with a pencil and an appetite

Be warned, my friends, this post may make your stomach groan. The first sketch was a random stopover before hitting up the Archaeological Museum, but the second was penciled at one of my favourite dürüm places, Dürümzade. Anthony Bourdain likes it too. A dürüm is a wrap sandwich which is pretty hard to get wrong in Istanbul, but there are certainly some places which stand out above others. The crew at Dürümzade know how to season their kebabs to perfection, and rub their lavash (the bread component in this equation) with a pleasantly spicy paste before loading it up with onions, parsley, tomatoes, and the meat. The greatest part of the dürüm is that last five centimeters, where the meat juices lovingly mix with the tomato and the spices— I can't resist flipping my dürüm over to skip ahead to this part.

That night, while attempting to lick my fingers clean with as much grace as I could muster, I debated over whether or not I should sketch the man across the tiny room, who was dining on a bowl of soup. He was out of his mind— barely present, and this worried me a little as his reaction to being sketched might not be positive, if I was discovered.

He was so stratospheric, he never noticed.

light lines and washes

I'm working on not overworking my sketches; keeping them light, minimal and free.

danish cafés and the nationalmuseet

in the city

Wandering around the bustling streets of Athens, I came upon some lovely moments.



And then I treated myself to a mouth-watering gyros— the Greek version of the Turkish döner, or Middle Eastern shawarma. The major difference between gyros and döner, is that in Greece, the pita is dipped in oil and lightly grilled, not the healthiest but definitely the tastiest! The Greeks also drizzle tzatziki in the sandwich, whereas the Turks keep their döner sauceless. I was in love— oh, and by the way, the correct pronunciation is closest to "yee-ros." Expect looks of confusion or disdain when you ask for a "jai-ro."

from carrot cake to kokoreç

I found a new little café in Cihangir to hang out in, but as I was off in dreamland, I didn't get the name. Right down the street from Hanımeli on Ağahamam Caddesi, I treated myself to a scrumptious lemony carrot walnut cake and a perfect Americano. I often feel like I have no time to read anymore, and have discovered that the time magically appears when I find myself in a cosy café with a book. This will have to be my new haunt.

I'm going to take this post in a new direction. Now, I pride myself on trying just about anything when it comes to food. I haven't come across anything I don't like— except cantaloupe and kidneys. I have been known to enjoy a lengua taco on occasion— that's a beef tongue taco, or some tripe soup, and I'm mad for sea urchins and monkfish liver. For some reason for the past year I've been resisting the urge to try a very popular and beloved Turkish dish, kokoreç.


What exactly is kokoreç? Pronounced "ko-ko-retch," it certainly doesn't sound very appealing— and the ingredients don't offer much to get uh, excited about either. Lamb kidneys, lungs, hearts, sweetbreads and intestines are all wrapped up in seasoned offal into a long tubular shape, and grilled on a spit. Sweetbreads are deceptive in name— there's nothing sweet or bready about the thymus and pancreas, and offal sounds well, awful— it's the entrails and leftover bits of an animal. So why would I want to eat this? Because it looks so good when the sandwich guy chops it all up with peppers and oregano on a griddle, and every Turk I have asked about it gets this far-off Homer Simpson-y look of craving in their eyes and drools, "Oooooooh... kokoreç!"

I had no idea when I woke up this morning, that today would be the day. Tia and Gyl were back in town, and they, braver than I, had already tried it and joined the kokoreç appreciation club. Feeling a bit silly for having lived here for over a year and never tasted it, I figured it was about time. We found a little stand boasting the dish that the EU wanted to ban out of fear of mad cow disease, and ordered three sandwiches.


So what was it like? A little chewy in parts, spicy, soft and flavourful— pretty good. There were definitely some bites that tasted more like organ meat than others, and there was the occasional kidney-flavour that I wasn't too keen on, but overall, not bad. I would have it again, and I suspect it goes nicely with beer or ayran, but I have to say it was the carrot cake that I'll remember fondly.

what's in a name?

The only place I can generally get a soy latte in Istanbul is at a Starbucks. I'm not a fan of Starbucks for several reasons, but mainly I just don't like the way the coffee tastes. Now, I know I am in a veritable coffee wonderland— and yes, there is nothing like a tiny, sweetened silty cup of Türk kahvesi, but sometimes I just want a paper cup of creamy soy and espresso.

The funny thing about ordering a drink at a Turkish Starbucks is that you can order it in Turkish, but the baristas call the drinks to each other in English; a "grande buzlu soya latte," as it is on the menu board, is yelled out as an "iced grande soya latte." If you order the drink in English to start with, the baristas will think you are a foreigner and speak only English to you.

Then they ask you for your name.

This has become a rather interesting experience, as there is no "Samantha" in Turkish. I have learned that the first two "a"s in my name sound more like the Turkish "e"— and there is no "th"— so I have seen my name attempted in a variety of ways:

Sementa
Semanta
Samenta
Cementa

To make things easier for everyone (and for a bit of fun), I've been trying out popular Turkish names: Lale, Sema, Deniz, Leyla, Hande— but today I was caught up in some daydream. Samantha slipped out, and I soon discovered "Sabanta" was scrawled in Sharpie on my paper cup.

Sabanta.

san francisco in sketches

errands

No errand-filled day can begin without a good hit of caffeine. I have been getting coffee from Issa and Sue at Coffee Cabin for over four years. Greeted with a smile and a story, my SF days would always start out happy. If you find yourself at the corner of Bush and Hyde, stop in and say hi to Issa. Get a coffee or a bagel and sit for a while.

In between errands, I stopped to get my hair cut by the most fantastic hairdresser I know, Zack at Backstage Salon on Polk. Zack has been responsible for my incredible hairstyles— seriously, people used to stop me on the street and ask me who did my hair. He is one of the nicest and most talented hairdressers I have ever met. When I first went in years ago, my hair was mid-way down my back. I told him he could do whatever he wanted. I walked out of the salon with the most stylish modern bob. I know hairdressers in Turkey are supposed to be amazing, but my experiences have been less than stellar, to put it lightly. I decided to wait to have Zack fix my 'do.


Rachel and I met up for frites and wine at Frjtz on Hayes Street. The fries here are so very close to the delicious frites that are served up in newsprint cones in Belgium. You have a delicious choice of dipping sauces and there are also some fantastic salads and crepes to choose from. I really only ever went for the frites. Hayes Street is a quiet, fun street with supercool shops and restaurants. I highly recommend taking a stroll down Hayes if you visit SF. It isn't as mad as Haight, quieter and funkier than Union, and smaller than Polk.

victory in a sandwich

The weather has been miserable in Istanbul, and having been spoiled by San Francisco's glorious climate, I am having a tough time adjusting. I desperately want to go out for a walk, but the biting wind and icy rain is not exactly enticing. To avoid cabin fever, I went out to walk around Istinye Park mall and have a quiet lunch.

I am at the point where I can read and understand 90% of a menu in Turkish, so when I saw the words for "fig" and "cheese"— two of my favourite things on this planet— I knew I would be happy. I learned from the tartine I ordered that the word for goat is keçi, as the cheese was of course, goat cheese. Discovering a new word in a language is a victory, I get so excited that I want to use it immediately and tell everyone I know about my new word. Which is of course, what I am doing now. Oddly enough I learned the word for water buffalo yesterday: manda. There are these yoghurt vendors on the side of the road by the forest that sell terracotta and plastic jars of manda yoğurdu, yoghurt made from the milk of water buffalo. I cannot wait to try it— I've been told the yoghurt is so thick, you can scape it with a knife! It seems the key to my learning a language is through my stomach.

Please click on the images to see them larger.

nothing much

Just a
quick sketch
in a different style
in a Starbucks.