Monthly Archives: February 2013

Pork leg on rice at Khao Kha Tungnung

If you are or have ever been in the vicinity of a middle-aged woman, it is likely you have heard the old adage that once a woman reaches a certain age, she must choose between her body and her face. If a woman chooses her body (and many do), she has a slim and toned physique at the expense of her face, which might end up looking a bit gaunt or hollow. A woman who chooses her face, well, you can imagine that must also come at some sort of price. The basic point is, every woman must pay. Unless you are Halle Berry, you can’t have both.

It has been pointed out to me a couple of times that I, too, am a woman. And, though I am no Helen of Troy, and my face only capable of launching a dinghy at best (and maybe a couple of rubber duckies), I, too, have had to make this onerous decision: my face or my body?

You know what I choose. And you would too, if you had any sort of brain. On the one hand, you starve and work and sweat in order to walk into a store and not have the salesgirl titter behind her hand when you ask her if they have your size. On the other, well, you are starving and working and sweating.  STARVING, mind you. Did I mention you are starving?

“Face” people have it easy. “Face” people can stuff their pieholes with anything they please, and then claim they are simply smoothing out their lines and incipient wrinkles via internal injections of delicious, unctuous fat. “Face” people have it all figured out. “Face” people are geniuses. I choose my face.

The best way to cultivate your youthfully plump visage? Why, fatty pig trotter (khao kha moo) on rice, obviously. Braised for two hours in pork broth, plopped atop a juice-soaked bed of white rice and paired with a handful of braised Chinese kale with a pinch of pickled mustard greens — this is the food that brings all the fat you could ever hope for. And if that fat ends up somewhere other than your face, well, try try again. It will get there eventually.

Across from Somerset on Sukhumvit 16, Khun Sasinee gets up at 5 in the morning and commutes from her home in Minburi in order to give her pig’s trotters enough time to soften before opening up shop at 8am. Until 2:30 in the afternoon, she serves portions of khao kha moo (broth in a bowl optional) to a steady stream of office workers and regulars drawn to her reliably fatty, filling food. With a pinch of fresh garlic and a fresh chili or two, her pork leg is reason enough to choose your face.

Sardines wrapped in grape leaves and grilled at Inciralti Meyhanesi

It’s the tail end of our holiday, and our eating takes on the kind of frenzied single-mindedness one would associate with sailors on Shore Leave. Our first meal in Istanbul is spent with a platter of beefsteaks, chicken wings, lamb tenderloin and kidneys, courtesy of the remarkable teppanyaki-like indoor grills at Zubeyir Ocakbasi & Restaurant. This, coupled with a skewer of   freshly-grilled garlic cloves coated in a sauce of reduced vinegar, leavened with a generous slick of olive oil that should accompany everything, everywhere from now on.

Sweet grilled garlic

At Turkish confectionary Hafiz Mustafa we get menu fright (the food-ordering version of stage fright) and end up with a strange milk pudding and syrupy quince showered with pulverized pistachios instead of the Turkish delight and baklava one is supposed to order at this place. At Meze by Lemon Tree (who are these Lemon Tree people? What a name), we feast on a salad of nettles, glasswort, and spinach roots scattered with cubes of beetroot, curried shredded chicken and pickled cherries and plums. We eat so much that I think, briefly and fondly, of the vomitoriums that Romans supposedly threw up in to save room in their stomachs for more food.

But there’s even better food to be had. Under the Bosphorus Bridge on the Asian side sits the neighborhood of Beylerbeyi, known as one of the oldest seashore settlements in Istanbul. There, Inciralti (which means “under the fig tree”) churns out a miss-mash of Turkish, Armenian, Jewish and Greek dishes meant to reflect the “melting pot” that is Istanbul. This shows most clearly in the vast selection of mezze that number more than 20 every day.

A selection of cold mezze at Inciralti Meyhanesi

There are so many things to choose from that, to avoid menu fright, we just order everything. We get seabass pickled in 14 types of herbs, based on an 18th century court recipe; mackerel in walnuts and lemon juice (19th-century Ottoman palace recipe); sweet onions, blackcurrants and pine nuts in a paste of chickpea and potato (Armenian); and smashed cucumbers with cream cheese and pistachio (the Ottoman court again, 17th-century). We get deep-fried lamb’s brains and veal spleen stuffed with currants, rice and pine nuts (old Armenian, and so fiddly to make that the dish is practically extinct). And then there are the sardines, wrapped in vine leaves and grilled, enlivened with a squeeze of lemon, a handful of fresh arugula and a thick slab of red onion.  

It’s basically food for food nerds, and a great send-off from a great city.

Deep-fried lamb’s brains with Dijon and stuffed veal spleen

Inciralti Meyhanesi

Arabacilar Sok no. 4, Beylerbeyi

+90 216 557 6686