IF THERE'S one thing that builds up a bloke's appetite, it's being dragged around the shops by his beloved. In fact, on a recent day trip to Glasgow my boyfriend Rolf had been my Sherpa while I visited every bou- tique on Buchanan Street. So, when
lunchtime came round, he would have happily eaten a scabby George Square pigeon – which is possibly why he looked close to tears when we eventually tracked down this Turkish place and it looked shut.
Still, despite the darkness inside, the door swung open when my other half pushed it and in the time it would take a belly dancer to swivel her hips, he'd sneaked inside, commandeered a booth and downed my shopping bags – all before the poor waitress could trundle across the foyer.
Once I'd caught up with him, Rolf had already decided on the classic meze for two people (£15 each, as part of the three-course tasting menu), which he thought would boost our flagging blood sugar levels. To keep us going in the interim, the staff presented us with chilli-spiced olives and a dish of Turkish flatbread, which featured a crispy surface of golden-brown blisters.
These goodies, however, were depleted very quickly, so we were relieved when our buffet of delights arrived. These included baba ganoush with a tantalising hit of barbecued aubergine and garlic; herby tabbouleh featuring a sprinkling of bulgar wheat; walnut studded couscous; a palate-refreshing tzatziki with mint and cucumber; plus a centrepiece of lemon and garlic-riddled hummus, dusted with terracotta-coloured paprika.
We felt as if we'd stumbled upon a treasure trove of gems – all of which lent themselves perfectly to being scooped up with another portion of that crunchy bread.
On another plate were the more solid offerings, which included cumin-scented falafel – of which I've never been a fan (although, with its sesame seed coating, this swayed me). I'm not crazy about stuffed vine leaves either – mainly because they're usually off-puttingly vinegary – however, these "sarmas" were earthily delicious, with a filling of tepid rice blended with cinnamon and mushrooms.
Amongst this mind-boggling array of treats were a portion of crispy borek (a triangular flaky pastry filled with Feta cheese); cat's tongue-shaped slices of an oily, charred spicy beef, and, of course, the only cheese that 'squeaks' back when it's bitten, halloumi, which had a more milky flavour than supermarket varieties.
This feast would probably have been enough to sustain us for the short roll back to the train station. However, the colour was only just flowing back to my porter's cheeks and he already had his ravenous eye on the barbecued duck shish, while I was more inclined towards the Ottoman-style iskender (£1.90 supplement).
As I was already stuffed, I was pleased when my choice turned out to be quite light, featuring, as it did, shavings of meltingly tender lamb in a piquant moat of tomato and basil sauce. The meat element was also circling tiny tiles of pitta bread – upon which sat a fat dollop of natural yoghurt and a sprig of the aforementioned herb. To wash this down the hatch, I ordered a glass of Yeni Raki (£3.50) – a potent Turkish drink which looks like Alka-Seltzer, but tastes of aniseed.
In contrast to my colourful main course, Rolf's choice resembled the aftermath of a fire at the local pond, with thick strips of duck that appeared to be cremated. Thankfully, this tasted way better than it looked – the citrus-like meat was rich and was placed on top of an elementally flavoursome roast chestnut salad, which also contained pine-nuts and mushrooms.
Like everything that we'd eaten so far, this recipe had featured plenty of spices, which seem underused in some establishments these days. In fact, it was like meeting a bunch of vague acquaintances – in that your senses would recognise them first, then their names would pop into your head much later.
And, there were to be more of these seasonings for pud, as Rolf fancied the traditional baked rice pudding with cinnamon, while I wanted the fruity option of Turkish delight and blueberry creme brulee – both of which came with a cheeky glass of Kir Royale.
I think my dining partner was slightly underwhelmed by his choice, simply because it was a milky (rather than creamy) schooldays dish. However, my silky dessert, which was studded with chunks of green pistachio jelly and tart berries, had a mouth-coatingly unctuous texture that gave me childhood flashbacks to eating condensed milk straight out of the tin.
Overall, it was a fantastic meal, which made us worry about the fact that nobody else was eating here on a Saturday lunchtime. We did spot some potential passing trade, who glanced inside after hearing the faint strumming of the saz player – he'd been soulfully playing this traditional instrument throughout our visit (kind of embarrassing if you're the only ones there).
However, nobody made the move to join us inside, which is a great shame, as I think my Sherpa has found his ideal watering hole, and I'm praying that this place will be here on our next shopping expedition.
Otherwise, I'm going to have to carry my bags myself.
