Street food through the eyes of academics
EBRU ERKE
For us, street food goes beyond simply experiencing the essence of a city through its sights, smells and tastes. It embodies the legacy of centuries of cultural exchange, social unity and historical depth in Türkiye. For instance, during the Ottoman era, street food held a significance beyond merely satisfying hunger. The streets were the heartbeat of social life at the time, and street food naturally flowed with this rhythm.
Take boza sellers for instance. I really appreciate the example of the boza sellers. It's more than just a tradition that brings the warmth of winter evenings; boza sellers were also the night watchmen of the neighborhood, not just selling drinks. On the other hand, dishes like börek, pilaf with chickpeas, and especially simit were enjoyed by people from all walks of life, helping to break down social distinctions. It's very much the same as today.
There's plenty of information available about street food but finding a comprehensive source can be challenging. So, when Cihan Şef (Çetinkaya) gave me the book, I told him it would find a place in one of the top corners of my bookshelf. And not just because of the title. What stood out was that the book was written by academics. Each section covering one of the 36 foods was written by a different academic. Cihan, along with Adem Arman and Alper Kurnaz, edited and coordinated the book.
The book being written by an academic rather than a food writer means that all the information is properly sourced, and frankly, it gives me confidence that the most reliable methods have been used to obtain accurate knowledge. Additionally, it offers the benefit of approaching the topic from a different perspective. And I must admit, I'm also pleased to see that my newspaper articles have been used as sources.
The historical, cultural and social aspects of the dishes featured in Türkiye'nin Sokak Lezzetleri (Türkiye's Street Flavors) are explored, with recipes shared directly from the masters. The dishes are not only presented with their flavors but also with their stories, preparation methods and social contexts. Sometimes, the stories of all three masters of a dish are included, while at other times, a dish is described through the perspective of a single master. Take, for example, the serpme börek from Antalya. The story of this dish is told through Tevfik Usta and his family, who made it famous. Born in 1884 in Antalya, Tevfik Usta's journey of learning the börek-making technique from his father, a baker from Alexandria, Egypt, and passing it down to his grandchildren is recounted in this section.
When I picked up the book and began browsing, I couldn't help but turn straight to the section on tantuni, the iconic dish of my hometown, with a bit of favoritism. Dr. Beysun Güneri provides a detailed explanation of the origins and cultural significance of tantuni, a dish that seems to have been a part of Mersin's culinary tradition for centuries.
In the 1960s, tantuni, originally a cheap meal made by cooking small, chopped lungs on a sheet of metal in mobile food kiosks, eventually transitioned to being made with meat. In Mersin, we actually differentiate between two versions: The one made with fatty beef ribs is called "tantuni," while the one made with lean meat is referred to as "biftek." To prevent the fat from freezing wrapped in a thin piece of bread (lavash), we order the fatty version one by one.
And when we are about to devour it all, we call out "ustam takviye" for the next one to be served. I appreciate that this was explained in detail in the book. The book also features interviews with three key figures in the business, spanning from the past to the present. In my view, it was a great decision to include these three individuals. One of them is the owner of Denizhan Tantuni, located in the apartment complex where we used to live. Sedat, the owner and master of the tantuni, also criticized the so-called modernized version of the dish, which is served with yogurt and drizzled with hot pepper oil after being sliced, saying, "No such thing, it's unacceptable."
I also explored the bici bici and haytalı from our region. Although bici bici from Adana and haytalı from Antakya are often mistaken for one another, the articles here make it clear how distinct they are. The custard for bici bici is made with water, topped with grated ice, and sweetened with pink sugar syrup, while haytalı's custard is made with milk, and is drizzled with rose water syrup and topped with ice cream. It was here that I first learned that haytalı is an Arabic name derived from Hayta, a poor village in Lebanon. Once a dessert for the poor in Lebanon, haytalı made its way to Antakya a century ago and reflects the city's multicultural heritage through its cuisine. It is considered a symbol of sharing at the Affan coffee house, a gathering place for people of all religions and sects and is always served with "süvari kahvesi" (cavalry coffee,) traditionally offered in a glass cup.
I also value the reminder of traditions that are gradually disappearing. For instance, Musa Usta, the last remaining mobile topik seller. As is well known, topik is a dish traditionally eaten during the 40-day Lent period when Armenians refrain from eating meat. Today, topik is typically found as an appetizer in some restaurants, but it used to be sold exclusively in mobile food kiosks or made at home and enjoyed hot. Making topik was such an important skill that Armenian girls would include topik cheesecloth in their dowries to wrap and boil it. After reading the chapter on topik, I decided to visit Musa Usta, who sells topiks in the afternoons in Kurtuluş, as soon as possible for a longer conversation.
The stories highlighting how street food influences a society's culture of socialization are truly heartwarming. The taste, smell, sounds and conversations of the streets... they all form a complete experience. And as long as we preserve this heritage, street food will continue to remind us of our identity.
