han’s expansive courtyard is reminiscent of a German Christmas market, though instead of mulled wine and wieners, the small stalls sell clothes, shoes and brightly colored wedding paraphernalia. Upstairs the stores surrounding the courtyard is where, in among the grape vines and roses, these solid brick walls house quality leather and fur coats and one of the largest selections of wool in Istanbul. The brightly colored balls spill from monumental cabinets and tables as I wander past rightfully skeptical storeowners. As charming as one might find festive sweaters and the like, I say a hushed thank you to my grandmother for never having the desire to knit.
The büfes lining Mahmutpaşa are a good place to rest when the consumerist chaos gets too much. These small cafeterias offer basic food and the chance to play spot the tourist, which isn’t too difficult since they tend to stick to a uniform of beige shorts, tank tops and hiking boots, a combination few Turks would care to wear.
Nearby, a centuries-old Turkish bath has managed to combine shopping with history and dining. The 15th-century Mahmut Paşa Mosque complex is home to one of the more bizarre malls in Istanbul. Inside this historic hamam, with its stained glass windows and marble floors, is a scattering of stores selling children’s clothes. Further back, neon lights and a fake orange tree greet visitors at the Hamam Cafe, which offers a range of homemade Turkish dishes, kebabs and a set lunch menu for just 5 Turkish Liras. There’s a rug store and public toilets on site.
Part of Istanbul’s appeal lies in its ability to shock, surprise and delight even the most city-weary soul. With the heat rising and Ramadan upon us, a little more inspiration is needed to tackle the town and immerse ourselves in the special energy that Istanbul has to offer. A visit to Mahmutpaşa Bazaar may just provide the Red Bull wings we are all after.
Where sugar meets spice | sultanahmet1.com
Intrigued by Ottoman flavours, Caroline Baum rolls up her sleeves and takes a cooking class in Istanbul.
Turkish delights ... a market stall.
I've just been handed a scimitar. At least that's what it looks like - a weapon that might have been used to lop off disloyal heads at the sultan's court in the nearby Topkapi Palace. It turns out to be the Turkish equivalent of a mezzaluna: a crescent-shaped blade, called a zirh, very large and heavy, which takes some getting used to.
The chef and teacher, Feyzi Yildirim, shows me how to rock it from side to side vigorously and then points to a mountain of fresh dill, parsley and coriander. He wants them chopped finely and I have already discovered that he's pretty exacting, even though he speaks no English. Pointing, at times, can be an eloquent method of expressing disapproval: earlier I was asked to pound and knead a bucket of salted and finely chopped onions to extract their juices. When my hands are knuckle-deep in liquid, Yildirim insists that it is not enough. But he does have a neat trick for removing the smell of onion from my hands: a quick rub with a cut lemon.
I've joined a hands-on, half-day class at Cooking Alaturka, around the corner from the Blue Mosque in Istanbul's historic precinct of Sultanahmet. There are seven others in our group and an even gender spread. We're preparing a five-course lunch of traditional Ottoman home cooking and, what's more, we've a schedule to stick to. The school, based on the model of the Cordon Bleu, is open to the public for lunch.
Alaturka is the brainchild of a determined expatriate Dutch woman and former hotelier, Eveline Zoutendijk. Trained at Cordon Bleu in Paris and after a career in hotel management in New York, she fell in love with Istanbul, learnt the fiendishly difficult language and settled here 12 years ago. Briskly efficient, Zoutendijk runs the classes herself, translating Yildirim's instructions, adding her own hints, juggling pans from stove to oven. She also has a great list of recommended restaurants, which helps visitors navigate a bewildering array of options. On request, she leads tours of produce markets, avoiding the tourist traps such as the Spice Market.
Zoutendijk has studied the subtleties and diversity of Turkish food to devise the seven menus in her school's repertoire. "I love the variety of fresh bold flavours, the foraged ingredients in salads and mezze, the kebab-house culture, the sharing of dishes, the strong emphasis on vegetables such as okra, which some of our clients are a bit unsure about; the regional variations in cheeses," she says. "Turkey is justifiably proud of being one of only seven countries that can feed itself."
All her clients "wants to do something with eggplant" and some are "a bit unsure about the yoghurt soup until they make it. When they look at the list of ingredients, their faces fall but when they taste it ... big smiles." She does not teach with seafood ("too expensive") or bread, because she doesn't have the right oven for it, and she says she doesn't have the right ventilation for grilling kebabs. Students receive recipes to keep, which means they can concentrate on technique instead of scribbling notes.
We're making a soup of red lentil, bulgur, mint and red pepper that is quick and great for freezing; imam bayildi, a classic stuffed eggplant dish that is good hot or cold; dill and cheese pancakes; stuffed vine leaves; and syrup-soaked biscuits topped with the most vibrantly green, fresh pistachios I've seen.
There's plenty to do: we each find a spot in the compact kitchen to roll out dough, beat a batter or dice tomatoes. All of us have trouble making the eggplant boats that we are going to stuff and braise. We either make them too deep or too shallow and we score them incorrectly on the inside, which means they will collapse while cooking. We are all surprised at how easy it is to stuff vine leaves once you know the folding and rolling secret, which is just like learning to make hospital corners in bed-making.
Our favourite is making a round ball of dough and flinging it hard on to a baking tin, before pressing a fresh hazelnut on top ("no fingerprints!" urges Yildirim). This is the first stage of our ultra-sweet dessert. Zoutendijk cuts down the sugar in this and most recipes by more than a third to accommodate non-Turkish palates, but it is still sweeter than we are used to.
There's a moment of panic when people walk in off the street for lunch and we realise we're running late but we set up a proper production line to plate and garnish. Yildirim is a stickler for presentation and we are a bit sloppy. But when we sit down, it's with a real sense of achievement.
Once we've left Alaturka, we become bolder about what we eat during the rest of our time in Istanbul. We sample salep from a street vendor, a hot, milky drink made from dried orchid root. We find slivers of Turkish pastrami, called pastirma, and sharp, herby cheese from the Kurdish town of Van at a classy deli called Namli, behind the Spice Market. We long to cook the sea bass displayed with its red gills turned out as proof of freshness in the markets at the Galata bridge. At a fantastic lunch place called Ciya, on the Asian side of the city, we choose a salad of braised nettles and a strange, chewy dessert of mastic, the resin that was the original ingredient in chewing gum. Our palates recognise the sweet-and-sour blend of pomegranate molasses and cinnamon, the creaminess of fresh chick peas. And when we're peckish after a morning of mosques, there's always a simit stall selling the Turkish version of a pretzel covered in toasted sesame seeds.
Getting there
Malaysia Airlines flies to Istanbul for about $1830 via Kuala Lumpur (8 hours and 11 hours). Qatar Airways flies for about $1756 via Doha (14 hours and 5 hours). (Fares are low-season return from Sydney and Melbourne including tax.) Australians require a visa for Turkey, which can be bought on arrival for about $US20 ($23).
Cooking there
Cooking Alaturka, at 72a Akbiyik Caddesi, Sultanahmet, has a three-hour class for €60 ($95) a person, including five recipes and a sit-down lunch with wine. See cookingalaturka.com.
(The Sidney Morning Herald - 13 Feb 2010)