Ciya Sofrasi was a culinary experience unlike anything I’ve ever known, a cultural immersion of the highest and most thrilling order.

Ciya Sofrasi is a traditional Turkish restaurant located on the Asian side of the Bosphorous in Istanbul. If you take the ferry boat from Bisiktas to Kadakoy and walk up the hill you will eventually end up at one the three restaurants called Ciya Sofrasi.  There are three restaurants all with the same name and all on the same block–right across the street from each other.  The reason there are three is that the place is so popular they need three separate restaurants to accommodate everyone for lunch and dinner.  I went on off hours to avoid the crush.  If you have trouble finding the place just ask anyone on the street and they will point you there.  Everyone I asked was more than happy to show me the way, and they always followed it up by telling me what a great place it is to eat.

The owner and head chef of Ciya ( as it is referred to by the locals) is devoted to preserving the art of Turkish cooking.  if there is one thing I noticed in Istanbul it was a desire by chefs to be taken seriously by the “Western” world.  Ciya is proudly and brilliantly counter to that way of thinking, eschewing foams, broths and fusion cuisine to focus on fresh herbs, grains and meat dishes that have been produced in Turkey for centuries before anyone with a culinary degree ever showed up on the scene.  Eating at Ciya is like being transported to a Turkish village and fed the food that has sustained and nourished the people of Turkey for centuries.  It is authentic, and to me that is the greatest achievement any chef can hope for.  I can’t possibly do the place justice because I am not conversant enough in Turkish cuisine.  But I know good food when I taste it.  Suffice it to say the food was exquisite.

The wait staff was incredibly helpful and more than happy to make recommendations.  When my waiter suggested I try the pickled white thyme salad I was more than happy to oblige. The flavor of the dish almost knocked me off my chair.  The same went for the babaganouge, a dish I have eaten more times than I can count, yet at Ciya it had a pillow-y texture I’ve rarely encountered and that comes only from perfectly ripe eggplants, with a slight edge of smokey bitterness that told me the eggplant had been roasted over wood–a simple dish brilliantly done.  What more can you ask for?

The desert was the coup de grace of the meal, a melange of candied fruits and vegetables that sounds boring but was completely mind-blowingly incredible.  The candied deserts included, olives, (Yes, candied green olives!) black walnuts, pumpkin and lemons.  The candied fruits had all managed to maintain their individual flavors, colors and textures while at the same time they had been transformed into these magically crunchy, soft, jelly-like desserts.  I imagine the Sultans ate a dessert very similar.  Words cannot describe the thrill of biting into a candied slice of pumpkin that still tastes like pumpkin. The olives, which I was certain would be a misstep, were perfection.  I laughed at the experience–so startling and unbelievable did it seem.

I dream of returning.