Istanbul is like New York: You can eat really badly just about anywhere. Our first meal included a dreadful \u201ceggplant pie\u201d and some lentil \u201cpatties\u201d at a highly recommended vegetarian restaurant, Zencefil, that was redeemed only by its setting, a garden that could have been in brownstone Brooklyn. Our last lunch was at Cezayir, also in a gorgeous garden, this one complete with kittens sleeping on chairs around us, where the smoked aubergine pastries were, in Bob\u2019s words, \u201cbar food,\u201d and the vegetable ravioli with Gorgonzola sauce were gummy and bland. Luckily, we chose our other stops more carefully.<\/p>\n
My high point was a late lunch at Tamirane, one of the cafes at the outstanding Santralistanbul<\/a>, the modern art museum in a former power plant that makes DIA look like \u201cArt.\u201d I sat outside on the deck with good jazz on the sound system, kittens running wild in a hammock and around my table, a glass of typically good Turkish ros\u00e9 and a satisfying salad of greens, lentils, chickpeas, cucumbers and cheese. All of which were perfect fortification for the three-floor show of abstract paintings, each more impressive than the last. A slide show of the aged artists at work was projected on the ground floor to Erik Satie\u2019s Gymnop\u00e9dies, and the melody wafted through the building to mingle with the call to prayer. It was the most moving experience since Cesar Manrique\u2019s Jameos del Agua<\/a> on Lanzarote.<\/p>\n But our lunch at Baba<\/a>, one of the fish restaurants at the end of our boat ride up the Bosporus, was pretty wonderful, too, at a table overlooking a mass of fish in super-clear water. I chose mullet from the display on ice at the entryway but was also tantalized by blowfish, which the waiter said could be baked with tomatoes, mushrooms and cheese, and it turned out to be superb as well. We also shared fresh anchovies with no fishiness and a chunky, lively spread of tomatoes, peppers and onions, plus a huge portion of typically sweet and juicy watermelon. Just as we were congratulating ourselves again for choosing the best restaurant (farthest from the dock, most sophisticated), a waiter jumped up on the railing with a flag to wave at the cruise ship heading into port. And we realized we were in the same place we had laughed at on our way in.<\/p>\n That night we stopped for a glass of ros\u00e9 outside at the House Cafe near the hotel and got total contempt from the waiter for not ordering food; he went on to ignore us, so we flagged down a manager to order a second round plus meat, cheese and spinach mini pides. While we were finishing those, I noticed the name on the tiny cafe across the street: Helvetia, which had been recommended just that afternoon as one of the best places in town because it specializes in home cooking. So we paid the tab, without alerting the asshole waiter he had not charged for that second round, and headed over to choose from a counter spread with at least a dozen dishes. Cauliflower salad with great hanks of dill was the best, but the stewed okra ranked at least above average and the meatballs made me want to eat more than I needed. The server misunderstood and delivered two portions of all of those, but the tab still came to about what the ros\u00e9 cost.<\/p>\n We saved the best for last, though, and emailed for a reservation at what I\u2019d read was the impossible dream: Lokanta Maya<\/a>. The winsome young chef trained in New York and is making a name for reinterpreting Turkish classics without gouging and without a view. If I was not blown away, it was only because we had had a knockout dinner the night before. Her legume salad was excellent, a cross between tabbouleh and panzanella, with grains and greens and cheese and bread crisps. Her samphire appetizer was overcooked, though, to the point that the sea beans had lost both their crunch and their singular salinity, but crunchy bread crumbs dispersed throughout added texture and taste. Her signature courgette fritters, unfortunately, had Bob blurting on first forkful: \u201cThese are like something you made that failed.\u201d And they were soggy on the inside, to the point that he thought maybe bechamel was involved. But the dipping sauce with them was almost like yogurt-dill gelato. The chef described the \u201clamb shish\u201d so lyrically, particularly the potato puree with it (walnuts, herbs), that I insisted we order it as well as the caramelized sea bass with fig that was calling Bob\u2019s name. He thought the meat was too similar to what we\u2019d eaten on the road, but the potatoes made me realize how much you can add to the experience with anything to break the starchy\/creamy monotony. And the sweet, crisp skin on the fish compensated for both the tired lettuce in the salad alongside it and the flavor-free fig. Extra points for the chef coming to say goodbye as we left, though. She\u2019ll do fine without a view and a gouge.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Istanbul is like New York: You can eat really badly just about anywhere. Our first meal included a dreadful \u201ceggplant pie\u201d and some lentil \u201cpatties\u201d at a highly recommended vegetarian restaurant, Zencefil, that was redeemed only by its setting, a garden that could have been in brownstone Brooklyn. Our last lunch was at Cezayir, also… Continue reading