Walking around the busy Çarşamba Market in Fatih on a Wednesday, we spot a line of people waiting patiently in front of a butcher shop. Not wholly unsurprising, since it is a market day, but we notice that some of them are enjoying particularly tasty-looking döner sandwiches.
The tempting smell coming from the little shop, an innocuous place named Seçkin Et ve Tavuk, convinces us to join the crowd – a mixture of families, groups of old ladies and men taking a break from work – and grab a portion of döner accompanied by fresh tomatoes, pickles and fries, and washed down by the ever-present ayran.
We sit around one of the little tables placed on the street in front of the shop, under the shade of two umbrellas. Behind us, the vertical spit turns slowly, the roasting meat’s juices dripping down while it slowly becomes golden brown. Standing in front of it and jumping around full of energy is a tall man whose face lights up every time a customer places an order. Yılmaz is in charge of cutting the döner with a traditional long sleek knife, as well as shouting at the top of his lungs to advertise his specialty to passers-by.
An usta (master) originally from the Black Sea province of Kastamonu, Yılmaz has lived in Çarşamba since the 1970s and clearly knows what he’s doing. “I’m here every Wednesday to serve my döner, meticulously prepared by Sadık and Müfit, my friends [who run] the butcher shop,” he says, winking at us while adding a sizzling, warm spoonful of meat to our already full plate.
Yılmaz and his colleagues at the butcher shop really make us feel at home, something we haven’t felt as often in the more gentrified neighborhoods. Around here, time seems to march on but also stand still – the weekly market giving the name to the neighborhood sells all kinds of modern add-ons for the newest smartphones, and even the butcher shop has an Instagram account, but the friendliness and familiarity of the people is very old-fashioned, a feature that’s becoming more uncommon in this megalopolis.
A very low-profile area during the rest of the week, sandwiched between the majestic Fatih Mosque and the increasingly more touristic neighborhoods of Fener and Balat, the neighborhood comes alive on Wednesdays with the famous Çarşamba Market. The pazar overshadows the vintage stores, workshops and warehouses, and the alleys are filled with groups of women carrying big bags of groceries, chatting or sipping a çay to recover from the shopping spree.
With its weekly döner initiative, Seçkin Et ve Tavuk seems to have become the meeting point for all the people gravitating towards the market, whether locals or people from outside the neighborhood. “This stuff is delicious,” we overhear a lady behind us marvel. She had asked Yılmaz to sit down for a quick breather and then decided to stay for lunch with her friends.
“I am lucky to have these friends, who gave me the opportunity to do what I love.”
Since this döner is much tastier than what we’re normally used to, we ask Sadık – the young, blue-eyed nephew of the shop’s owner, Müfit – what makes it so flavorsome. “Nowadays you can’t find many places serving döner that is made from scratch, with a good meat to marinade ratio and a mix of lamb and beef. Many prefer to use chicken because it’s cheaper, but we don’t,” he explains.
He goes on to say that the secret to a perfect döner is the terbiye, a Turkish word that literally translates to “education” or “politeness,” but means something similar to a marinade in this context. “We dip the best cuts of beef and lamb in milk, then mix them with onions, black pepper and salt. After letting it rest during the night, the day of the market we skewer the pieces of meat and the döner’s ready to roll. While cooking, the milk adds flavor to the meat and – melting together with the juices – it gives the perfect caramelization and a nice full taste to the final product,” he adds.
Yılmaz, who is keeping an eye (and an ear) on us while working nonstop at his station, can’t help but point out that in case you need to keep the döner going for more than one day – on the occasion of a festival or celebration in a small village, for instance, when you may need to keep the meat on the spit for more than 24 hours – milk has to be replaced by the less-perishable yogurt, a fermented food, so that it doesn’t go bad.
Officially retired, Yılmaz usta continues to serve up döner once a week. Although this is partially due to his low retirement salary, the passion he puts into his work is palpable. “You know, the retirement salary is not enough to be able to enjoy the little pleasures of life, to offer a tea or a lunch to a friend, to buy something for my wife. That’s why I decided to keep on doing my best and to continue my activity even if not in the same intense way as I used to. I am lucky to have these friends, who gave me the opportunity to do what I love, to be around them, and to provide quality döner to the people in my neighborhood.”
Despite his age, the lively man is a force of nature, stopping only to sip some çay while talking to us. “I am actually also a pide master – in fact, with my savings I managed to build a little house in my hometown. I spend my summer there, so I decided to build an oven where I bake pides and pizzas for my guests,” he says proudly.
During the week, this place functions as a regular butcher shop, trusted by many in the area thanks to their decades of experience, as advertised on the window: “From father to son since 1949.” “Our strength in this neighborhood is that people have been coming for years and never felt disappointed,” says Müfit, the owner. In fact, when we ask about the recent anthrax scandal in Turkey and whether it has influenced business, he affirms that no repercussion has been felt here. “We are supplied by farmers from Afyon that we’ve known for years and the customers know it: for us it’s all about trust,” he says.
By the end of our meal the chaos of lunchtime has dissolved, and the workers have some time to enjoy their lunch with a glass of çay. We start to understand that the happiness they all radiate comes from the pleasure of working together to provide a little joy to the neighborhood, to improve someone’s tough day, and to spread some positive energy in a moment when so many people seem to be losing hope.
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