Demystifying the Turkish meyhane

In Rome, it’s pasta. In Paris, it’s bistro fare and sauces. What springs to mind when it comes to dining out in Istanbul?

For me, a delectable night out begins with a multi-course meal at a type of tavern known as a meyhane (pronounced may-HAH-nay), and a few glasses of raki, a traditional Turkish drink that’s similar to the Greek ouzo.

But if you’ve never negotiated your way through a street crowded with these taverns, this carnivalesque scene may feel a bit intimidating. Musicians are strolling. Customers are dancing. Vendors are hawking everything from icy raw almonds on a tray to lukewarm bottles of fake Johnnie Walker.

It’s Fellini, if Fellini had been Turkish.

Your first hurdle is to choose which meyhane.

Several are clustered around the streets of Kumkapi and Tunel, but we usually venture to a street called Nevizade, pushing past the various barkers calling out “Lady, very nice fish here!” to a place called Kadir’in Yeri, or Kadir’s Place, which features items that reflect the Greek and Armenian history of the neighborhood.

The meal begins with cold mezes like a roasted eggplant and tomato salad, watercress in garlicky yogurt, and the perfect accompaniment to raki: plates of white cheese and green melon.

The waiter brings a big tray to your table and you point to what you want. After these, you might start to feel full, but pace yourself. Still to come are the hot appetizers, the salad of fresh vegetables and arugula and a main dish of grilled fresh fish, or lamb, or chicken kabobs.

Dessert usually takes the form of a seasonal fruit platter followed by a Turkish coffee, bitter or sweet.

Now, a few words, and another video, about that firewater called raki:

It’s a strong, clear liquid, distilled from raisins, grapes, figs or even plums, and aged in oak barrels. Its distinctive scent comes from anise seeds. If you just want to try it, order a “tek,” or single raki. To plunge straight in, a 30 cl bottle is more than a good start for two people and should run about 30 Turkish lira.

This is the beverage that macho men drink in turkey, although plenty of women partake, too. I hated my first one, but loved the second.

The fun comes in the way raki is served. It’s about 50 percent alcohol by volume, but is meant to be diluted with water and ice. The fact that it turns cloudy when water is added earned it the knickname “lion’s milk.”

In terms of brand names, Yeni Raki is everywhere (even sold by the Turkish Airlines flight attendants as their duty free cart rolls down the aisle.) And it’s fine. But if you can find it, try the more up-market Tekirdag, named for a city on the Marmara coast west of Istanbul.

A note about “fake” booze. Don’t waste your money on the stuff sold on the street. In 2005, more than 20 people died from drinking bootleg raki.

Meantime, an IHT colleague, Carter Dougherty of the Frankfurt bureau, recently visited Istanbul and had this to say about his own raki encounter:

After pondering the meaning of life over a tiny glass of tea in Istanbul, reach for something stronger when it is time to eat. Raki, the aniseed-based liquor that is Turkey’s national (alcoholic) drink, will drive you to a higher plateau than some sugary tea.

Raki is in some sense, pastis (tres francais), ouzo (Greek) and sambuca (Italian). And I can’t help but wonder whether there is some distant connection to waragi, the Ugandan spirit common to East Africa. But waragi – best described as equal parts gin and hairspray – always gave me vicious headaches.

Do we have any serious drinkers out there willing to stand up for raki over pastis, sambuca or ouzo?

You’ll find that all sorts of connoisseurs have peppered the Internet with explorations of how best to enjoy raki.

I had a fantastic meal at Develi, a restaurant perched on a marina on the Asian side of Istanbul. Develi might be best described as a kind of bistro that happens to serve Turkish food – a raucous atmosphere with waiters who will shove food at you as long as you are willing.

And they’ll pour your raki too.

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