Maraş, Urfa, Antep - these are the names you can find on the price tags of the piles of bright red pepper flakes at the spice stalls of Eminönü, bustling Istanbul food market. All three are somewhat known culinary destinations in Turkey. Maraş for its thick ice-cream made with salep, powered root of wild orchid, Urfa for its spicy kebabs, Antep for its knowledgeably grown pistachio and skillfully made baklava.
However it is Aleppo, a small village at the border with Syria which has received international fame for its peppers. It came as an absolute revelation to me that Aleppo pepper has become the next big thing in the US culinary world. Is Aleppo pepper really that hot?
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I don’t like Istiklal Street. Never did. To me it is the new Sultanahmet. With Koska and Saray Muhallebicisi - which used to be dignified matrons and in time degraded in the one night wives of the Turkish sweets making. With shops selling fake pashminas to please the tourists looking for a no-brainer gift. With wanna-be Istanbulites coming from the far off Turkish villages and troubling you anytime you decide to wear a summer dress.
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On Tuesday we expected no guests and parents were gone to Istanbul. After my yoga session in front of the open window I ran out of the house wearing a t-shirt and crocs. What a difference from the past week when I still had the snow boots and a few layers of clothes on me. Since the spring showed up at our hilltop this Sunday it was making up for its delay with due diligence. More ground and even occasional flowers revealed after the snow melted and wild crying cats that have occupied our farmhouse.
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With hope pumped by everything I heard or read about the place I was striving to find the signs of that excellence that has made Karaköy Lokantası the talk of the town. The stunning turquoise tiles could not compensate for the burned stuffed green peppers and only average food. That was my 5th Istanbul dining disappointment in the recent months.
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From sun and chirping birds I arrived to the up-to-the-knee snow. It took 1.5 hours to get from Istanbul to Sapanca and then 2.5 hours to drive up to our farmhouse. We stopped by the car workshop to put on tire chains. We then lost one of the chains as we climbed the hill and stopped to look for it and fix it again. We dropped the car by the gate and climbed the last 100 meters with bags and new gas cylinder through the up-to-the-knee snow and the complete darkness. There had been no electricity since the morning. Very typical for this winter.
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Winter is way more cheerful in Istanbul than back on our hilltops. And way more delusional: the bright sun dazzles not only your eyes but also the brain and makes you think the spring is early this year. My sunglassed neighbors in Moda are happy to be tricked: they leisurely promenade by the Sea of Marmara, queue for the Belgian-style waffles at Kemal Usta and generally occupy all the tables at the street cafes. But it’s all only a theater: there is still not a sign of fresh artichoke or asparagus or even humble nettle on the market stalls to confirm the spring has arrived.
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