sofyah 9

Sofyah 9, Istanbul

For all of its history and great architecture like Sinan's dramatic

yet serene S�leymaniye Mosque (completed in 1557) or his intimate and

concealed R�stem Pasa Mosque, Istanbul has the trappings of a modern

city. It has a smart modern art museum with the requisite "industrial

chic" bistro. But what makes Istanbul such a great European city is

its urban vibrancy, especially in the large Beyoglu district, as

exemplified by a neighborhood meyhane like Sofyah 9. Sofyah 9 is

located in the T�nel section of Beyoglu, a gentrifying area with the

extremely narrow, somewhat windy roads typical to cities with nearly

two millennia under their belts. []

The restaurant is an old narrow building on three levels, each of

which holds a dining room seating perhaps 30. The d�cor is sparse,

basically smoke-stained walls, some Turkish bric-a-brac, a cheap sound

system piping in traditional Turkish music for strings, and a small

Marlboro cigarette vending machine. We sat next to a group of eight

men, probably in their thirties, immersed in cigarettes, raki, meze,

and boisterous conversation. Sitting behind them was a group of six

women, doing exactly the same thing and presumably on furlough from

their cages.

Despite being in a Muslim country on the other side of the world, just

sitting down in Sofyah 9's cozy, intimate and blithesome second dining

room felt, (yes, that dreaded clich� is on its way) like home. Sofyah

9 with its caf� spirit was actually a place that promotes drinking,

eating, smoking and just as important, unfettered rhetoric, boasting,

ridiculing, jubilant seething, and best of all, harrumphing. That the

food was good but not going to win any prizes was beside the point.

As for the food:

Our waiter brought over eight cold meze from which to select. I chose

four because Marisa was beyond caring about Turkish food. Kereviz, a

simple dish of celeriac, olive oil accentuated with vinegar, and just

enough greens not to be a garnish was delicious because of the

celeriac's moderately tender texture. We also had hummus made of fava

beans, which was preferable to the chickpea version to which I am more

accustomed. We also had taze fasulye, a plate of green beans, which in

Monsieur Peckham's words, "had been hanging around for awhile" and a

tasty lakerda, small chunks of salted bonito with oil, red pepper and

dill. I should really say "I" as Marisa wouldn't touch the stuff. We

then tried a few hot meze: kasarli b�rek, a flaky pastry with cheese

that Marisa dismissed as Turkish mozzarella sticks. More interesting

and much better was the pazi sarmasi, which resembled your basic

stuffed grape leaf, but was swiss chard stuffed with minced meat and

rice. The "entr�es," which were slightly larger meze plates for one,

were less successful. I had an overcooked grilled fish while Marisa

preferred her serviceable lamb shish to the meze.

A note on Istanbul: Culinarily, two items were standouts in Istanbul.

I just about mainlined unsweetened Turkish coffee (t�rk kahvesi, sade)

all over town. We also had success at an anonymous bakery specializing

in baklava just outside the Grand Bazaar that Marisa literally sniffed

out. We attempted to order two small pieces of pistachio baklava, but

managed only to provoke the baker's disdain. He just gave us our

meager order for free. That fresh baklava was still warm and had the

rich, proportionate, buttery flavor that French bakeries have

perfected and which lingered for several more seconds than what seemed

scientifically possible.

Sofyah 9

Sofyah Sokak 9

Istanbul

0212 245 0362