March 4, 2018

Galata, Istanbul. June, 2007

One of the frustrating things about visiting the wonderful markets on my travels is that I’m usually without a kitchen in which to prepare the beautiful produce I find. Not so here in Istanbul. I was staying in the Galata Residence, a 19th-century apartment building converted into a budget hotel that offers rooms and suites with small kitchens. Not that anything in this breakfast of mine needed cooking. Three kinds of in-season and perfectly ripe fruit -- the season’s first cherries, famed Turkish apricots and a sour green plum called erik. The thickest and creamiest yogurt. And two kinds of baked goods purchased from a nearby cart after my early morning run -- açme, a yeast-risen, brioche-like donut, and poğaça, a sesame-studded flaky pastry filled with cheese, meat or black olives. Truth be told, there was a third, simit, a crusty, seed-covered “Turkish bagel,” but I ate it before I thought to take this picture. Also not shown, the tea I’d made, thanks to the hotplate in my kitchen.

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