ISTANBUL EATS: Harborside Eminönü
Dear Foodie Fam,
As a tourist on a budget, the south side of the Galata Bridge (Eminönü Harbor) was a haven nourishing our hunger for food and for curiosity. It’s home to a line of kitchens on opulent, guilded boats floating on the Golden Horn. They are topped off with Turkish flags and the star and crescent glimmering as the Bosphorus gently rocks them.
Fresh-caught fish is grilled or fried, then assembled into sandwiches called “balık ekmek” (“fish bread”.) They travel from the kitchen-boats, across a small wooden walkway and into a canopied eatery flush to the dock’s edge.
Teams of hosts and waiters in embellished, embroidered uniforms call like old friends to all passerbys. Knowing what a show they put on, they happily pose for selfies- whether asked to or not! They seem so happy… When their seats are packed, they even joke with you about why that’s not devastating… the same food is pretty much served at the next boat over. When their seats are not packed -and I mean packed chok-full- they nimbly guide you to any of a number of small tables.
Now, this is how good balık ekmek is: It’s the only thing these restaurants serve! Yet, morning and night, their plastic table-benches brim with locals hungry for that fish! Families and friends huddle inches away from other groups of families and friends. There’s rounds of this, too! To the delight of hosts and waiters, customers eat speedily! I imagine they are either real hungry or just grabbing a bite before crossing a few more things off their to-do list. In turn, hosts skillfully spot and fill empty seating.
The tables! Your elbow might clip your friend’s elbow if cutlery were required to feast here! You could settle four to five people at a table leaving less than six inches between each person. …Now, remember: customers know what they are getting into (there’s no walls on this canopy- you can see everything from the street) and are all there for the fish -not leisurely seating.
Imagine cramming as many of these tables as possible under a canopy that’s at most 30’ by 30’. The cramming is done to optimize the amount of mouths fed simultaneously. Amidst all this, you wonder how anyone but the hosts can navigate those rivulets...
Then you discover a special type of Istanbul local weaving deftly through those tables!
Earnest little boys proudly prey on the feasting crowds to sell their wares.
Now, there’s kids selling things in many crowded pars of Istanbul. Usually they are boys 6-12 years old. The ones swarming Eminönü harbor hawk water, juice, napkins and plasticware in dextrous, cunning little gangs. These ones don’t need to verbally ask for your attention. First off, they stand so close you can’t help but shoot them an inquisitive look- which will be met by a flashed smile and a clean cut, confident pitch. More often, since you are really into your food, you might accidentally take something you thought was offered by a waiter/host… only to realize it was maneuvered into your hand by a kid.
Their game is on point. I got the feeling the general public subtly admires their thriving business swagger because staff lets them wander in and out of eateries.
You’d be surprised -after eating the sandwiches- just how few tourists take advantage of these gems. Oh, well. More for us! And business is good, despite!
We know exactly why… and we tested that theory three different times (that’s how many times we went back.)
The sandwich composition is fairly simple and clean, letting you completely enjoy the fish and bread. The bread has a lightly gritty thin crust and a slightly spongy inside. Sink your teeth into the layers of filet and contrasting onion slices to realize how fresh and luscious that fish is. It’s so good, Dutch made it his “last meal” in Istanbul.
Everyone is devouring their fish, absorbed in or politely just looking down at their sandwich because faces are like 2.5’ across the table from each other. Every few seconds, a hand shoots to the center of the table and grabs something: seasoning or salt or pepper or lemon juice. (The lemon juice was my jam.)
The air is freckled with Turkish speech and I like to imagine the sort of things that were being said… nothing grand. Just banal things city people say to each other on a daily basis.
“Mine needs more lemon.”
“Can we stop by Istiklal to grab more clothespins?”
“We should hurry, the ferry leaves in 10 minutes.”
