Tantuni-Land

I'm back!

It's been over a month since my last post, and copious and varied foodstuffs have been created and consumed during this silent but scrumptious hiatus.

Most exciting of these culinary adventures was a recent trip to Turkey to witness dear friends, J. and M., tie the knot on a beach in Mersin. A global network of friends and family came together from all over the world--first to Istanbul and then to Mersin-- for the event, and I cannot imagine a more fabulous, curious, ravenous-to-try-anything group ever assembled.

After a beautiful Istanbul fete complete with Bosporus cruise and lots of dancing, we all boarded a plane for the hour-and-a-half flight to Mersin. The day before the big event was free to explore this Mediterranean coastal town, and we hit the ground running in the direction of tantuni.

Allow me to digress a bit. When I worked at an English language immersion camp for two summers towards the end of my undergraduate years, many a night out in Taksim's rooftop clubs and bars ended with a large group of us counselors, both Turkish and yabanci [foreign], crouching on small wooden stools and sloppily devouring one portion of tantuni after another. The dish that we had become familiar with at a tiny establishment of Istiklal Caddesi consisted of a scant amount of sauteed mystery meat, heavily spiced with cumin and pepper, drizzled with lemon, covered in more cumin and parsley, and rolled up in durum [a kind of flat bread]. Friends would always bemoan the distance between Istanbul and Mersin, M.'s (the groom's) hometown, and how much better the true Mersin tantuni is.

So, there we were in the cradle of tantuni, where the mighty, spicy meat wrap was no tipsy fare, but THE main event.

Having consulted our friend H. on where to get the best, we headed to Gokzel Tantuni. Despite initial reservations--prompted by spotting multiple locations (a chain!) through the dolmus window--I was far from disappointed. Couples sat around us, daintily and artfully consuming their durums, which never seemed to drip or fall apart, and sipping frothy mugs of ayran.

Over at our table of six, however, twelve eyes grew wide as plate after plate of tomatoes, green spicy-sweet peppers, really hot, small, green peppers, mint, parsley, lemons (the skins are green here), and red cabbage came and just kept coming--many dusted with sumac or pul biber (red pepper flakes). How was all of this goodness to make it to our mouths? And how quickly could it be done?


Durum wraps were unwrapped to reveal glistening, moist, spiced meat, promptly loaded with all of the above, and raised to mouths, tomato, lemon, and meat juices gushing.

















The spicy meat was delicious and moist, and the secret of tantuni is in the method of cooking. The minced meat is cooked in a conical metal contraption that captures the fat and juices in the center, where the meat to be served is doused and seared with a bit of water.

This video is chatty, but it shows how lightening-fast the cooking method is:



Somehow, after a walk on the seaside boardwalk, we found room for a scoop of ice cream from Balli Baba Dondurma--a more stiff, glutinous ice cream than one might be used to, but delicious--there was everything from almond and honey to pistachio and melon.

It was the perfect ending to a tantuni feast.