My culinary awakening in Turkey’s tastiest city | Canada Voices

It wasn’t my first visit to Gaziantep in south central Turkey, one of the oldest cities in the world. But this time, I was on a mission to make a full discovery journey through its globally celebrated cuisine.

Gaziantep’s food scene blends Anatolian, Middle Eastern, Mediterranean and Ottoman influences. Originally known as Aintab‚ the city is cradled between the southeastern Anatolia region and the Middle East. Sitting near the Syrian border, at the crossroads of ancient trade and spice routes, its location has shaped what is today considered the richest cuisine in Turkey.

On a previous stay, I’d tried traditional lamb kebabs, enjoyed stuffed meatballs and treated myself to pistachio-filled baklavas. Still, until this trip, I hadn’t realized just how deep and surprising Turkey’s food culture was. And I soon learned why Gaziantep is recognized by UNESCO as a Creative City of Gastronomy.

Yesemek Gaziantep Mutfagi is the go-to restaurant for a dive into the city’s food heritage. It’s a cozy, home-style place in an inspired setting, just a five-minute stroll from the fortress and market. The top-rated spot stands out for its exceptional food and rare local vegetarian options.

Steaming metal pots at the counter offer a tempting preview of what’s on the menu. After browsing carefully through the many traditional specialties, my friend Zuhal and I settled on three plates to share. Having lived in Gaziantep for years, she knows its traditional foods well, so it was easy for me to decide what to order.

Antep dolma (stuffed vegetables) was a natural pick. This version looked and tasted different from those I’ve had before. Dried peppers filled with spiced rice, ground meat, herbs and sumac hit me with a kick of heat from the first bite. A smoky note was unexpected and intriguing. A rich pepper paste added a slightly doughy texture, while the wood-fired aroma lingered pleasantly. Spicier than I prefer, but the deep, smoked flavour left its mark.

The stuffed eggplants offered a welcome contrast: a milder taste after the heat of the peppers. The gently spiced, slightly gummy filling made for a comforting forkful. Served with warm, tasty tirnakli pide – finger-dented local flatbread – it felt just right for what was coming next.

The chef paused to share a bit of history. In Gaziantep, he explained, wrapping food in bread is a tradition born of hardship. During the First World War, people would roll whatever food they had in bread so that nothing was wasted. Remembering his own childhood, he smiled at the memory of his mother sending him to school with dolma (stuffed grape leaves) and yogurt wrapped in bread.

Choosing yuvarlama, I didn’t expect such a laborious dish. Central to Gaziantep’s culinary culture, this soup is traditionally served at Eid-al-Fitr after Ramadan. Its long preparation is a collective ritual, with family members and neighbours coming together to help.

Zuhal described it as an all-female communal act, with women gathering in homes to chat and gossip while they make the dish.

The soup arrived, warm and hearty. Its light, tangy yogurt base, brightened by tiny ground-rice balls, was a delightful discovery. Just as I was savouring the delicate taste, a bold splash of toasted olive oil infused with dried mint cut through the subtleties. Then, tucked inside, two tender lamb chops added another layer of surprise. It was both a mouthwatering delicacy and a fun experience to eat.

I wasn’t initially drawn to eksili ufak kofte, another one of Gaziantep’s specialties, partly because Zuhal had judged it harshly: too salty, and not as good as her friend’s version. The plate featured tender stewed lamb and small bulgur-and-semolina balls simmered in spiced tomato sauce, drizzled with pomegranate syrup. Though it didn’t excite me at first, the melt-in-your-mouth lamb won me over.

Food is so important in the local culture, the chef at Yesemek said. People here say they live to eat, not vice versa.

Turkish tea – boldly bitter but enjoyable – was the perfect way to end the meal.

Later, an after-dinner coffee made with wild pistachio seeds at a café in the old town was a real treat. Menengic is a far cry from regular coffee in look, smell and taste. Its creamy texture and nutty fragrance delivered all the comfort of coffee without caffeine.

The next day, I stopped at Sebciler Lahmacun ve Kebap, a popular eatery across from the city’s castle. When the giant, ultra-thin lahmacun – a flatbread covered in minced meat – arrived fresh from the wood oven, I wondered whether I could finish it. The first bites hit with a fiery little punch from chili peppers mixed into minced lamb, tomatoes and spice. The soft meat balanced the heat, yet the lingering spicy aroma stayed on my palate.

It was served with fresh herbs and lemon on the side, and I rolled it up with a handful of parsley, which mitigated the heat. Then I had it with mint for a cooling touch that softened the zest even more.

A nearby customer said it’s common in Gaziantep to eat more than one of these, since the light bread barely fills you. He can easily manage three or four, he chuckled.

Pairing it with ayran – a yogurt drink – was a better way to cool down. The thick, foamy beverage toned down the pepperiness and added a refreshing contrast. It was a simple but tasty dish, though the dominant spiciness left me feeling full.

I departed the city brimming with good memories. I can’t recall eating such interesting, delicious food in just 48 hours. Every plate tells a story of the city’s past.