Fare of the Country: Savory Street Food of Istanbul

By RITA L. CALDERON; RITA L. CALDERON IS A WRITER WHO LIVES IN NEW YORK.
Published: June 4, 1989

LEAD: CLOSE your eyes and try to call forth the sounds of Turkey. Surely you hear the muezzin's ancient call to prayer from atop the minarets. Were you there, you might also hear a sound just as ancient, the the street hawker's call to food. Pushcarts are a way of life in Turkey, and nowhere is this truer than in Istanbul.

CLOSE your eyes and try to call forth the sounds of Turkey. Surely you hear the muezzin's ancient call to prayer from atop the minarets. Were you there, you might also hear a sound just as ancient, the the street hawker's call to food. Pushcarts are a way of life in Turkey, and nowhere is this truer than in Istanbul. The city's streets are teeming with vendors pushing food carts through the narrow, winding streets, hawking everything from melon seeds to crepelike pastries called borek. Most street food here is surprisingly fresh, tasty and attractively displayed.

The hub of this stream of activity is the Galata Bridge waterfront on the European side of the Bosporus. Here is hawking at its best - food vendors yell out their wares and ferry agents yell out ports of call to the hordes who scramble in all directions to board the right boat and grab a bite before the plank is pulled up. (As Istanbul is divided into quarters by water, the ferries, like buses, are mass transportation vehicles.) Here taxis, buses, countless white ferries and street hawkers converge all day long.

The pulse at the harbor would be maddening if it weren't so delightul. A man pushes his freshly fried fish served between halves of a loaf of bread. Another man, seemingly competing with other Turks to see who can grow the thickest mustache, sells fried mussels on skewers, which he places in paper and then covers with some potent cold garlic sauce.

Another vendor has sandwiches laid out in a radiating star pattern on his small, round table - brilliant color bursts forth from moist red tomatoes, white cheese and fresh parsley on golden crusty bread.

Heading inland, one comes across a man at his blue cart, deftly and swiftly peeling a cucumber, which he then sprinkles with salt and hands to a customer These cucumbers are otherwise unadorned. They taste like your own garden harvest - a sauce or any other embellishment would be out of the question. And they are peeled on the spot for each customer.

The way Turks light up when they talk about things like tomatoes and peppers, you'd think they were talking about national treasures that repose in a museum. Turks have respect for life's simple pleasures. Americans return from Turkey rhapsodizing about how they never knew a tomato-and-cucumber salad could be so utterly delicious, served without dressing, save for a bit of lemon juice. One smells the salad before even seeing it - fragrant dark green parsley, fresh cucumbers and wholesome tomatoes. (One secret to the good taste of street food, aside from fresh ingredients, is that it is sold ''as is,'' not reheated and hence dried out.) Farther along, a man pushes his wooden three-wheeled painted cart filled with smoky roasted corn on the cob. A deluxe three-story cart enclosed in glass offers borek, the ubiquitous crepelike pastries filled with cheese, spinach and cheese, or with meat and onions. Another man pedals his pushcart full of forest-green and lime-green striped watermelons as another passes him in a similar cart overflowing with walnuts.

And then there are the famous meat kebabs and koftes, which are grilled skewers of chopped meat in a sausagelike shape.

The smell of yeast emerging from bakeries is seductive and everywhere - narrow alleys and hectic thoroughfares - one sees the irresistible, golden sesame-dipped ring breads. Young boys deftly balance trays of these on their heads while bakers run with a hundred rings hung on a wooden pole hot from bakery to vendor. One can imagine being here in ancient times, surrounded by the smells, tastes and sounds of the Fertile Crescent - and feasting on almonds, apricots, warm yeast bread.

The boys carrying pails are peddling ayran, the most Turkish of Turkish warm-weather beverages. Packed in ice inside those pails are bottles of this refreshing cold drink consisting of yogurt, water and salt.

AND there is lahmajun, flat bread topped with a sparse layer of chopped meat, tomatoes, onions, peppers and parsley. The main thing is the dough - springy and fresh - and what's on it is merely for a touch of flavor. You are probably looking at the origins of pizza. Known as pita in Arab countries and pide in Turkey, this flat, thin yeast bread is found all over the Middle East and parts of Mediterranean Europe.

Street vendors are usually out at work in the early morning, and they pack up their carts sometime between 6 and 8 P.M., depending on the type of food. Prices are always reasonable on the street - last summer, 50 cents bought a large bag of nuts, a dollar bought a sandwich, and most pastries were well under a dollar. The most expensive item was probably a grilled kefta kebab for under $2.

As for the safety of eating street food, my experience was that most carts and vendors in Istanbul appeared to be clean and the food safe to eat. Also, in Turkey one needn't avoid water-washed produce, as the water is chlorinated.

However, late in the afternoon, especially in hot weather, sandwiches, meat and fish can be questionable. One should always look and smell carefully before buying, at any time; common sense should dictate.

After a stroll through Istanbul you will have feasted on peaches, dark, densely sweet and juicy; bread, pliant and aromatic, baked in brick ovens and carried straight to the street cart. Still there is one thing more - a juicy Turkish olive fished out of the barrel - right over there, behind the almond-cookie cart.