A sexual proposition and a dinner invitation in Istanbul, one of which I accepted

View over Galata, by The Marathon Snail

I moved into my replacement hostel as quickly as I could, and after an impromptu sweat-patch comparison with a resident elderly man who won the sweatiness by half an armpit, I set off for the Historic Peninsular. As I walked down the hill towards the Galata Bridge, the skyline of Istanbul was laid out before me. The New Mosque sat immediately ahead, and the great Süleymaniye Mosque to the west. After a short detour in the Eminönü ferry docks where I snacked on salted corn on the cob and roasted chestnuts, I entered the Spice Market. I quickly realised that I may never leave again [Note: it’s now October and I write this from my new home in a baklava stall. Only joking]. There were stalls with olives: tiny green lemony ones, and indecently large fat ones, and shining purples and blacks and burgundy kalamatas. And the cheeses: great heavy blocks of feta, soft salty beyaz peynir, and pale little balls, floating in cheese juice, that looked like the silkiest mozzarella di bufala. Sugared Turkish delight towered in wobbly columns next to sesame halva, and of course the sticky, buttery-honeyed baklava. I hadn’t even arrived at the nuts and spices yet and I’d already sampled most of the goods. I am not one to refuse an offer of such exquisite food.

I stocked up on essential spices and peppercorns during a deal which included tea and yet more confectionery, which I was unable to decline - after all, I didn’t want to be rude - but I had yet to find saffron that I liked. I stopped at another stall and when I smelled the dusty Turkish saffron with its telltale price, my face obviously showed my skepticism. The vendor leaned in, brought his mouth very close to my ear, and said quietly, “Would you like to smell real saffron?” With the excitement of a user secretively offered the finest cocaine, I followed him into the shop where he showed me his stash of Iranian saffron. This was the stuff I was after. The scent was indescribable, only that I knew it smelled like the top-notch saffron I bought in the souks of Marrakesh, and I’ve made some excellent tagines and paellas with that. We both pretended I wasn’t very interested, while he showed me his tea collection, and as he held my hand gently we quickly progressed from the mundane Mints and Lemons, via the amusingly-mispelled "Sliming tea”, to the rose-scented Loves and Erotics. He offered to make my stay in Istanbul “special” if I would meet him later that evening. I bargained hard for a good price for the saffron and got him to throw in some jasmine flower tea too. Poor Osman. I declined his advances but said I would think of him when drinking my tea, which will be true, as he was so outrageous it would be hard to forget him.

As I made my slow way beyond the market towards Süleymaniye Mosque, an elderly, grey-bearded man waved to me from his rug shop, and invited me inside. His name was Hussein, and we chatted for a while. He was very excited to have met me on my first day in Istanbul, and he strongly believed that destiny had brought us together. He gave me a little protective bracelet charm, and then invited me to dinner. I could smell something delicious in the back of the shop, and when I followed him to the kitchen there was a pot of bubbling menemen on a little gas stove. Menemen is a dish I often make, with slow-cooked ripe tomatoes and peppers with garlic, onions, and a little chilli, with one egg per person dropped in. I usually break the egg in with yolk intact and cover it with the sauce to cook whole, but Hussein stirred them in to make a deliciously rich scrambled stew. Hussein’s colleague made tea and joined us, and we ate the menemen with bread and right hand outside on the pavement, in the shadow of the Süleymaniye Mosque. We parted with a hug. I had been welcomed to Istanbul literally with open arms.

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More on Istanbul posts (chronological order):
A goddamn flight on a goddamn plane - karma strikes a rude man as I head to Istanbul
A sexual proposition and a dinner invitation in Istanbul, one of which I accepted - I eat menemen
The Third Continent - I accidentally go to Asia after dinner
The cats of Istanbul - exploring Istanbul