It Started With a Breakfast, Turkish Kind

Only half-awake, barefoot, wearing the gotten-as-gifts pink-bears-patterned chemise and little heart-shaped pendant on a silver chain I was sitting at the kitchen of Reyhan Hanım* and could not believe my luck - a most elaborate breakfast was served on the table. I seemed to have scored the highest points in the life draw: not only I met the love of my life, this wonderful Turkish man, and now his lovely and welcoming parents but also the whole heritage of Turkish cuisine is pouring down on me.

I met the guy in Moscow where he was working his job and I started mine. I found it hard to resist his fabulous sense of humor, passionate speeches and appreciation for good food. The flowers-chocolates-complements era of our relationships was glorious: I definitely liked being-taken-out-for-dinner-to-good-places and hearing-about-my-beautiful-eyes-many-times-a-day. Saturday dinners at Scandinavia continued as Sunday branches at Correa’s, night cocktails at Sky Bar turned into morning milkshakes at Hemingway’s - and things between us got serious rather quickly.

One fine winter day we went ice-skating. I guess it was not really thoughtful of me to drag a Mediterranean-born into this dubious affair. It was his first time and I would never forget how unprepared he was in this thin Yves Saint Laurent socks wonderingly looking at a pair of rented hokey ice-skates. After a few minutes on the ice-rink there he was – down on the ice with a twice-twisted, as we later learned from the doctors, leg break. With the little trust he had for the Russian medical care two days later he went back to Turkey to get operated and I decided to visit him and meet the parents.

The guy met me at the airport armed with the crutches and accompanied by Reyhan Hanım and Hale Bay**. A dignified couple in their sixties they looked like people living their lives instead of mourning the past – I always envy this feature of European seniors so uncommon in Russia. Reyhan Hanım used to be a French teacher - and you could tell by her make-up, hairstyle and hats. Hale Bey was a former soldier who had traveled the world: he kept fit with his running routine and was always perfectly dressed in the neat shirts and slacks. With all the apprehensions they may had about this Russian chick their boy was crazy about they appeared very welcoming and hopeful.

During my stay every day was started with sharing breakfast. This fact only made me incredibly happy as I am a breakfast person and I can’t start my day without some good morning food. I could never understand a quick-bite-on-the-go type of breakfast or people who do not have respect for a good breakfast practice. And on weekends … weekend mornings are created for nothing but long breakfasts with your near and dear. And if someone knows about good breakfasts chances are they are Turkish.

Wrinkled in their own brine black olives and velvet green ones, variety of cheeses including blocks of beyaz peynir (white cheese known to the world as feta) or strings of örme peynir, sweet crunchy cucumbers quartered, sun-nurtured tomatoes sliced, and fresh white bread airy inside its golden crust – this will be a bare minimum. Variety of pastry including simit, golden bagels sprinkled with sesame seeds, börek, a layered pastry stuffed with cheese, and piles of bite-size puffed pogača - each can be a meal in itself. Then comes a range of jams and spreads: jams of cheerful apricots, translucent rose petals or deep-red quinces, flower honey, sesame seeds paste (tahini) mixed with thick syrup made of grapes (pekmez). Turkish omelet (menemen) or scrambled eggs will complement this greatness. Carnivores will enjoy a few slices of pastırma, cured beef coated in a mixture of hot spices and herbs, and sucuk, a dry spicy sausage. Dried apricots, walnuts and raisins will be munched throughout the meal. And all will be washed down with freshly squeezed orange juice for starters, Turkish tea in the eternal tulip-shaped glass throughout the meal and a cup of Turkish coffee to polish the breakfast off.

Now imagine all this served in a good house by a loving mother who hopes you will love and care for her highly spoiled and adored son as much as she does. After these feasts my standard of Turkish breakfast has forever sky-rocked. I felt really happy later when I could replicate such breakfasts back home with the supplies we occasionally got from my fiancé’s relatives and friends traveling to Turkey. Besides the sheer gastronomic pleasure it was the pleasure of being able to create such comfort in our house and serve my fiancé the food his mother prepared for him. Unfortunately in time it became clear to me that I was about to marry not the elaborate breakfasts and rich gastronomic heritage but a highly spoiled however much adorable guy. And I figured I was fine with just sticking to the gastronomic heritage.

A year later after the complete denial all things Turkish I made another trip to Turkey to discover its wonders on my own and find out that I was in love with the country more than ever. I remember myself sitting at a cafe in Ortaköy, breakfast Mecca in Istanbul. Ortaköy weekend fare caters to Istanbullus from all walks of life and ranges from food stalls selling baked potatoes and home-made pancakes to upscale urban cafes offering the Turkish breakfast with a cosmopolitan touch. As I was sitting on a trendy summer terrace, contemplating over my pretty fashionable delicious Turkish breakfast and watching the dazzling blue waters of the morning Bosphorus it occurred to me: if good breakfasts matter so much to me and I had found this breakfast completeness in Turkey why no to come and live here without getting a Turkish man as an excuse to do so.

* All names are fictional while the story is as real as it gets. Hanım is added to a name in Turkey if you address a lady in respectful manner. ** Bey is added when addressing a gentlemen in Turkey.