Carpetblogger

Carpetblog Recommends: Georgian and Korean in Istanbul

Among our favorite hobbies here at Carpetblog is ranting about Istanbul's lack of ethnic restaurants. After years of listening to easily disputable claims of Istanbul being a diverse, cosmopolitan city (we've got all kinds of Anatolian emigrants!), we are pleased report that two outstanding establishments form the backbone of the very, very slim body of non-Turkish food here.

Both are well off the traditional Lebanese/Indian/Mexican/Pakistani/Thai/Chinese axis* taken for granted in any North American or European city with a population of more than 100,000. Istanbul still has none in that category that can serve a passibly authentic meal at a reasonable price (or at any price, really).

NEWS FLASH: CAFE EURO IS CLOSED NOW! :(   The first is Cafe Euro, a bus station Georgian hole-in-the-wall in Aksaray which has already been praised on these pages and others and most recently, here.  That this place has been around for six years and we only discovered it last summer is one of our biggest failings as an expat. The excellence of its khingali as well as the authenticity of its post-Soviet atmosphere have since been verified by multiple Bakuvitsi. Ingredients are delivered from Kutaisi weekly, but unlike other writers, we're not going to blabber away about what day that happens. You should go on Saturday.

They've got homemade chacha, and, if the planets are aligned, tarkhun (don't let them talk you into trying that other florescent green liquid instead -- it's vile). The other big failing of the Eurasia review is that the reporter failed to inquire about deliveries of the forbidden meat. He has since been sent to a re-education camp.

The menu is neither extensive nor available in written form and it helps a lot if you speak Russian (or Georgian), but this is the real thing. It's cheap, cheap too; we have been told you can sit there all afternoon drinking and eating for about 30TL. Go there, preferably with someone who knows Georgian food and how to wield a knife. You'll make new friends who will share village wine from a jug and you'll leave smelling like a post-Soviet bus station. The owner's money quote from the Eurasianet review: "not all my customers are like you.”

Cafe Euro is at the entrance of a giant bus station in Aksaray. You didn't know there was one? Well, there is. It's called Emniyet Garaji and it's on Küçuk Langa Cad. Google it. You can walk there from the Aksaray or Yusufpaşa tram stops.

The second winner is Gaya Korean restaurant. It, too, has been around for awhile but has recently experienced an inexplicable surge in popularity among Carpetblogger's contemporaries. Indeed, of the only two really delicious meals we have eaten lately that were not served in a bus station, both were at Gaya.

Of all major Asian cuisines, we're least familiar with Korean so we don't really know the names of things. But, based on the noodles that look like glassy eels and the fuzzy spicy pickled leaves, we're going to guess the ingredients are imported from the motherland and prepared with love by a Korean mother for her only son. Most importantly, there's pork, cooked right there on the table in front of you (Is this the only non-pizza restaurant in Istanbul where you can order the forbidden meat? Discuss). We will go back there often, specifically to eat the spicy tofu. 

Most of the other diners in its rather sterile and empty space are either Korean businessmen or post-Soviet prostitutes, which we view as vote of confidence. It's not particularly cheap (60-70TL for a giant set meal, including pork and maybe an Efes or two) but it's more than you can eat and it's delicious. The service is friendly but not exactly attentive. Don't be in a hurry.

Gaya is near Taksim, on Abdulhak Hamit Caddesi, No. 50, in the Green Park Hotel.

 *Please, spare yourself the indignity of arguing there is a credible example of any of these cuisines in Istanbul. We know them all.

Ask Carpetblogger: Should I bring Turkish wine to a party?

First question! It's a very important one.

Dear Carpetblogger:

Booze is so expensive in Turkey! I know I should be polite and bring something to drink to dinner and parties but I am a young freelancer and have no money. Is it ever ok to bring Turkish wine or will I be shunned like a slutty Amish girl?

Potential Pariah

 

Dear Pariah:

This is possibly the most vexing etiquette dilemma facing party-goers in Istanbul today. Since Istanbul Eats has slogged into the Turkish wine debate with a new column that should be called OK, This One's Not That Bad, your question is more timely than ever.  It's wise to seek guidance.

Carpetblogger has long held that Turkish wine is the best of the Black Sea region, if you don't count Georgian and Bulgarian, and, some have argued -- but we don't necessarily agree -- Moldovan. We also believe that, while Muslims excel in many things, including hair removal and cooking meat on a stick, making liquor is not one of them.

Even we are willing to admit that Turkish wine is better than it used to be. It is possible to find a reasonably priced bottle that won't make you sick (if you do find one, buy it by the case). Some people may vociferously object to the following advice, but we here at Ask Carpetblogger are pragmatists and sympathize with the poor prole drinker. The short answer, is "sure, go ahead, bring Turkish wine but proceed with caution."

Our caveats:

• Because of taxes and other Muslim what-nots, wine is stupid expensive in Turkey. Plus, there's the "if it's expensive it must be good" developing world elitny surcharge. Just because a bottle of Turkish wine is expensive, doesn't mean it's any good. It may, at the high end, be drinkable but it's still probably a terrible value. There are an increasing number of decent wines being produced by vintners on some of the Aegean Islands, and we would look them up and tell you what they are but you have google too. If you really, really, really want to try Turkish wine, go to one of these places. They'll let you sample different varietals and explain which goes best with beyaz peynir and sucuk. Still, if you're going to drop some cash on a bottle that you're hoping will get you some action, do not buy Turkish. 

• Do not bring any bottle of Turkish wine that costs less than 10 TL. It is wine-colored poison. You will be judged, harshly and publicly.

• Buy the best bottle of imported you can afford. You'll probably have to go to a wine shop, since supermarket/tekel supplies can be limited. Most wine shops usually have some off-brand French or Italian plonk for 20TL or less. It's still a ridiculous price for crap wine, but will be better than a Turkish label at the same price, guaranteed.

• Think of how much more popular you'll be if you bring something imported and unusual, even if it's cheap. Spanish? Sure. Italian? Great. Even Bulgarian gets an A for effort. Greek, if you must. Stuffing your baggage and maxing out at duty free is part of the social contract. Do your part.

• Do not, under any circumstances, bring local and drink imported. Some hostesses are implementing a colored wristband system at parties as a mechanism to publicly shame those who bring Buzbağ and drink Bordeaux. Some of those people are impossible to shame, however. They know who they are.

Before you go and say "Carpetblogger, why are you such a fucking snob?" (uh, why water is wet?), let us be clear that we do not discriminate against cheap wine. We LOVE cheap wine. We just hate shitty wine in general and expensive shitty wine in particular. Maybe someday Turkish wine will be as good as Greek wine and we'll have to find a new target.

In the meantime, if you're invited to a sangria or mulled wine party chez Carpetblogger you know that there's an oversupply of Angora, Buzbağ and Deluca. The next day will be rough. We call it payback.

 

 

 

Caretblog Recommends: Istanbul Eats Walking Tours

Frankly, it's not that hard to obtain the Carpetblog stamp of approval. We're not out to diminish our own brand or anything, but really, with a few exceptions taken on moral grounds, we'll shill for almost all of our friends.

Indeed, we have in the past shilled for Istanbul Eats, not just out of affection for its founders, but because it is the best guide to eating in this city. We use it all the time (IE recs got us to try current faves Datli Maya and Mohti) and recommend it to everyone.

We have also always recommended IE's culinary walking tours, even though we had never taken one, or, until very recently, known anyone who had. That's how important our credibility is.

But after dear friends visiting from San Francisco last month raved about the tour and promptly signed up to do a second one, we thought maybe we had been missing out on something important and fun. In fact, we were more than a little embarassed when walking around town with them, sharing all our greatest insights about the mysteries of the city such as the difference between dana and koyun işkembe, they said, "oh yes, our guide Angelis already told us that."

So when Carpetblog's Kosovo Korrespondent suggested we do a Festivus Day tour, led by that Greek Angelis Nannos who really made us look bad to our guests, we said, "well, ok."

Have you ever visited your friend in Istanbul and noticed that she doesn't really know anything about the city and seems to be making shit up, or takes you to the places closest to her apartment? Well, Angelis isn't like that. He's your cool friend in Istanbul who really does know good places in unlikely neighborhoods and loves to show them to you with great enthusiasm. Who knows? Maybe he can be your new friend in Istanbul. Other people seem to like him.

Would you travel across town for a doner? We sure as hell wouldn't, not before visting a hole-in-the-wall döner place in the back streets Küçükpazar (you don't even know where that is, do you?), where the dönerci marinates real lamb meat in onion juice overnight and alternates layers of meat and vegetables. Do you think a pide is just beyaz peynir and sucuk toasted on some dough? Try adding Black Sea magic village butter to the crust at a place in Fatıh that, to some skepticism, claims to be the first Pideci in Istanbul. Do you think Turkish Delight is gross? Well it is, but you might find some that's at least not made of rubber in the back streets of Eminönü. Have you tried kokoreç? After five years in Istanbul, we finally did and it's not as bad as we expected. That white matter at the tip of the knife in the photo? Suet. Yum.

This is just a long way of saying that Carpetblog stands by our endorsement of Istanbul Eats' Culinary Walking Tours and has forgiven Angelis for making us look dumb to our visitors. Also, we know from reliable sources that IE's Meghan gives excellent tours as well, even though we haven't been on hers.

And, as long as we're sharing love, we haven't shilled for Istanbul Personal Shopper in a long time. Like IE's food tours, Kathy takes visitors to parts of the Grand Bazaar people who have lived here for years don't know about. The best part? Your visitors will love the tour and you won't have to go to the Grand Bazaar. Everyone wins!

If we were in the FSU, we would pull out our stamp and stamp our approval on both.

Carpetblog Weighs in: Georgian Food in Istanbul at Cafe Euro

You've heard the old saying about dining in Istanbul -- "There's all kinds of cuisine here as long as it's Turkish." Perhaps you've argued that Istanbul is the biggest city in the world without a real Pakistani restaurant. People come to Istanbul for a lot of reasons -- many of them good -- but not for its selection of international food.

So, when we read a FB post by the writer of the lovely Delicious Istanbul blog about Cafe Euro's Georgian food, we got our hopes up, just a little. She appears to be of some FSU provenance -- not sure which, don't want to offend! -- so we viewed her as credible. And, that the restaurant is located in Aksaray -- which is known locally as Devushkastan --suggested that there is a built-in clientele who knows their satsivi from their tkemali.

Georgians are sort of like Soviet Mexicans. They moved around and set up restaurants all over the Soviet Union to serve their hungry workers needing a taste of home. Every FSU resident we've ever met craves the occasional Georgian meal, even if they've never been to Tbilisi. Georgian food, like Georgia, is unlike anything found anywhere else in the world. We have long moaned about the lack of the real thing in Istanbul. Georgia is so close! Why can't you get a Borjomi and a decent khingali here?

After reading DI's post, we put on our devushka boots and gathered up the famous but also charming Rutherford/Tomasetti Partners and plotted a route into the dark heart of Aksaray. Did you know there is a giant bus station right there in the middle of it that serves exclusively the Caucasus, Russia, Romania and Moldova? We had no idea. There must be a lot of workers coming to Turkey from those countries! What sort of work they do here do you think? Globalization is awesome.

And there it was, Cafe Euro, with Georgia's UFO-script and photos of khingali on the outside walls, conferring a legitimacy that could not be faked. We were so excited. We stepped down into its dark bowels and felt like we had stepped into a bus station in Batumi. Cheap cafe decor in Turkey is white molded plastic chairs. In Georgia, and Cafe Euro, it's rickety metal-backed chairs with pleather seats. It's also bleached hair, cigarettes and drunken dancing to Russian pop at 7 pm. We were home.

We have found that the only time we can speak Turkish is when we want to speak another language in which we know 50 words, like Russian. The waitress, who was Georgian, got excited by our efforts and, in violation of traditional food service norms in her homeland, became super friendly and helpful. Sadly, 7 pm is not the hour to go if you want lobio or khinghali. The only things available were khachapuri (yay!) and kebab (less yay). We speculate that if you want access to the full menu (keeping in mind there is no menu), you need to come when the buses are arriving or departing.

We ordered up some Adjarian (the kind with an egg, and not our favorite, but it will do if a Minghrelian is not available). It was fine but we really wanted khingali, particularly since we had talked it up to the RT Partners, who had never had Georgian before. And there was Efes, not Kazbegi. A real Russian speaker might have been able to rustle up some homemade wine or even some chacha, according to Istanbul Eats (which, consume at your own risk).

Our review: Hopes still high, we're going to go back at a different time. Georgian in Istanbul deserves all the support we can give it.

Cafe Euro is at the entrance to the heretofore unknown to Carpetblog giant bus station in Aksaray, on Kucuk Langa Cad.

 

 

The Carpetblog Swine Files

Last time we visited Bali, we reported on the local delicacy called Babi Guling, or the ceremonial stuffed young pig. We tried hard to like it, sampling versions from different vendors. Despite our general love for the pig, we did not find this dish delicious. Too many uncomfortable colors, shapes textures -- gristly, gelatinous, crispy, orange, spheroid -- detracted from the taste, which was pretty run-of-the-mill pig with some fancy spices.

 

So far, we have opted against another platter-full. However, we did watch some guys preparing the babi guling before a ceremony in a village above Manggis, in East Bali. We felt uncomfortable.

 

 

We also admired pigs leading a more satisfying life on the beach at Amed. They had shade and ample slop. Beach Pigs on a Leash. Typically, we would walk quickly past a guesthouse that was next door to a pig farm on a beach, but maybe because of the fresh breezes, or the sand, they didn't smell at all. And, after we ordered a swine dish for dinner and saw the owner walk down the alley toward the pig farm, we knew dinner would be fresh.

 

 

Pocari Sweat! It's a Thing

If you've ever flown a Gulf airline  -- Etihad or Emirates, in our experience -- you might have seen a loop of ads for "Pocari Sweat" a Japanese sports drink, done in that semi-ironic Tawainese-style animation that's becoming so popular.

You, like us, might have concluded "Those crazy Japanese are fucking with the Arabs! POCARI SWEAT can't possibly be a thing. Unless it's harvested from teenage girls and sold in vending machines in the Tokyo subway. That could be a thing. Gulf Arabs would eat that shit right up."

Well, it may be harvested from teenaged girls, sold in Tokyo subway vending machines and marketed to Gulf Arabs, but it's also sold in the Delta Dewata in Ubud, Bali, Indonesia. The label, which is written in that super square font with too much space between each letter often seen on cheap Chinese plastic products, describes it as an "ion supply drink."

Knowing that you'd want to know, we tasted it. It reminds of that stuff we had to drink after lying on the bathroom floor for two days in Bukhara. Who wouldn't want to remember that? Or drink something called sweat? This product has a lot of potential.

Ask Carpetblogger: Where Are the Ukrainian Cougars?

It's a fact that, many years ago, Carpetblog established itself as the go-to internet source for devushka fashion, to the point where we became known as the Wikipedia of Slutty Dressing. Those were the salad days of Carpetblog. They represented the height of our influence.

Since then, we left Ukraine and, to the detriment of this blog's SEO, delved into topics such as Turknology and importing booze and pork. Like the Ottoman Empire, Carpetblog went into a long, sloppy decline. Furthermore, on the aging lady scale, we inched away from Devushkastan and slid closer to, some have (uncharitably) argued, Cougartown.

Do you not know what a Cougar is? Do you live under a rock? Have you heard of Google?

Some have speculated that there's a precipitous drop in the physical fortunes of Ukrainian women post-age 35 (more accurately, we less genetically-gifted sisters -- ROWR! -- speculate). Surely there must be an intermediate stage between devushka and babushka! So we set out to answer the question "Where are all the Ukrainian cougars?"

We recently found ourselves in Cherkassy, which is the dead center of Ukraine, about two and a half hours south of Kyiv. It is a provincial, very Ukrainian city -- and we mean that not in the way Ukie nationalists mean it (a model European Ukraine that looks westward) but in the way Ukraine is now. It sits in the black-earth prairies, frozen for the winter, alongside one of the Soviet Union's largest hydroelectric reservoirs. Russian-leaning eastern Ukraine is just over the next snowy hillock and European western Ukraine seems pretty far away from here. Its slushy downtown is a grey post-war Soviet time capsule. Pulling out the Ukraine cliche handbook (shelved next to the Istanbul cliche handbook) it is the borderland where Russia and Ukraine melt, and residents speak a mix of both languages.

Also, there be Cougars!

Not only were we lucky enough to find ourselves in Cherkassy in the middle of winter, it happened to be "Old New Years Eve," or the Orthodox New Years. This meant that the town was decked out as if Christmas was just last week (it was) and everyone was looking forward New Years Eve celebrations instead of a cold Thursday night in the Dnipro Hotel, like we were.

Most restaurants that serve Ukrainian food are decked out like rural cottages, with fake thatched roofs, farm implements on the walls and lots of red and white embroidered schwag  draped across flat surfaces. This would be kitschy if it wasn't how every traditional Ukrainian restuarant -- even Ukie fast food places  -- is decorated. They also usually have a series of intimate dining rooms and small alcoves for private parties or uh, other activities. We had an early reservation at Taras Bulbas, a model specimen of the type, expecting a quick meal of salo (pure pork fat, pictured), swine shashlyk and a bit of vodka with colleagues.

If you seek Felis Concolor Ukrainis, head to Taras Bulbas in Cherkassy on Old New Years Eve. There were several tables of them, well-lubricated by sweet Ukie shampansky (which they freely shared) and ready to burn the place down. By 7:30pm. Taras Bulbas' house band consists of a young, crewcut, acned Ukrainian accordion player and an African tambourine player (welcome to heaven, here's your tambourine. Welcome to hell, here's your accordion) who whipped the place into a frenzy of anticipation for Dede Moroz (father Christmas, the Orthodox Santa Claus) and his trusty...wait for it...Rabbit of Good Luck.

The Cougars, dressed to kill in too-short skirts and tight shirts, writhed and wriggled to 70's western and eastern Ukrainian pop songs (our colleagues taught us how to tell the difference) and Russian  favorites (different still), just like Cougars in Americastan would to Donna Summer. Later, at least one of them was caught in a sex act in one of the private alcoves (memo to self: don't go exploring other dining areas at 9:00 pm in Taras Bulbas on Old New Years Eve. Also, be careful of the cougar sitting behind you.)

Having had three shots of "rye and honey" Ukrainian vodka before the first plate of pickles arrived, the evening was destined to be a short one for us. Since we're no longer in FSU championship fighting form, we stumbled into a taxi to return to the Dnipro hotel, relieved that Ukraine is big enough for both devushkas and cougars after all.

 

This Just In: Scotland Reacts to Azeri Whisky Onslaught

SPEYSIDE-- Scottish whisky producers reacted switfly to news that Azerbaijan, known primarily as  the oasis between Iran and Chechnya, plans to begin distributing locally-produced whisky from the famed Tovuz-Baltiya distillery.

Presently, Tovuz-Baltiya is known primarily for its cognacs, which have been described by local experts as "the best in Ganja-Qazakh."

"We know that Muslims in general are known for the quality of their alcoholic beverages, and Azerbaijan, in particular, is noted for the "Seven Beauties" and "Karavansary" wine labels," said Scottish whisky spokesman William MacDougal. "We view this as a serious threat to our market share."

Recent reports claim the Azerbaijani distillery is going to target whisky drinkers in India and eastern Europe, where "they really know their single from their blended malts," said MacDougal.

Scottish whisky producers have adapted quickly to this shift in the marketplace. MacDougal, having recently travelled on Azal from London to Baku, added "peat and oak have become dated. We're exploring assfat and naptha, just to stay competitive."

 

 

Carpetblogger Learns and Grows

Some people come to foreign cities like Kabul to experience a different way of life, to gain a deeper appreciation of another culture and its history. We don't know many of those people. Most people we know come to places like Kabul for completely different reasons.

But sometimes, despite their best efforts, those latter people do end up learning valuable lessons about life and how to live it in a foreign culture. Despite their best efforts, they experience a degree of personal growth they never expected and an expansion of their narrow worldview.

Also, the lessons that stick are usually the ones that come at the greatest cost. This is so very true.

"Carpetblogger! How do you know all this?" We know this because we have recently learned and grown. I KNOW! SHUT UP!

We have learned that you should not try to buy booze in Kabul. It is a costly fool's errand.

Did you know that if you try to smuggle booze in to Afghanistan, which is an Islamic Republic, via the airport and get caught they might keep a bottle as a "tax" or sell your bottles back to you? So, don't try to do that. It might offend someone. Alternatively, be smarter than your average Taliban and store your stash in nalgene bottles.

Sadly, though, it is logistically difficult to smuggle in a six week supply. Alternatives must be sought.

Over the last month, we have spent $60 on a bottle of "Absolute" and $60 on a bottle of "Italian wine." If you're without a calculator close by, that's $120 on undrinkable booze. (If you have to ask why anyone would spend that much money on any bottle of liquor for any reason, you clearly have never lived on a compound or tried to manage anything in a war zone).

The red wine was an impulse buy at the Russian/Italian restaurant "Boccacio" (emphasis on the Russian). Walking out the front door after a gloppy pasta lunch, we eyeballed a full wine rack.

Suddenly, we were back in Ukraine.

"Devushkaaaa! Can I buy one of those bottles to go?"

"Nyet"

"Are you sure?" She turns to the Russian manager.

"OK. $60."

We bargained hard.

"That seems like kind of a lot for an 8 Euro bottle. Well, OK."

We carried that bottle around for three weeks, waiting for the optimal combination of high quality companions who also had a wine opener (total consultant fail: not carrying a wine opener in one's suitcase). In darker hours, we had whacked away at the cork with a knife and, later, our teeth, to no avail.

Last night, finally, 50% of conditions were met, when Scrappy the War Correspaniel and that guy Jason showed up at our hotel room with an opener in hand.

We poured out two glasses and a nalgene chalice. Profound disappointment ensued.  "Funny, the label  doesn't mention anything about it being sparkling." No matter how long we let it breathe, the situation didn't improve. Clearly, that wine had traveled from Peshawar on the back of a mule next to some RPGs in the middle of August.

The bottle of "Absolute" arrived via our media department. Generally, we count on media departments to be reliable sources of things like booze so we didn't ask key follow-up questions like, "where are you getting this stuff?" We obediently handed over $60. Big mistake! The bottle arrived in a plastic bag with a cap held on with packing tape. The inside bottom of the bottle was crusted with dirt and chunks of crud-- chunks of crud that were not yet suspended in the still-unidentified clear liquid. We are still awaiting restitution.

We've heard it's impossible to fake a beer can, so maybe we'll stick to Heieneken.

 

Ask Carpetblogger: What Do You Eat During Ramadan in Kabul?

When we accepted this mission to spend six weeks in Kabul, during Ramadan, we worried about many things. Near the top of the list (after "will the insurgents allow us to buy carpets?" answer: yes) was, "what the hell are we going to eat?"

This summer, we won the trifecta of suck: in quick succession, we spent a week on a compound in Erbil, ten days in an Islamabad guesthouse then recently started six weeks on a compound in Kabul. In places where your movements are restricted --either due to security or culture (girls don't eat out alone in Islamabad) -- food quickly becomes an issue. After ten days eating the guesthouse food in Islamabad, we came home with the greasy ghee meat sweats. That's pretty bad, but not actually the worst thing that can happen to you eating in Islamabad.

The long and short of it: Food can be a real problem on these junkets, particularly if you don't like to eat meat two or three meals a day and appreciate an occasional vegetable.

Unlike Istanbullular, most people in Kabul actually fast during Ramadan, but it's not like we're able to walk down the street to the local teahouse/disease vector and grab a kebab anyway. So, we thought a lot about what we'd be eating while packing. We came up with the Consultant Survival Kit, pictured below.

  

You'll notice the bottles of rum and vodka with the Holy Plastic Chalices of Nalgene designed to evade (successfully!) bribe-seeking Defenders of Islamic Virtue at the airport. Also, peanut butter, tuna and couscous and Siriacha Vietnamese hot sauce (popularly referred to as Hot Cock). Those are the staples of our diet at home, so thank allah they are easily transportable.

As it turns out, only a couple of those items were mandatory. And, if I have to tell you which ones, you clearly don't read this blog regularly. The unexpected necessary item? The Hot Cock! It turns out that several members of our multi-national crew brought their own all-purpose condiment to make bland food more palatable: the Italian brought olive oil, the Mexican -- a delicious homemade hot-sauce from charred tomatoes. So we share. With several Italians, a Mexican, a Belgian and multiple Americans, we spend a lot of time at dinner talking about things we aren't eating.

But we should complain. Our Afghan cook prepares two meals a day for those of us trapped on the compound and they are quite edible. We suspect that, at one point in his career, he chopped up and served Soviet soldiers, but he knows what a vegetable is and is moderate with the oil. Every day we have a salad and soup with a nice meaty main. Someone taught him how to make chocolate cake and apple pie and he's getting ready to harvest the pears from the tree on the compound for a pear pie. He has taught me how to make a delicious and genuinely spicy green tomato salsa.

Not only that, the "American" supermarket is better than pretty much any in Istanbul. It stocks almost every American processed and junk food you desire, which sometimes we do. Imagine, if you will, that we will be importing food from Kabul to Istanbul, especially Thanksgiving goods. There's also an Italian supermarket which sells real pork and delicious cheese, but sadly, no wine.

After ten days already, we've only been sick once. And they call this a hardship post!