Talking Turkey

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by Lauren McCutcheon

What do you know about Turkish food? It's possible you've chewed up the sugar-dusted, pistachio-studded candy called Turkish delight. Maybe you've sampled thick Turkish coffee, or raki, a licorice-tasting liquor.

Culinary purists say there are three major cuisines in the world: French, Chinese and Turkish. (Where that leaves sushi is anybody's guess.)

Also, Turkish street food is among the world's finest: shish kabobs, savory pies called borek, stuffed mussels, sesame galette pastries and a grilled combo of lamb intestines wrapped around sheep's tail called kokorec.

Even more remarkable: France's croissant is actually Turkish. So is Greece's baklava. (In a backward linguistic twist, turkey is not from Turkey.)

The hallmark of Turkish food is simplicity and freshness. Eggplant is supposed to taste like eggplant. Lamb tastes like lamb. Bread is eaten the day it's baked.

Friends who've traveled to Turkey rave about the native hospitality.

In November daughter-and-mother restaurateurs Aysa Atay and
Melek Basaran moved their Authentic Turkish Cuisine restaurant
from a Jersey strip mall to a former Old City bar, changing
its name to Konak. (Konak means mansion in Turkish.)

Konak has 19-foot-high ceilings, white walls trimmed in pine,
antique clothing and cloth as decorative art, and an enormous
mirror hanging high against the back wall.

High in the front of the dining room, an inaccessible furnished balcony resembles a traditional Turkish mansion courtyard.

Despite Konak's homey efforts, its oversized surroundings dwarf diners.

Servers wear traditional black vests. Ours has a cool, serious air--not inhospitable, but not really friendly. He delivers a saucer of quince preserves. Preserved quince resembles a cross between poached pear and cherry jam: sweet, tart and red.
A basket of pita arrives, too. It's warm but obviously stale.

Many Turkish restaurants begin meals with a trayful of meze, small appetizers diners choose dim sum-style. This sounds like fun--but Konak requires patrons to order meze from the menu.

The hummus is good despite the pita. Fine and creamy, with a crisscross of paprika and sumac powder and a center pool of olive oil, it's light on the garlic and heavy on tahini.

A petite grilled eggplant salad consists of crouton-size cubes of aubergine and smaller cubes of tomato, green pepper and onion. It's smoky, touched with lemon juice, and tasty. But at $5.75, it's no bargain.

Our server says they're out of a popular eggplant dish called imam bayildi--translated on the menu as "priest fainted."

They do, though, have sigara borek. Sigara means cigarette. Borek is the phyllo-like pastry wrapping. These golden cigars are delicious. The thin hollow columns of freshly fried dough hold a simple savory mix of feta and chopped parsley.

Between courses, the server doesn't replace our silverware, which seems strange considering Konak's attempted elegance and non-strip-mall pricing.

Entrees are uniformly good. Plates arrive together and inspire a pleasant flurry of family-style eating.

Four salt-and-peppered lamb chops, their ends trimmed in foil fringe, are absolutely luscious. The curiously named "potato pear" accompaniment is actually a pear-shaped hash brown covered in breadcrumbs.

A combo plate yields delicate ribbons of "Turkish gyro," aka minced and sliced lamb and veal; a skewer of charred discs of juicy, flavorful lamb shoulder; cumin-laced beef and lamb kofta patties with pink centers flecked with parsley; and grilled chicken that pales next to its heartier companions.

Alongside this meat fest, a grilled tomato and fiery Turkish long green pepper acts as contrast: one sweet and acidic, one fiery hot.

Imam firin--"priest in the oven"--is a steak-like slice of roasted eggplant bathed in a subtly sweet, lightly garlicky tomato sauce dotted with pine nuts and blanketed in mild mozzarella, with a side of deliciously buttery yellow couscous.

Dessert begins with a menu displaying food photos. The main menu has food photos too. But the dessert shots are especially unpolished and out of place.

The cold milk-based short-grain rice pudding, baked earlier in its ceramic serving dish, is bland, with an unpleasantly charred top. One spoonful is enough.

The coffee, though, is as good as this stuff gets. Thick, perfectly foamy and sweetened to order, it's served by an unassuming, jolly fellow whose countenance ought to be a model for the rest of the staff.

When the coffee is finished, thick grounds remain. Flip the cup over onto the saucer. Allow it to cool. Look in the cup.

Read your fortune.

I really hope this new place does well. The food's mostly excellent. If the atmosphere were a little warmer and the prices a dollar or two lower, Konak would not just be the only Turkish restaurant in Philadelphia--it would be my favorite.