Turkish Muse

The best advice I didn't take

Back in December 1998 I received a single piece of advice that, in retrospect, probably changed my life.

I was 16 years old and had just been accepted into the Rotary International Youth Exchange program. I had just found out that I would be going abroad for one year where I would live with a host family and attend high school in a foreign country.

Upon hearing the news, I holed up in my bedroom for two days. I lay on my bed, staring at the ceiling and listening to the same CD of Irish music over and over and over again. My father, bless his heart, knew I wasn't ill, at least not physically, but he let me stay home from school anyway.

In a way, I was panicked. I couldn't believe that I had actually been accepted into the program. My father, I think, was rightly confused. After all, I had just spent the past three months convincing him, and everyone else in my family, that going on exchange would be good for me, good for us as a family. I told them that I really wanted to do it, though at the time I had a hard time articulating the feeling in my gut that the year would be good for me and that I would have an experience like no other. I told my family that we would figure out how to pay for it, that I would get a summer job and save up money. That it was only for one year and that I would be coming back. That I would work hard at school so that I would graduate on time.

I had spent countless hours convincing my mother that nothing bad would happen to me, that everything would be okay, that she would be doing a good thing as a parent by letting me go.

So I can understand if they were confused about my immediate reaction when I responded to the good news not by jumping and cheering but by blaring the stereo for 48 hours and not speaking to anyone. It was during those two days that a very close family member at the time gave me a single piece of advice that I have not forgotten.

When in doubt, don't.

My young mind could not grasp the ramifications of what doing that would entail. I did not have the kind of wisdom that comes with age and experience to fully understand what the advice giver was truly saying.

But somewhere deep in my belly, deep inside my gut, I knew that I couldn't do it. Suddenly, NOT going seemed impossible. I couldn't say no to this amazing opportunity that I had worked so hard for. Somehow, I knew that saying no, that giving into my doubts, was not for me.

I think that I realized somehow, even though I couldn't articulate or understand it at the time, that really great things only happen when you don't give in to your doubts or your fear. After all, think about what the world would be like if people gave in to their doubts. How many novels would not have been written, medical advances not made, children not born, businesses not launched?

How many people stood in front of a precipice and said, "What the hell? Let's do it," and had the best experience of their life?

At this point in my life, I have had enough experiences to know, somewhat instinctively, what to do when I am plauged by self-doubt. When in doubt, don't. That advice rings true when, say, you're at a bar and beginning to see double and someone says, "Let's do shots!" Then, doubt is a good thing and you should probably head home. Or when the traffic light in Taksim technically says you can cross the street, but out of the corner of your eye you see a taxi speeding toward you, then, yeah, probably it's best to stay put for another minute.

But there are lots of times when it's better to say, "To hell with the naysayers. To hell with sitting on the sidelines and thinking you're not good enough. Let's so do this thing."

No matter what that thing is.

Where are you in the world? Are you in Turkey? If not, have you been to Turkey yet? That's a thing.

What one thing do you want to do? It's sitting there in the back of your mind, I know it, the novel you want to write, the yoga class you want to take, the garden you want to plant in the backyard, the chocolate soufle you want to learn how to make. It's time to push your self-doubt aside and get going.

What about me? you ask. Yes, I am doing something new, something I didn't think I could do last week but then kicked myself in the rear and said, "Of course you can! Now let's go!" But lest I ruin my luck, I think I'll keep it to myself for now. My fingers are crossed....

New York-style pizza

This ain't Turkish pizza. For one thing, it actually has tomato sauce on it. And it's no Pizza Hut either, with their cakey, doughy crust that makes me feel full at first bite.

Nope, Brooklyn Pizza, a new New York-style pizzeria in Gayrettepe, has got it down pat. Thin, crunchy crusts, real tomato sauce and cheese piled with fresh olives, mushrooms, peppers, corn and onions or "pepperoni" (sucuk) (two slices and a drink for 8.50 TL).

 

Oh, and you must try the sebzeli (vegetable) pizza, which is my favorite....

 

Is your mouth watering yet?

If you're feeling healthy, you can always go with salad, like the Akdeniz (4.50 TL)....

 

Just skip the balsamic vinaigrette dressing (seen in the lower right corner of the above photo), which my friends said tasted heavily of mayonnaise.

And be sure to leave room for dessert because Brooklyn Pizza makes the BEST cinnamon rolls (3 TL, including tea or coffee) I have had since the last time I ate one at Reading Terminal Market in Philly.....

 

And the best is yet to come. Sometime in the next few months, Brooklyn Pizza will unveil a new dessert, a chocolate pizza that tastes way better than it sounds. The crust is not too sweet and the chocolate is light and refreshing.

 

So what are you waiting for? Go! I work right nearby, so if you ever want to meet for lunch, I'm game! Email me!

Brooklyn Pizza

Yildiz Posta Caddesi No: 23 Gayrettepe

Tel: 0212 288 02 08/19

You can also order from them online at yemeksepeti

 

Göbeksiz adam, balkonsiz ev gibi

There is a saying in Turkish, which is also the title of this post, that a man without a belly is like a house without a balcony. I'm not going to quibble with the first part -- that's for each individual man, and his wife -- to figure out. But the second part is interesting. See, when we moved into our current apartment last July, we opted for a bigger space with a small balcony over a similarly priced apartment with a GORGEOUS view of the Bosphorous. Of course, that apartment was teeny tiny and I figured, rightly so, that I would prefer the space to the view.

But....

There is something to be said for a view. Any view.

That's the view from my friend's Sultanahmet terrace. She lives in a little house that has one room on each floor and the third floor (or fourth floor for the Americans) is not a roof but a lovely terrace with views over Sultanahmet's houses and the sea.

Would you like to see the view from my balcony? Okaaaayy....

That's the view if you look straight across from our balcony. You'll see that we are not alone in this, however.

You'll also notice that people use their balconies for a variety of things other than sitting and sipping tea....

But I want to do something nice with my balcony. After all, it is the only outdoor space we have and I'd like to make the best of it. So I have asked the good people at Apartment Therapy, where I spend an insane amount of time perusing design ideas, to help me figure out ways to utilize the long, narrow space best.

Lots of people have commented so far (you can see photos of our actual balcony there), and there are some great ideas there. Panel curtains? Sheers? Big cushions and tall plants? I'm thinking a small table and two chairs, maybe a rug and some Ottoman pillows, candles, string lights.....

What do you think? Do you have a balcony without a view? If so, what the heck do you do with it?

Kitty lovin'

The thing about picking up street cats and taking them home is, you never know what you're going to get.

For those of you who are new to Turkish Muse, I should tell you upfront that I have four cats. In my house. Who sleep on my bed. Yeah, I know it's crazy.

We've now had Frankie in our home for almost eight months and it has been quite a ride. I picked up Frankie Jr. (even though he's from the 'Bul he's got a South Philly name) on the street on my way to work one day last summer and somehow, a few weeks later I, uh, kinda....um, brought him home. He wasn't exactly the prettiest cat I'd ever seen but he was awfully sweet.

What, you don't remember what he looked like before?

Oh.

Well, let me refresh your memory.

Yeah. Who could have resisted that face and not taken him home? Don't answer that. He was covered in fungus and had a injured foot and I couldn't help but take pity on the poor guy.

Little did I know.....

In the past several months, Frankie has given us his share -- and then some! -- of trouble. Most memorable was that time I discovered that he knows how to open the fridge door, take out the cheese, unwrap it and go wild on the kitchen floor.

He went through a brief phase where he particularly enjoyed knocking over full glasses of water and watching the liquid roll down tabletops onto the floor where he happily lapped it up.

When eating sandwiches, you have to keep a tight grip on your food with one hand and hold a a water bottle with the other hand so you can spray him whenever he gets too close. If you're not careful, Frankie will latch onto a corner of your sandwich -- or a cookie, slice of cheese or apple, anything really -- and run away with it. You can take the cat off the street but I guess you can't take the street outta the cat.

Most recently, Frankie proved his naughtiness yet again when, after the cleaning lady had put him in our cat carrier so she could mop the floors in peace, he clawed his way out of the mesh front and laid down to take a nap.

Why keep him? you ask. That's a good question. He can be an awfully sweet cat. Honest! Look. Here he is helping me set the table.

And it's not like he doesn't do his fair share of chores. He does, after all, clean up after dinner....

And when he's not being naughty, he provides great photo ideas. Here he is chilling with his best friend, Phoenix (another one of our Istanbul street cats)....

If that picture doesn't warm your heart I don't know what will!

 

Okay, sorry guys, I'll put the camera away now.

PS. Want a soft, furry, lovey street cat of your own? Send an email to barbara@turkishmuse.com and I'll tell you how to get one....

Sometimes it's nice ...

To pretend that there is no one else around.

To tune out the world for a while.

To curl up in a ball and close your eyes.

To go to sleep every night at 10 pm.

To make a second martini even though you can't ever recall a time when you had more than one.

Sometimes it is nice. But it still doesn't make it easier.

Where the foreigners roam

There is a place in Cihangir where the foreigners go. They go to eat, to drink. They go to work on their laptops. They go to chit-chat in English, French or German. It is a meeting place, a gathering place, someplace that feels a bit like home when you're tired of being an expat.

On lazy Sunday mornings, they go for the fresh filter coffee....

 

and pancakes and Mexican omletes....

hmmm....and bacon..... (cue Homer Simpson drooling).....

Still others pop in for a glass of the occassional French bordeaux wine special....

And of course, nearly all go for the Tuesday night "Happy Hour" between 8pm and 11pm when wine (Angora), beer (Efes) and raki (Yeni) is only 5 lira. A wonderful price to accompany your 14 lira salad or 16 lira burger.....

Kahvedan

Akarsu Caddesi 1/1A, Cihangir Beyoglu 34430 Istanbul

kahvedancafe.com

kahvedan@kahvedancafe.com

+90 212 292 4030

Obama's already in Turkey, apparently....

Yesterday after work I stopped at Cevahir Mall to pick up a few things and noticed this in the Sisli/Mecidiyekoy metro stop:

It's an advertisement for Garanti Bank's new credit offer with a 1.19% interest rate. The picture of Obama, though, is what gets me.

It is, of course, a complete knock-off of this stencil drawing, which according to what I've read online, has made its way to Washington DC's art museums. Obama-inspired art is even being used to decorate people's homes.

But what I've never seen before is Obama's likeness used in an advertisement. What message, exactly, is Garanti Bank trying to convey here? Hope? Renewal? The promise of low, low interest rates?

Given that Garanti Bank is one of Turkey's best private banks -- and as a card-carrying customer I feel I can say that -- and its only one to cater to expatriates and foreigners, I can see how the ad might appeal to a certain kind of expat. Like, I don't know, an American Democrat? But in my view, using Obama's likeness in an advertisement to sell credit seems a cheap way to garner customers. It seems like a complete misappropriation of trust and loyalty.

What do you think? Have you ever seen Obama's face in an advertisement before, either in the US or elsewhere overseas?

It's the only thing I can cook, but it IS good

I am not much of a cook,but there is one dish I do make well and that's ezogelin corbasi. Turkish red lentil, bulgur and mint soup is the one thing that I actually enjoy cooking, too. It's a breeze to make and always makes people happy when they eat it, even if they've had it a dozen times at my house.

First you gather fresh ingredients, like tomatoes.....

Then you begin with, what else?, olive oil and butter.....

To which you add onions and garlic.....

Then comes the tomatoes and other ingredients.....

Which you stir all together.....

 

Add a few more things.....

 

Stir and simmer.....and get this:

Which, when served at the table, becomes.....

I love to make this soup on Sundays when I want to eat something good but don't want to spend a lot of time doing it. If you want to make it yourself, check out the recipe here:

Download Ezogelin Corbasi

Let me know how it turns out! Afiyet olsun!

PS This recipe is lovingly and shamelessly adapted from the cookbook The Sultan's Kitchen by Özcan Ozan.

Mister Rogers 2.0, or How I Met My Neighbor

Little did I know that when I posted a few photos of my street being torn up and reconstructed Turkish-style that someone very close to home would come knocking on my door. After a comment left to the post "Betting on Turkish Construction" I discovered that someone else had the same idea I did....

So she sent me an email. And it turns out that not only does Nathalie of Du bretzel au simit live on the same street as I do, but we are neighbors. Next-door neighbors. As in, the front door of her building is three feet from the front door of my building. As in, her living room is on the other side of our office.

For nine months I have lived in this apartment and I have never seen nor met Nathalie. And yet, every day, we are sitting in our respective apartments, blogging away about our little corner of the world and never knowing that there is someone only 20 feet away doing the exact same thing.....

Bending it like Beckham, or trying to, anyway

When I was a kid, maybe around 12, 13 or 14, I spent a miserable two years playing municipal soccer. I can't remember why I decided to play soccer. I was already taking dance classes at the time, had been for years, and loved them. It wasn't as if I needed something else to do. But like most teenage girls in the suburban central Pennsylvania township where I grew up, I got roped into playing municipal soccer because, you know, I wasn't good enough to play for the school team. Soccer, and field hockey of course, are almost like rite of passages for middle-class teenage girls in the United States. They are the only girl-friendly sports you can play and girls are, in fact, applauded for doing so.

But I turned out to be a terrible soccer player. I played a position called halfback – is that what it was called? – and basically I ran up and down the field for an hour and a half. I couldn't play defense on account of having a peculiar knack for getting smacked in the face with the ball. I swear, that happened to me three times before the coach realized I SUCKED AND SHOULD NOT BE ALLOWED ANYWHERE NEAR THE GOAL. Incidentally, this is the same reason I never played forward.

It took two years for me to finally quit soccer, at which point I happily returned to ballet and tap classes as my sole after-school diversion.

Despite my sorry experience with soccer, I am nevertheless delighted that Turkish women are beginning to play. It has always seemed odd to me that in a country full of futbol fanatics that girls didn't play. But now there's a new women's soccer league in town. Problem is, it hasn't been easy to get this thing up and running.

A recent article in the New York Times by Yigal Schleifer points out that though Turks are "soccer mad," "there is a deep ambivalence in this socially conservative, predominantly Muslim society about women playing the game."

The story goes on to quote Nurper Ozbar, the coach of Marmara Universitesispor, who says, "Football is seen as a man’s game in Turkey. We’ve had men come to watch our practices and yell at our players: ‘What are you doing here? You should be at home, cooking!’ It’s going to take time to change this.”

There are signs of hope though, particularly in a place called Sakarya outside Istanbul where some 3000 people attend games. It's a good start, but more work needs to be done to change people's perception of the effect playing soccer has on girls, the article points out.

Take, for example, Selin Odabas, who has been named to Turkey's national women's team. Selin's mother said she was afraid playing soccer would make her daughter a lesbian.

“In the beginning, we didn’t want our daughter to play,” Odabas [Selin's mother] said. “We were worried that it would affect her posture, her character, even her sexual orientation. We put her in volleyball, in track, but nothing could stop her.”

Right on, Selin.