Istanbul's western suburb of Küçükçekmece is flanked by a small lake of the same name, the water of which flows from a river in the north and out into the Marmara Sea in the opposite direction. The coastline of the lake is just steps away from a train that stops at the foot of the Cennet neighborhood, where a hillside of ramshackle, single-story houses with gardens look out over the water. At the top of the hill, the neighborhood takes on a more modern character with six-story apartments and a bustling pedestrian avenue packed with cafes and restaurants.

In the main hall of Antakya’s bus station terminal, there are deep cracks in the walls, rubble litters the floor and dozens of ceiling panels seem to hang on by a thread, the entire thing threatening to collapse at any moment. Bus companies have set up mobile desks outside of the station, and it is from one of these where I buy my evening ticket back to the city of Adana, about four hours to the west by bus. Even though I've just arrived, I already have to plan my exit because there isn't really anywhere left in Antakya to stay the night. Like most structures in the city, the terminal was damaged in February's massive earthquake, the worst of its kind in modern Turkish history.

Editor’s note: In the latest installment of our recurring First Stop feature, we asked travel writer Caroline Eden about some of her go-to spots in Istanbul. Eden has written for the Guardian, the Telegraph and the Financial Times, among other publications, and has filed stories from Uzbekistan, Ukraine, Russia, Kyrgyzstan, Kazakhstan and Azerbaijan for BBC Radio 4’s From Our Own Correspondent. Eden is also the author of the culinary travelogue Black Sea: Dispatches and Recipes, Through Darkness and Light (Hardie Grant; May 2019) and co-author of Samarkand: Recipes & Stories from Central Asia & the Caucasus (Kyle Books; July 2016), a Guardian book of the year in 2016 and winner of the Guild of Food Writers Award for best food and travel book in 2017. You can follow Caroline on Instagram and Twitter @edentravels.

As the call to prayer drifts from mosque to mosque and lights flicker on in anticipation of dusk, everyone around us takes a sip of water and wolfs down a date, almost in unison. It is the start of Ramadan and, here in Sultanahmet Square, folks are breaking their first fast of this holy month. They have been waiting patiently for the loud cannon blast which announces the day’s end – a tradition of old that still persists here in the square, though the loud bang often frightens unsuspecting tourists – sitting on blankets spread in the square’s grassy patches and pulling tupperwared iftar meals out of plastic bags and picnic baskets.

Chefs Kaan Sakarya and Derin Arıbaş usually spend their days preparing elegantly plated dishes like lamb tenderloin with warm cherry freekeh and purslane at Basta! Neo Bistro, the duo’s second joint venue in Istanbul’s Kadıköy neighborhood after their popular gourmet-wraps spot Basta! Street Food Bar. Both trained at French culinary institutes, they still refer to mise en place when talking about their prep cooking – even when that means setting things up inside a tent to make vats of soup to serve 700 people. Since a pair of massive earthquakes struck a broad swath of southeastern Turkey on February 6, more than 200 chefs from across the country have headed to the disaster area as part of an ad hoc response called the Acil Gıda Kolektifi (Emergency Food Collective).

The southeastern Turkish city of Gaziantep is famed for its rich gastronomic culture, vast array of historic sites, and bustling bazaars. It was among the cities hit by the disastrous 7.8 earthquake on February 6 that has claimed more than 40,000 lives in Turkey and northern Syria. While Gaziantep fared much better compared to some of its neighbors in the region including Antakya, Kahramanmaraş and Adıyaman, the city was still struck in no small way. Large sections of its 2000-year-old fortress collapsed, and numerous centuries-old mosques in the historic center were damaged to varying degrees. High-rise apartments in the upmarket part of town were riddled with cracks and rendered uninhabitable.

Istanbul’s eaters are spoiled by opportunities to eat great beans – and in the Turkish kitchen that means white beans, in particular, and if you’re lucky, the şeker fasulye type grown in Eastern Turkey’s İspir region. We’ve tried countless subtle variations on roughly the same recipe and, wiping mouth on sleeve after a bowl, declared that we could eat beans every single day of the week. We’ve spent a lot of time comparing almost identical-tasting Black Sea-style beans and hunted down those that are harder to categorize. Taking part in the bean discourse is a great pleasure of ours and we are not alone in doing so. Turkish newspapers regularly run features analyzing the baked bean, featuring inserts ranking the best beans, nationally, by a panel of judges. It’s a gas. In this roundup we’ve compiled our favorite beans in different styles. Though the gold standard achieved by standouts Hüsrev and Fasuli is widely agreed to be the best in show, we’ve included a couple of quirky beaneries in our list of favorites, because, in reality, you can’t eat the same beans every day.

It’s fairly common for a son to claim his mother’s cooking as the best (especially in Turkey), but how often does he open a restaurant for her? Cihan knew a good thing when he opened Kitelimmi Kitel Burger in the Kıztaşı neighborhood of Fatih. Not only is the food delicious, but his immi (mom) Ümit cooks up fare you can’t get many other places in Istanbul. Ümit hails from the city of Batman, and the menu at Kitelimmi reflects dishes from nearby Siirt. Food from that southeastern region tends to favor meat, chilis, spices and sour flavors – a reflection in part of Arab influence that goes back generations ( a heritage which Ümit’s family also claims). On the menu here is pırtıke, a spinach soup thick with chickpeas and rice in a thick, dark broth tart with nar ekşisi and sumac.

Upon hearing about a restaurant run by Turks from Bulgaria serving the specialties of Turkey's northwestern neighbor, we decided to make a beeline to Istanbul's Bağcılar district, where the neighborhood of Güneşli is home to a population largely composed of ethnic Turks with roots in Bulgaria. As soon as we arrived at Deliorman Kebapçısı and saw the photos of kebapçe and Shopska salad and an interior that looked just like the folksy home-style restaurants of Plovdiv and Sofia, we knew it was worth the hour-plus journey, which involved two metro rides and a fairly lengthy walk. Nural Can runs Deliorman Kebapçısı with his father-in-law and two other relatives.

Entering Mandy Meydan, a Yemeni restaurant in Başakşehir, a middle-class neighborhood of gated communities in Istanbul, we encountered a dizzying cluster of cubicles, each holding diners seated on a carpeted floor and eating family style. Amid the din of laughter and clanging metal platters, we quietly called out for our Yemeni friend Abdo. He opened the door to our jalsa, or sitting room, and welcomed us in to rest on the floor. As we shifted around hulking pillows and colorful cushions to prepare for our feast, Abdo, always-smiling, asked us what we would like. Mandi from Hadramout, zurbian from Aden, or fahsa from Sana’a? The list went on. “Open the menu and look. It’s a culinary map of Yemen,” he said with a toothy grin.

Despite 2022 being shaped by Turkey's deep economic crisis, Istanbul's restaurant scene remained resilient amid three-digit inflation and prices that seemed to increase every other day. Nevertheless, many bars, restaurants and tavernas stayed full as people turned to food and drink to help cope. With all Covid-19 restrictions removed, the sector enjoyed its best year since 2019 after being dealt a heavy blow by the pandemic in its first two years. As always, Istanbul remains an infinitely exciting to discover and eat, and choosing the top highlights of our culinary adventures was no small feat! 

A small group of sommeliers, oenophiles, and at least one intrepid food and beverage writer are gathered outside Grape Wine Boutique in Istanbul’s Teşvikiye neighborhood. More than once does a passing car feel the need to honk as the crowd, tasting glasses in hand, spills into the narrow street from the even more narrow sidewalk. As the first cork is pulled, a nervous energy spreads among the group.  We’ve gathered to taste the first official vintage of Mesashuna Wines, the only licensed winery in Turkey’s northeastern Artvin province, a rugged region not far from the border with Georgia.

The area around Mis (meaning “Pleasant-Smelling”), Kurabiye (“Cookie”) and Süslü Saksı (“Fancy Flowerpot”) Streets is as eclectic and appealing as these monikers would suggest, at least as far as we're concerned. This corner in the backstreets of Istanbul's Beyoğlu district is home to a trifecta of our favorite local haunts: Müşterek, its sister meyhane, Meclis, and a bar on the floor above, called Marlen. It’s also an area that has maintained the gritty yet lively character of the city's longtime entertainment hub in spite of profound changes that have threatened to strip it of that title.

In Turkish popular lore, the residents of Kilis, a town in Southeast Turkey near the Syrian border, are known for two things: kebab-making and smuggling. We haven’t been to Kilis, so we can’t vouch for the smuggling bit (although these days the town is featured regularly in the headlines as a hub for fighters being hustled across the border into Syria). But based on the food we’ve tried at Öz Kilis, a wonderful little spot on a quiet backstreet in Fatih run by two Kilis natives, we can report that the kebab-making reputation is well-deserved. Not just any kebab, mind you. Clearly an unorthodox and clever lot, the people of Kilis have a distinctly different approach to cooking meat. While a wide swath of humanity stretching from the Balkans to the Hindu Kush makes their kebabs by putting meat on a skewer and cooking it over a fire, the people of Kilis are famous for their “pan kebab,” a thin disc of ground meat that is cooked in a shallow metal dish that’s put in the oven.