Why Istanbul is our number-one foodie destination

I take my spoon, pierce the gleaming cream-coloured dome that’s jiggling in front of me, and slowly lift a piece towards my mouth. The waiter, who slid a plate of this strange delicacy in front of me moments ago, is hovering by my table, watching intently. He smiles. I hesitate. “Do I really have to?” I think, spoon halting mid-air under my nose. He nods encouragingly. I close my eyes and gulp. Smooth, sweet jelly slides down my throat. “It doesn’t taste like chicken at all,” I blurt, feeling my face contort in a confused frown.

I’m sitting in the bright and airy Kempinski Ciragan Palace’s Laledan restaurant in Istanbul. I barely have room to breathe, having just devoured a delicious lunch of Mediterranean seafood soup with garlic toast and some braised octopus with caramelised beetroot, sour cream and watercress sauce.

But here I am sampling a traditional Turkish dessert; tavuk göğsü, which means chicken breast. Yes, it’s a dessert made from boiled chicken. Now I’ve always been a believer that food is one of the most direct routes into the heart of a country’s culture. Barriers can be broken down, respect gained by one adventurous mouthful, and all that. But a dessert made from chicken – that’s just a bit bonkers.

Tavuk göğsü has been a much-loved delicacy (milk, cream, rice flour, cinnamon and sugar is added to simmering chicken) since the sultans set up home at Topkapi Palace between the 15th and 19th centuries. And it’s just as popular in Turkey today as it was when the Ottoman Empire reigned strong.

“Do you like it?” the waiter asks, refusing to back away without a full review. It’s got a rice pudding sweetness to it, with stringy chicken texture hidden under a layer of jelly. Everything is wrong with it. But I reply honestly, “I actually love it,” and scoop up another spoonful. And it’s true. I do.

It’s just the type of sensual head spin Istanbul evokes at every corner. Even the hotel’s welcome drink I had a couple of hours ago looked like a frothy little cappuccino in its dainty floral cup and gilded saucer. But instead of the hot milky hit of coffee it tasted like sweet liquidised petals flowing over my tongue – it is in fact made with orchids, milk and cinnamon. Another surprise thrown at my taste buds.

I first visited Istanbul in 2011; I was lucky enough to take part in a cookery course at the Istanbul Culinary Institute (I’ve been burning aubergines differently ever since). I also dined at the Marmara Pera Hotel’s soaring rooftop restaurant Mikla with its Turkish-Scandinavian fusions, modern jumble of 1950s’ and 1970s’ furniture and views stretching across the Hagia Sophia to the Topkapi Palace itself.

The trip opened my eyes to Istanbul as a foodie destination and it’s been top of my list for a revisit since I moved to Dubai – it’s only a four-hour flight away, after all.

It would be easy to write off Istanbul’s cuisine as predictable – the old ‘east meet west’ cliché coughing up kebabs (doner or kofte), stuffed vine leaves (yaprak sarma) and mezes on demand. Istanbul does these dishes very well, but I wanted to discover the less-obvious fare – like chicken for dessert and flower-pulped refreshments.

A lot of people think of crowds and jammed traffic when the city crops up in conversation. It is a big exhaust pipe of a city – with a population of 14.4 million officially (unofficially that could be up to 18 million) – that’s grown into an untamed sprawling urban animal since it was discovered around 660BC. Untamed maybe, but it is also a city with a big belly full of foodie potential.

The Kempinski Ciragan Palace, where I’m staying for the weekend, was built by Sultan Abdülâziz between 1863 and 1867 and is now a member of Historic Hotels Worldwide. Set in beautiful grounds on the European shores of the Bosphorus (80 per cent of all rooms have a Bosphorus view) it’s in a prime position for exploring – just between the district of Beşiktaş and Ortaköy and a 10-minute drive to Taksim.

Back to my lunch, and my waiter wanders off smiling. His job here is done, so I decide to take a walk to Ortaköy – once a suburban village swept up by the city some time ago. Ortaköy has a rather odd claim to fame: potatoes. Street food is a huge pull all over Istanbul, but elderly locals, young hipster couples and hungry tourists all plump for baked potatoes – or rather, kumpir – in Ortaköy.

Stepping out of the hotel and beyond its towering stone walls I walk for about 15 minutes alongside the honking traffic, weaving around people and hulking trees growing through the pavement.

Ortaköy is a cute little area woven together by narrow cobbled streets and punctuated by little cafés and trinkety junk shops. It’s nestled under the shadow of the famed Bosphorus Bridge and the 18th century Ortaköy Mosque, and is also well-known for its open-air market (or mini bazaar).

The market slopes from the main road downhill towards the coastal pier square. I stroll past large tables showcasing beaded bracelets, colourful statement necklaces and rings studded with gems that glint in the sunlight with magpie magnetism. Blue and white swirly stones or “evil eye amulets” that Turkish people believe ward off evil are the only touristy give-away.

I spot an elderly woman selling little dishes of bird seed. “To feed the pigeons,” pipes up a tall man next to me. “We’re too proud to beg in Turkey,” he adds, smiling – a pigeon feather stuffed into his thick unwashed hair. I hand over a 50-lira note (Dh70) and proceed to scatter seed towards a nearby swarm of fat, happy pigeons.

Next I find a pitstop in the nearby House Café. Inside the heavy wooden tables, chandeliers, oversized plants and high ceilings give the feel of Parisian bistro meets Palladian orangery and I enjoy a pot of the House Winter Tea (freshly sliced lemons, apples and oranges, hot water, honey and cinnamon sticks) with incredible views of the Bosphorus, before stepping back into the sun-drenched breezy chill.

I pass more stalls brimming with key rings, yellowing postcards, prints by local artists, dusty prints of vintage adverts, even scarfs and woolly hats for tourists who perhaps packed badly for the eight-degree temps. Turning a corner, the narrow street opens up to reveal red-topped kiosks pulsing with steamy spicy smells serving up piping-hot food and lots of chatter. The potatoes!

People are balancing strained polystyrene cartons holding gigantic kumpir heaped with toppings like tuna, chilli coleslaw and olives topped with huge dollops of mayo.

The toppings are displayed in juicy colourful mounds behind curved glass and I find myself pointing at a few and handing over 30 liras, ready to wade through layers of sauce, garnish and hot fluffiness down to the crispy tough skin.

I’m full again, but it’s a good excuse to pound the pavements, so I head towards Taksim Square around 3km away. Taxis are cheap in Istanbul, but the hilly city is full of bottlenecks and best navigated on foot.

I reach the square at around sunset – the best time of day to visit. It’s quiet during the day but come evening time it’s buzzing with locals spilling out of cafés into the streets, young people hanging out and bearded buskers in flat caps playing banjos and xylophones. I breathe in the deliciously thick aroma of freshly brewed coffee, hot roasted chestnuts and exhaust fumes.

It’s the beating heart of modern Istanbul; a tourist must-see loved by locals. I drink some coffee and chew down a scoop of Turkish ice cream served up with noisy showmanship. This stuff is so dense some Turks eat it with a knife and fork.

The next morning I enjoy a coffee and some fresh fruit at the hotel. An hour or so later I’m sitting on a wall at the foot of the Galata Tower in the Galata/ Karaköy district, sinking my teeth into freshly baked Simit. A hot halo of dough dipped in molasses and sesame-crusted, Simit is Turkey’s answer to the American bagel (with distinct pretzel-like qualities, too). Freshly baked, it offers crunch with a bouncy soft centre and is sold on most streets corners as an on-the-go breakfast food.

I realise how important street food is to this city. There’s no stigma or status divides – everyone gets involved. In some areas dishes are conjured up in little open kitchens so close to the pavement you risk getting splattered by a slosh of sauce or showered by spiced mince.

With kumpir as an exception, portions are cheap and neat, which allows for stealth snacks between sights and shopping. Lahmacun (known as Turkish pizza), tantuni (spiced beef mince and tomatoes wrapped in a thin tortilla) and midye dolma (mussels in the half shell, mixed with spicy rice and a squeeze of lemon juice) are must-try bites.

The turret-topped Galata Tower was constructed in 1348 and sits with an air of fairy-tale quaintness on a hill in the north of the city, overlooking a smattering of steep runaway alleys. The upper balcony of the tower offers 360-degree views of the city, but the neighbourhood itself is entertainment enough for me today. It has a young feel to it and even on a weekday morning is full of activity. It’s a lovely place to wander, dip in and out of tiny vintage shops and take lots of photos. I must have taken 50 just of the pretty design details of the old run-down buildings – weeds grow out of deep cracks while bursts of colourful street art provide a modern nip and tuck.

Just before lunch I head to The Istanbul Museum of Modern Art – Turkey’s first modern-art gallery. It was founded in 2004 and has since earned a rep to rival the likes of London’s Tate Modern and MoMA in New York.

All 8,000 square metres of it is perched on the shores of the Bosphorus in Karaköy – a district that’s having a moment right now thanks to a new-found approval from local and visiting hipsters.

Walking inside the huge white warehouse I’m immediately intrigued by a swarm of low-hanging books. Literature from romantic reads to geeky annuals are suspended in a static state by fine wires as part of an installation by British artist Richard Wentworth called False Ceiling. I wander around an exhibition called Painter and Painting: A Mehmet Güleryüz Retrospective, (on until June 28, 2015), which charts the works of Istanbul-born artist Güleryüz from the 1960s to the 2010s.

My rumbling stomach leads me upstairs to the museum’s restaurant. I choose a table outside on the terrace right next to where cruise ships often dock. Today I’m lucky to get a clear view across the Bosphorus to Istanbul’s Asian side, which is accessible through the Marmaray, a 13.6-km rail connection between European and Asian Istanbul via a tunnel beneath the Bosphorus (a speedier alternative to the traffic-clogged bridge). Cruise liners can ruin the view, so if you don’t fancy dining next to winking portholes just call ahead and the restaurant will let you know if any ships are due in that day.

I order a bowl of manti, a type of Turkish ravioli, which is presented moments later in neat parcels filled with a mix of pounded spiced lamb and crushed chickpeas and covered in lashings of fresh yoghurt. Garnish with heaped garlic, sumac or dried mint or go for all three like me.

Manti’s origins are believed to lie with the Uyghur Turks living in China, but many say it may have originated in the Middle East and spread eastward to China and Korea through the Silk Road and found its way back to Turkey. The confusion is the falafel debate of Turkey, but either way it’s very tasty.

I spend an hour or two at the bustling Grand Bazaar. I’ve been before but it’s worth a visit to stock up on spices and the quality towels and beautiful bed linen.

For my last dinner I go with a recommendation from a Turkish friend in Dubai, “Try Nopa, it’s where the chic-est locals hang out,” she told me. I face going solo for an evening meal at the city’s current ‘it’ restaurant tucked away in the Nişantaşı quarter, an area up to its eyes in designer stores, cool cafés and willowy model types.

“It’ll be liberating,” I tell myself. And the friendly waiters immediately quashed my fears, while the food is incredible – I had the tuna tartar to start, and then lamb chops. Sitting in this beautiful restaurant – a low-lit modern garden (the ceiling is rolled back during summer months) with walls lined with lush green plants and Havana leather furniture giving a chic nod to nature, I let out a contented sigh.