Despite the bitter January cold, surging cases of Omicron and roaring inflation, Istanbul seemed its usual vibrant self on a recent Friday night: Our first choice restaurant was fully booked, even in its expanded space, and the new neighborhood ocakbaşı where we ended up bustled pleasantly, with every seat taken at the large counter encircling the grill. But appearances can be deceiving. “Meyhanes are still full, but people are eating less, drinking less; they can’t afford to consume like they did before,” says chef Aliye Gündüzalp, one of the owners of Müşterek meyhane in Beyoğlu.

Izmir’s quintessential sandwich, the kumru (the Turkish word for turtle dove), derives its name from the birdlike shape of the elegant, curved roll in which it is served. Throughout the Aegean coastal city, there are two varieties of this ubiquitous sandwich: One is served fresh from a cart with a slice of local tulum peynir (sharp white sheep’s cheese), tomatoes and optional green pepper. The other version is a greasy, salty and downright decadent configuration of grilled sucuk, salami, thinly sliced hot dog strips, two types of cheese, pickles, tomatoes and occasionally ketchup and mayo, dwarfing its humble predecessor. While the simpler kumru dates back to the mid-19th century, it was in the 1940s that sandwich shops started grilling them up with sausage and melted cheese.

Being an expat means learning to live without a lot of comforts that we ordinarily take for granted back home – things like bagels, ripe Haas avocados, extra-dry Martinis, corn tortillas and enforced traffic laws. Sometimes we meet people who have a hard time adjusting to a life without Pop-Tarts and spend their leisure time whining about everything that’s not like home. Other times you meet a person like Andrew Moffatt. A physicist by education, Andy was crunching numbers as a bank analyst in his native Australia when it dawned on him that there was a hell of a lot more to life than making PowerPoint presentations and status reports. He turned his back on the safe and predictable career and spent the next four years traveling the world, picking up cooking tips along the way.

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. Here, currency is traded in a scrum that resembles the pit of the Chicago Board of Trade, gold coins are purchased from miniscule jewelry shops for an upcoming circumcision fête, and lunch is prepared according to the Anatolian convention that calls for a wood-burning oven and a squadron of traditional bakers.

Surrounded by construction sites, Salı Pazarı – literally “Tuesday Market” – is a huge open-air bazaar in Kadıköy, a district on the Asian side. This sprawling market, held on Tuesdays and Fridays, is a snapshot of life in Istanbul: old ladies plow through crowds, their trolleys overflowing with groceries; vendors scream at the top of their lungs; and cars rocket down the highway along the front side of the market. In addition to being a litmus test of Turkey’s economic state and the general mood of the people, the market and the produce showcased on its stands reflect the changes in the seasons. In fact, as spring has been struggling to assert itself this year, only a few stands are stocked with the typical spring products on the sunny but cold April morning that we visit.

Fall may be on its way, but some vendors in the Bazaar quarter are stretching out the last days of summer with their breakfast of watermelon. Of course their kahvaltı spread features many of the usual suspects – tomatoes, cucumbers, white cheese, olives, tea – but the watermelon is the true star of this morning meal.

“Two kilos five liraaa! Two kilos five liraaa!” bellowed a young and exuberant vendor of tomatoes to the ongoing stream of frugal-minded shoppers making their way through the snaking Tarlabaşı Sunday Market. Hundreds of sellers of fresh produce, dairy, seafood, kitchenware, clothing, smuggled tobacco, jewelry, fresh baked goods and numerous other items set up side by side in the central Istanbul quarter of Tarlabaşı every Sunday, weaving an extended path down a backstreet that incorporates both unbridled chaos and strict organization. It is just one of hundreds of similar weekly semt pazarları, the beloved Istanbul neighborhood bazaars that offer some of the cheapest prices on the widest variety of goods the city has to offer, while at the same time serving as a critical element in maintaining the vitality of Istanbul neighborhood life.

For years we’ve looked into every Indonesian nook and cranny in New York, yet we always discover something new at the monthly Indonesian bazaar at the St. James Episcopal Church. We’re not surprised. Indonesia, the fourth-most-populous country in the world, comprises some 17,000 islands that stretch over a vast archipelago of diverse culinary habitats. We’ve tasted dozens of dishes and witnessed dozens more, but there must be so many soups, and stews, and fritters, and fishcakes that we have yet to set our eyes on – not to mention desserts that can be as bright as any jungle butterfly.

Our Bazaar walk wouldn't be complete without a stop or two at one of Istanbul's countless classic tea kiosks!

Our Bazaar walk in Istanbul starts with a traditional breakfast featuring Eastern Anatolian specialties, before exploring and indulging in some of the best eats in and around the world's most iconic covered market. 

Fresh Turkish tea is taken very seriously everywhere throughout the country, particularly in places like the Grand Bazaar where thousands of shopkeepers work long hours. Of course, the country's most popular beverage is an important fixture of our walks. 

Pide is an oven-baked, boat-shaped favorite laden with cheese and often a variety of meats and vegetables, and we sample some of Istanbul's best on our Bazaar walk.

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.

The biggest döner kebap in town with Asım Usta, building his döner fresh every morning since 1973! If you come for late lunch or dinner, you're too late! Locals start to eat this around 10.30 am. Very popular in our Born on the Bosphorus walk.