On our way to dinner one Friday evening, we hopped in a cab headed for Tarlabaşı, a rather infamous neighborhood in the dead center of Istanbul in which many people still refuse to set foot. The area was a longtime hotbed of Greek and Armenian artisans and tradesmen, once the backbone of Ottoman-era Istanbul’s commercial life, who erected rows of gorgeous European-style apartment buildings beginning in the 19th century. Many stand proudly today, while dozens of others are fenced off and awaiting renovation as part of an invasive gentrification project that seeks to remodel the now decrepit, impoverished Tarlabaşı. By the end of 1970s, Tarlabaşı's Greeks and Armenians had packed up and left the neighborhood and the country, following difficult decades of anti-minority policies and attacks. In their place came a motley crew of other disenfranchised people: Kurds fleeing conflict in the southeast of the country, Roma living on the fringes of society, transgender sex workers, economic migrants and political refugees.

One of our most exciting discoveries this year was Yılmaz Tandır Evi in Istanbul's Feriköy neighborhood, where many people from the eastern Anatolian province of Erzincan have settled over the years. Yılmaz İngeç, a native of Erzincan's İliç district, serves only the finest ingredients from his hometown, including fresh honey, kavurma and tulum peynir, a salty, crumbly cheese aged in goatskin. A simple serving of fried eggs topped with tulum was a match made in heaven, perhaps our favorite breakfast this year. We were thrilled to stumble upon a secluded slice of the Black Sea province of Trabzon right here on the Asian side of Istanbul earlier this fall.

Istanbul's conservative Fatih district has perhaps the highest concentration of Syrian refugees in the city, and the tree-lined Akşemsettin Street boasts a staggering number of Syrian eateries, from spacious sit-down affairs with full menus to hole-in-the-wall, standing-room-only kiosks slinging shawarma, fried chicken, and falafel. Having popped up rapidly amid the waves of Syrians fleeing the devastating civil war that has displaced more than half the country's population, these establishments have made a firm imprint on the culinary scene. While the falafel at many of these places is a mediocre afterthought overshadowed by the more popular poultry-based items, we found one counter offering falafel and falafel only, serving up a generously crafted sandwich the size of a chubby child's forearm for a measly TL 2.50 (US$0.75).

Fall is in full effect in Istanbul and its our favorite time of year (not that there is a bad time) to hunker down in a meyhane around some rakı and meze. Our meyhane walk stops at three of our favorites and involves the sampling of no small amount of both.

Dürüm is the specialty at Basta Street Food Bar, but you won’t find a smoky grill inside this tiny Kadıköy storefront. With its bright turquoise counter, tile-patterned floor, and steel-topped, light-wood stools, Basta looks more like a hip café than a traditional kebab joint. “One customer came in, sat at the counter, took one look at what we were doing in the kitchen and walked right out,” laughs Kaan Sakarya. The former chef of the highly rated Nicole restaurant in Istanbul, Sakarya opened Basta in April along with colleague Derin Arıbaş. Their aim: applying their fine-dining training to gourmet fast food – specifically dürüm, grilled meat wrapped up inside lavaş flatbread.

Located just beneath Istanbul’s first Bosphorus Bridge in the Anatolian side district of Üsküdar is a secluded slice of Trabzon, the Black Sea province known for its otherworldly lush green forests, hot-tempered inhabitants and distinctly deep cuisine. The Trabzon Kültür Derneği (Trabzon Cultural Association) is something of a clubhouse for folks who grew up in the province and later moved to Istanbul for school and work. Founded in 1970 and having changed locations a number of times, the association set up shop in Üsküdar’s Beylerbeyi neighborhood at the turn of the millennium and crafted a miniature version of home in the heart of Turkey’s largest, ever-sprawling city.

October might be the most beautiful month to be in Istanbul, and there might not be a better time to enjoy a wide range of meze and rakı on our meyhane tour.

We got hungry after doing some serious exploration in the Asian-side neighborhood of Mustafa Kemal, a hotbed for left-wing groups and a melange of informally built homes in the shadow of the rapidly developing district of Ataşehir. Passing by a string of uninspiring döner and pide joints, we inevitably opted to do what works best: follow our noses. The ragtag quarter is better known as 1 Mayıs, taking its moniker from a bloody, chaotic scuffle in Taksim Square on May Day, 1977, that left over 30 dead. Home to a working-class Alevi population of Central and Eastern Anatolian migrants who came to Istanbul in the 70s, the neighborhood is tagged on every other wall with the acronyms of leftist groups (legal and illegal alike) alongside posters of martyred revolutionaries

When Didem Şenol decided to open her first restaurant on an out-of-the-way street in the then-sleepy Karaköy neighborhood of Istanbul, the young chef’s friends thought she was making a huge mistake. “They said, ‘Are you crazy? There’s nothing there, no one will go there.’ But Karaköy was close to my home in Galata, and I enjoyed the historic feeling of all the old buildings there,” Şenol reminisced last month over coffee at her deli/café Gram in Şişhane, another formerly sleepy Istanbul neighborhood. “I thought if we made good food, people would hear about it and come.” Her gamble paid off.

This man works the pelts at a han in Mahmutpaşa, alongside the route of our culinary walk in the Bazaar area, a hotspot and last refuge for many craftsmen.

Urfa's old city is an invigorating array of tones and sounds. Dominated by an intriguing maze of narrow streets, the buildings all share the same sun-baked sandy hue, suggesting that they rose up from the earth on their own centuries ago. Landscape and cityscape blend into one here, and cars are outnumbered by ornately painted motorbikes equipped with sidecars, vehicles perfectly equipped to navigate roads too narrow for vans and sedans. Older men don poşu scarves of varying color combinations, and Arabic is spoken more frequently than Turkish. Believed by locals to be the birthplace of Abraham, Urfa is known as the “City of Prophets.” The municipality proudly advertises this fact.

We are sure that many parallel universes exist within the labyrinthine Grand Bazaar of Istanbul, one of the world’s biggest and oldest covered markets. The easiest one to access is a world of Prada knock-offs, Minion keychains and leather-bound menus presented with “Please, monsieur, fresh fish, Turkish kebab, hola!” This is the world constructed for foreign tourists, but step off the main streets and into the bazaar’s tiny arteries, and, as if stepping through a magic wardrobe, you’ll be transported into the local life of the bazaar.

When in season, fried hamsi (anchovies) and tekir (mullet) are among the tasty treats encountered on our Two Markets, Two Continents walk in Istanbul.

On the night of July 15, electricity consumption on the European side of Istanbul rose by a staggering 52 percent. People frantically clutched their smartphones, plugged in their chargers, and remained glued to their TV screens. Turks watched with terror as a military coup attempt played out like a twisted B action movie. Tanks ran over people and shot them in the street. An F-16 left a sonic boom in its wake sounding no different than an exploding bomb. Jets fired on the parliament building in Ankara.

Ramadan fasters in Istanbul may not love the endless daylight hours in summer nor the susuzluk (no water), but when the reward is a leisurely iftar under the trees on Kadinlar Pazar, the pedestrianized market known as Little Siirt (named after the southeastern Turkish city where many of the local shop and restaurant owners hail from), it must surely seem worth it. A February iftar would not be quite the same, at least not in Turkey. As we walked through the twilight to Siirt Şeref Büryan Kebap Salonu at the end of the square last Saturday, hundreds of fasters waited in front of cling-filmed plates of iceberg lettuce and ciǧ köfte for the Ramadan cannon to signal “breakfast” time.