Friday was Jim's birthday. Guess what the best gift of the day was? He got a HOT shower! As did both Devlin and I. What a great start to the day. And with the water heater problem fixed, I was able to meet for coffee with a lovely woman from our complex. She has been living here since January and generously shared all that she had discovered in the past 9 months. Among other things, I now know where to go to take Turkish lessons, where the closest dry cleaners are, and most importantly, where get my hair done. Just spending time chatting face to face with another woman improved my whole day.
Jim called later in the afternoon, to see if I would like to go out to dinner. One of the fellows from work had asked us out to celebrate his birthday. Always eager to try a new restaurant, I assented, and put my cooking plans on hold. Since the birthday boy got to pick the venue, Jim chose a place called "Dukkan" (correctly spelled with two dots over the u)
I know now why my husband, the carnivore, chose it. It was a meat lover's paradise. It has gained a reputation for being the premiere steak house in Istanbul, but oddly enough is located in a decidedly low rent neighborhood. Originally a butcher shop, it is now a very small restaurant, with butcher block tables and benches for community seating. As you enter, there is a refrigerator case filled with dry aged beef. Once a table is procured, you select your cut of meat, tell them how you want it grilled, and they take care of the rest. Nearly 8:45 at night, the restaurant was crowded and there didn't appear to be any open tables, so the two of us stood and waited with a glass of wine. We didn't think much about it, since Friday nights in Houston are much the same way. However, they take their hospitality seriously in Turkey, and It didn't take too long before a waiter found us a seat by shooing a couple of guys down a bench. Our host joined us shortly afterwards, and a bottle of South American red was brought to the table along with a large bowl of green salad. Olive oil, vinegar and a thick pomegranate juice are provided as dressing.
The first course consisted of a platter of dried beef prosciutto, piled atop a butcher block serving dish. The men dug in, but I held back, wanting to save my appetite for the main course. I was talked into trying a piece, however, and it was thinly shaved and flavorful, but honestly, it seemed to be something that would taste best as a sandwich. The next course presented were the veal link sausages. Slightly flavored with fennel and browned to perfection, they were absolutely delicious. Once the sausages were cleared away, along came the meat patties. I'm not sure if it was beef or lamb, but they too were seasoned perfectly, and were scrumptious. However, I was really starting to fill up. Three different meat courses before the main dish will do that to you. Despite my sated appetite, our Porterhouse steaks were brought out shortly, each one presented alone on a fresh slab of butcher block, perfectly seared and sizzling. Accompanying the steaks were smashed potatoes--small white potatoes that had been oven roasted whole, slightly caramelized, then put on a platter and smashed with a spatula, so they resembled thick potato discs. My stomach was groaning by the time I had eaten half my steak, so I let Jim finish it--which he did with no problem.
But the meat courses were not quite finished. After removing our plates, and letting our stomachs rest for a little while, a dessert meat dish was presented. Who knew there was such a thing? I think my mouth dropped open in amazement as a plate was placed in front of me that contained thick piece of grilled sausage, atop a slice of toasted french bread, By this time, there was no way I could have possibly eaten one more piece of meat. Our host assured me that it would settle my palate. However I had grave doubts about that, and after taking a tiny bite, shoved it over to Jim. He showed no compunction about gobbling both of ours down.
Our dinner was outstanding, and the conversation flowed, as only it can when one is enjoying fine food and wine. Our host jumped up and went to the bar, returning with a grappa for me and a bottle of cognac for the two of them. Thank goodness the bottle was only a third full, because dinner wasn't over until the cognac was gone. Oh, I forgot! And yet one more course was brought to the table. This time it wasn't meat. It was a slab of dark chocolate--and entire slab, about the size of my laptop and twice as thick. With a big old carving knife stuck into it, we were able to chip off and eat as much as we desired. If only they had brought it first! I had a piece, but only a modest one. I was just too full to even contemplate eating more.
It was midnight before we finished, and we had long been the last patrons in the place. Unlike Houston, there was no push to get us to leave; no glaring waiters, no one running a vacuum cleaner near our toes. Just a tired but patient staff, wishing us well as we finally left, reminding us to come again. Which we will assuredly do, anytime another carnivore comes to visit.
Jim called later in the afternoon, to see if I would like to go out to dinner. One of the fellows from work had asked us out to celebrate his birthday. Always eager to try a new restaurant, I assented, and put my cooking plans on hold. Since the birthday boy got to pick the venue, Jim chose a place called "Dukkan" (correctly spelled with two dots over the u)
I know now why my husband, the carnivore, chose it. It was a meat lover's paradise. It has gained a reputation for being the premiere steak house in Istanbul, but oddly enough is located in a decidedly low rent neighborhood. Originally a butcher shop, it is now a very small restaurant, with butcher block tables and benches for community seating. As you enter, there is a refrigerator case filled with dry aged beef. Once a table is procured, you select your cut of meat, tell them how you want it grilled, and they take care of the rest. Nearly 8:45 at night, the restaurant was crowded and there didn't appear to be any open tables, so the two of us stood and waited with a glass of wine. We didn't think much about it, since Friday nights in Houston are much the same way. However, they take their hospitality seriously in Turkey, and It didn't take too long before a waiter found us a seat by shooing a couple of guys down a bench. Our host joined us shortly afterwards, and a bottle of South American red was brought to the table along with a large bowl of green salad. Olive oil, vinegar and a thick pomegranate juice are provided as dressing.
The first course consisted of a platter of dried beef prosciutto, piled atop a butcher block serving dish. The men dug in, but I held back, wanting to save my appetite for the main course. I was talked into trying a piece, however, and it was thinly shaved and flavorful, but honestly, it seemed to be something that would taste best as a sandwich. The next course presented were the veal link sausages. Slightly flavored with fennel and browned to perfection, they were absolutely delicious. Once the sausages were cleared away, along came the meat patties. I'm not sure if it was beef or lamb, but they too were seasoned perfectly, and were scrumptious. However, I was really starting to fill up. Three different meat courses before the main dish will do that to you. Despite my sated appetite, our Porterhouse steaks were brought out shortly, each one presented alone on a fresh slab of butcher block, perfectly seared and sizzling. Accompanying the steaks were smashed potatoes--small white potatoes that had been oven roasted whole, slightly caramelized, then put on a platter and smashed with a spatula, so they resembled thick potato discs. My stomach was groaning by the time I had eaten half my steak, so I let Jim finish it--which he did with no problem.
But the meat courses were not quite finished. After removing our plates, and letting our stomachs rest for a little while, a dessert meat dish was presented. Who knew there was such a thing? I think my mouth dropped open in amazement as a plate was placed in front of me that contained thick piece of grilled sausage, atop a slice of toasted french bread, By this time, there was no way I could have possibly eaten one more piece of meat. Our host assured me that it would settle my palate. However I had grave doubts about that, and after taking a tiny bite, shoved it over to Jim. He showed no compunction about gobbling both of ours down.
Our dinner was outstanding, and the conversation flowed, as only it can when one is enjoying fine food and wine. Our host jumped up and went to the bar, returning with a grappa for me and a bottle of cognac for the two of them. Thank goodness the bottle was only a third full, because dinner wasn't over until the cognac was gone. Oh, I forgot! And yet one more course was brought to the table. This time it wasn't meat. It was a slab of dark chocolate--and entire slab, about the size of my laptop and twice as thick. With a big old carving knife stuck into it, we were able to chip off and eat as much as we desired. If only they had brought it first! I had a piece, but only a modest one. I was just too full to even contemplate eating more.
It was midnight before we finished, and we had long been the last patrons in the place. Unlike Houston, there was no push to get us to leave; no glaring waiters, no one running a vacuum cleaner near our toes. Just a tired but patient staff, wishing us well as we finally left, reminding us to come again. Which we will assuredly do, anytime another carnivore comes to visit.
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