Breakfast at Bevan's. This is what the table looked like every morning. Cherries, watermelon, cheese, cucumber and tomatoes, preserves, fresh butter, bread and fresh pies from the baker across the road (phyllo and lamb, phyllo and cheese), and of course, coffee. Either Turkish or French press, with hot milk. Um, for two of us. The Dutch masters would have wept.
We traveled MILES. By cab to the ferry, by ferry down the Bosphorous and by cab from the ferry again, to get to this famous kebab house in a farflung neighbourhood in Istanbul. Here is the normally unsentimental Mustafa cutting up leftover ekmek (bread) for the khedis (cats) that Bevan's friend Oya feeds at her house (all his friends feed cats. There are a lot of cats). Once the ekmek was cut up she begged the chef to pour leftover dripping on it for the poor hungry khedis.
A plate of de-skewered kebabs with chargrilled hot peppers.
Garlic at market. It is not necessary to make it this pretty, but it is is done...that's what I mean.
No comments:
Post a Comment