<p dir="ltr" fr-original-style="" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 1em; box-sizing: border-box;">Any person who has sat around a table with Turkish people has heard the lament that tomatoes don’t taste as good as they used to. The mystery of these tasteless tomatoes eludes me as older generations mock my naivete at enjoying a tomato that is doomed to be subpar. These days, more people are yearning for the tomatoes of before than there are good tomatoes.</p><p dir="ltr" fr-original-style="" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 1em; box-sizing: border-box;">It’s the nostalgia effect, a psychological phenomenon. Our brains are wired to view the past through rose-colored glasses or plump, umami-rich, and red-colored ones, so much so that nostalgic thoughts can trigger chemical reactions that lead to positive feelings, making reminiscing a mood-lifting exercise.</p><h2 dir="ltr" fr-original-style="" style="margin: 0px; color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.85); font-weight: 500; padding: 0px; box-sizing: border-box;">“If I have a child one day, I can explain to them what a cassette tape is and what letters are, and explain the meaning of ‘print’ or even show them. But I’ll never be able to tell them what a tomato used to be, what it truly was.”</h2><h2 dir="ltr" fr-original-style="" style="margin: 0px; color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.85); font-weight: 500; padding: 0px; box-sizing: border-box;">—Cozuk Dusunurluk, 2012, entry from Eksisozluk.com, Turkiye’s most popular online forum</h2><p dir="ltr" fr-original-style="" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 1em; box-sizing: border-box;">Recent studies in the realm of music have explored this effect. The research, “The power of nostalgia: Age and preference in popular music” (2022), revealed a truth we intuitively understood when Spotify’s bewildered algorithm mixed 1990s Turkish Pop with 2020s Turkish rap in the same playlist. The songs from our youth, the ones we listened to between the ages of 10 and 20, will remain our favorites. As we reach our mid-thirties, our appreciation for new songs gradually wanes. That’s why my peers can dance to Tarkan but can't muster the same energy as contemporary Turkish music celebrities. Some might even throw tomatoes at me for this comparison, the tasteless ones.</p><p dir="ltr" fr-original-style="" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 1em; box-sizing: border-box;">The nostalgia effect applies to restaurants as well. When I delve into discussions that always place Istanbul's best restaurants in the past, an image emerges. Younger people in Istanbul praise the dining scene's innovation and alignment with global trends, expressing excitement for its future. Meanwhile, those older often speak of a bygone golden age in Istanbul, even if it may not coincide with their childhoods. So, when&nbsp;really&nbsp;was the golden age of Istanbul's restaurants?</p><h2 dir="ltr" fr-original-style="" style="margin: 0px; color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.85); font-weight: 500; padding: 0px; box-sizing: border-box;">Which Istanbul, which restaurants?&nbsp;</h2><p dir="ltr" fr-original-style="" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 1em; box-sizing: border-box;">Writing a history of Istanbul's restaurants is challenging for two reasons: first, Istanbul has been a dynamic hub for literal millennia. As an urban entity that has evolved continuously, establishing a straightforward gastronomic chronology for the city is challenging despite its longstanding status as a significant culinary hub due to its geopolitical significance. But let's narrow our focus to modern times, even just the last few decades. Still, it's complicated. And that’s the second reason: Istanbul defies a singular definition.</p><p dir="ltr" fr-original-style="" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 1em; box-sizing: border-box;">What should come to mind when we think of Istanbul's restaurants? Should we emphasize the first places to experiment with Anatolian cuisine in a Western sense and the chef-driven fine dining establishments? Should we consider minority-owned businesses in the pre-population exchange with Greece? Are the iconic taverns that changed hands in the 1950s and today’s <em fr-original-style="" style="box-sizing: border-box;">meyhane</em> spots lining up mass-produced <em fr-original-style="" style="box-sizing: border-box;">mezzes</em> under the same cultural umbrella? Do we include the fish restaurants all the way in Büyükçekmece, or are we just talking about a few streets in three or four districts along the Bosphorus? Should the equation include the quick-to-die fame of <em fr-original-style="" style="box-sizing: border-box;">lokma</em> vendors, the struggle of sushi chains in malls, or the rise of “halal clubs” as conservative sectors gain economic power?</p><p dir="ltr" fr-original-style="" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 1em; box-sizing: border-box;">Like many in Turkish food media, this article will cater to the secular upper-middle class's palate. Artisanal eateries, neighborhoods that are geographically central but culturally on the fringes, and venues yet to become social media content will only be tangentially touched upon.</p><h2 dir="ltr" fr-original-style="" style="margin: 0px; color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.85); font-weight: 500; padding: 0px; box-sizing: border-box;">A brief history</h2><p dir="ltr" fr-original-style="" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 1em; box-sizing: border-box;">A city that has been an imperial capital for about a fifth of its known 8000-year history, intimately connected with natural resources and possessing a kaleidoscopic cultural diversity, is bound to host lavish tables. During the Byzantine era, it was a magnet for the ingredients of Thrace, the Aegean, and the Black Sea, making its culinary fame known. In the Ottoman era, it offered more than just the grandeur of its most powerful empire. Foreign visitors, diplomats, and merchants were amazed at and inspired by the tables of the royal circles and wealthy pashas.&nbsp;</p><p dir="ltr" fr-original-style="" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 1em; box-sizing: border-box;">As the Ottoman era waned, gastronomic winds began to blow from Europe. While Western culture took the lead in culinary matters and set the standards, Istanbul still attracted well-known cooks and pastry chefs, remaining a cultural and gastronomic destination. In Pera, champagne flowed next to oysters, and the pastries adorning bakeries became subjects of novels.</p><p dir="ltr" fr-original-style="" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 1em; box-sizing: border-box;">Even during the occupation, the city maintained its chicness. Yet, after losing its status as the capital to Ankara and Turkiye entering a repair phase, Istanbul lost its international appeal somewhat. Still, it continued to serve through a period supported by its ethnic diversity and the strong artisan culture of the former capital.</p><p dir="ltr" fr-original-style="" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 1em; box-sizing: border-box;">In the following decades, complaints of gourmands seem similar to today’s laments. Looking at the monographs of Sermet Muhtar Alus, a food chronicler from the 1930s onward, we see recurring moans of eateries where "the bills were unbearable" and eating "wasn't for the faint-walleted." In the 1940s, he criticized mid-brow restaurants for losing their quality. He famously said, "The best meals come from the hands of housewives," criticizing chefs from Bolu, a statement that would still resonate if made today.</p><p dir="ltr" fr-original-style="" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 1em; box-sizing: border-box;">Alus’ reflections on not experiencing the truly delicious days of iconic restaurants, like Ali Efendi Lokanta’s heydays during the reign of Abdulhamit II, show that nostalgia is not a new invention. Istanbul's history is filled with those who claim “Istanbul's restaurants were better in the past.” It's worth noting that those who can leave such a record are usually over 35. Young people rarely have the chance to write history’s annals.</p><h2 dir="ltr" fr-original-style="" style="margin: 0px; color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.85); font-weight: 500; padding: 0px; box-sizing: border-box;">“To be a 'world culinary city' today, a city must have both excellent traditional restaurants and a sufficient number of high-level, innovative, modern restaurants.”</h2><p dir="ltr" fr-original-style="" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 1em; box-sizing: border-box;">Then came military coups, a country turning inward, and life getting more complex. With Özal and neoliberalism opening Türkiye to the world in the 1980s and boosting tourism, culinary life began to flourish anew. As we get closer to the present, our criteria for assessing Istanbul change. Globalization brings about comparisons of cities on a worldwide scale. Food writer and once-member of the 50 Best Restaurants jury, Cemre Torun, sums up the new global criteria nicely:<em fr-original-style="" style="box-sizing: border-box;">&nbsp;“To be a 'world culinary city' today, a city must have both excellent traditional restaurants and a sufficient number of high-level, innovative, modern restaurants.”</em></p><p dir="ltr" fr-original-style="" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 1em; box-sizing: border-box;">After opening its windows to the West, Istanbul has enjoyed a refreshing breeze, bringing modern restaurants into vogue. In the late 90s and 2000s, the city's menus blossomed with dishes going beyond cliché continental dishes to embrace fusion. These were influenced by global culture, sometimes involving foreign chefs, and used local ingredients in global recipes. Perhaps the most iconic restaurant of the era was Changa. Ranked 39th on the 50 Best list in 2002, Changa was a representative of fusion cuisine in Istanbul. According to the former editor of Akşam newspaper and journalist Nurcan Akad, <em fr-original-style="" style="box-sizing: border-box;">"At that time, it was a rare environment where both the bohemian and the elite mingled, and where tourists flocked."</em></p><h2 dir="ltr" fr-original-style="" style="margin: 0px; color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.85); font-weight: 500; padding: 0px; box-sizing: border-box;">“International-style restaurants are too similar to those abroad. What always makes Istanbul interesting is the cuisine that comes from the hands of artisan chefs.”&nbsp;</h2><p dir="ltr" fr-original-style="" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 1em; box-sizing: border-box;">Only in the last two decades did Turkish restaurants, led by the vision of chefs and their global sense of cuisine, introduce innovative menus that brought Istanbul's restaurants closer to the world stage. This approach enabled Turkiye to tune into the zeitgeist: local ingredients and local cuisine. Mikla, a perfect example of the concept of a chef restaurant in Istanbul, was a pioneer in the city. According to Torun, <em fr-original-style="" style="box-sizing: border-box;">“Mehmet (Gürs) was the most systematic and comprehensive in approaching local ingredients and cuisine under the banner of 'New Anatolian Cuisine.'”</em> While Kadıköy's famous restaurant Çiya might have pioneered regional flavors in Istanbul, Mikla took this approach speaking the lingua franca of the West.</p><p dir="ltr" fr-original-style="" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 1em; box-sizing: border-box;">However, food writer and 17-year Istanbul resident Anya von Bremzen believes that <em fr-original-style="" style="box-sizing: border-box;">“international-style restaurants are too similar to those abroad. What always makes Istanbul interesting is the cuisine that comes from the hands of artisan chefs.”&nbsp;</em>Von Bremzen highlights the period when Istanbul was named the European Capital of Culture in 2010, and the Istancool (later IST. Festival) event attracted the Western art world as a central era for gastronomy. This is when Istanbul makes magazine covers worldwide, and Culinary Backstreets maps Istanbul's flavors street by street. The influx of visitors initially drawn by art soon embraced culinary exploration as a foundation for gastronomic discovery.</p><p dir="ltr" fr-original-style="" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 1em; box-sizing: border-box;">After the Gezi protests, followed by terrorism and a violent coup attempt, Turkiye had a somewhat strained relationship with its foreign guests for a while. Changa closed during the Gezi events, and its satellite restaurant, Müzedechanga, lasted until the end of 2016, the year of the coup attempt. Surviving restaurants, with dwindling foreign guests, had to rely on Turkish customers against rising prices, compromising their vision to keep afloat.</p><p dir="ltr" fr-original-style="" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 1em; box-sizing: border-box;">Post-pandemic, however, the winds turned again. Istanbul became the world’s most visited city in 2023, with the global traveler’s repressed desires to travel and dine out bursting onto the streets of Istanbul. Although criticizing the Michelin Guide has become an annual tradition for me, denying the benefits of foreign restaurant rating organizations coming to Turkiye would be absurd. The tire companies that boost optimism for Istanbul's culinary future and the ministries that pay whatever is necessary to bring guides to the country deserve their due.</p><p dir="ltr" fr-original-style="" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 1em; box-sizing: border-box;">After all, a sector's growth is not solely dependent on the passionate individuals within it. The commercial security that businesses feel has both short—and long-term benefits. Chefs in popular tourist spots can now afford to create bolder menus, work with costlier ingredients, and develop flavors. They can sustain longer partnerships with producers, thus ensuring consistent quality. They get the chance to present their identities and culinary visions without conforming to the majority’s taste preferences without the threat of going bankrupt.</p><p dir="ltr" fr-original-style="" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 1em; box-sizing: border-box;">Most importantly, they gain the power to retain talent that might otherwise have left the country. Every chef featured on foreign lists increases the number of customers, and before anything else, the young chefs are more likely to apply and stay longer in these star-studded restaurants. Working in a Michelin-starred restaurant carries international validity, a lifeline for our local eateries.</p><p dir="ltr" fr-original-style="" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 1em; box-sizing: border-box;">Perhaps it can be said that Istanbul’s restaurants have been saved. In an unstable economy, they no longer need to cater only to a small economic class interested in contemporary menus accompanied by wine. It’s easier for them to find their niche in a global clientele.</p><h2 dir="ltr" fr-original-style="" style="margin: 0px; color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.85); font-weight: 500; padding: 0px; box-sizing: border-box;">Where is the industry heading?</h2><p dir="ltr" fr-original-style="" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 1em; box-sizing: border-box;">The two biggest obstacles facing gastronomy in Turkiye are economic decline due to political corruption and bad economic policies and the government's promotion (if not imposition) of the Islamic lifestyle, which excludes alcohol—a fundamental pillar of gastronomy. These two macro obstacles lead in both the short and long term. Unfortunately, these are not issues the restaurant sector can resolve alone. The list goes on: cultural degradation, the shift from taste to visual aesthetics driven by social media, and changes in ingredients due to agricultural policy or climate change are just a few of the other factors knocking on the industry’s door.&nbsp;</p><p dir="ltr" fr-original-style="" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 1em; box-sizing: border-box;">Surely, it’s not all grim. Despite challenges like inflation, supply chain issues, expensive ingredients, brain drain, and taxes aimed at destroying local winemaking, Istanbul continues to produce a variety of values. On one side, there are severely underrepresented places rarely visited by anyone other than Paul Benjamin Osterlund (journalist-cum-voracious eater) and post-2000s migrant kitchens burgeoning in the backstreets of Istanbul, outside the coastal “secular zone.” On the other side, there is a proliferation of modern concepts that match their worldwide counterparts. Both familiar cliques are launching new menus with old chefs in new properties and the young cul-de-sac who are well connected to what’s happening abroad. Kaan Demirci, one of the chefs at Rutin, says,<em fr-original-style="" style="box-sizing: border-box;">&nbsp;“It’s now very easy for young chefs to follow what’s happening globally, which means we don’t lag in adopting new trends in Turkiye.”</em></p><h2 dir="ltr" fr-original-style="" style="margin: 0px; color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.85); font-weight: 500; padding: 0px; box-sizing: border-box;">Whatever the fortune holds</h2><p dir="ltr" fr-original-style="" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 1em; box-sizing: border-box;">So, what is the fate of Istanbul’s restaurants? Will our future be better than our past? Maybe in ten years, I’ll look back on the 2020s with nostalgia, misty-eyed as I recall the golden days of Smelt and Co., and the original location of Rutin, subject to the eye rolls of those born after the 2000s. Perhaps the young chefs growing up in today’s kitchens, riding the post-pandemic tourism wave and mastering global gastronomy via social media, will save me from the nostalgia effect.</p><p dir="ltr" fr-original-style="" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 1em; box-sizing: border-box;">Predicting the future of restaurants in a city with rapidly changing dynamics is like fortune-telling from coffee grounds. But I don’t think we’ll soon break our age-old habit of favoring the past. In other words, if you are under 35, the best days of Istanbul’s restaurants await you. Bon appétit. &nbsp;However, if you have already passed the halfway mark, you have experienced its golden years. I hope you enjoyed it.</p>

nostalgia ile ilgili hikayeler