Wave goodbye to Constantinople

PATRICK MCGARVEY/YH Istanbul Cafe is the only place in Connecticut where you can satisfy your Turkish food cravings

In order to be served hot bread and spiced yogurt-laden lamb while reclining at a low copper table in the 13th century, you practically had to be a sultan's concubine in the Ottoman Empire. Just last year, New York was the closest place to sip Turkish coffee from a tiny porcelain mug and lick sticky stray flakes of baklava from your loved one's chin. Thankfully, late night hankerings for a royal slathering of baba ghanouj can now be satisfied locally. Istanbul Café has
opened its doors as Connecticut's only Turkish restaurant.

A visit to Istanbul Café proved as pleasing to the palate as our favorite exotic fantasies, and more filling. My companion and I entered under the new wrought iron archway and accustomed ourselves to a warmly underlit interior, vaguely reminiscent of the now-defunct Cuban restaurant El Niño, which Istanbul Café replaced. The manager, who introduced herself as Jasmine, ushered us past half a dozen regular tables to the private enclave at the back of the room. We settled onto our cushions on the floor, perused the menu, made several uninformed selections, and struck up a conversation with the elegantly-dressed manager.

Jasmine Koushki, we found out, is a Yale architecture major on leave. Struck by Koushki's art and architecture background at Yale and her travel in the Middle East, she was hired by Istanbul Cafe owner Kadir Catalbasoglu to design and implement his vision of an upscale, Turkish restaurant in New Haven. In the process of designing everything from the elaborate menus to the filigreed partition in the dining room, traveling to Istanbul to purchase embroidered pillows and silk curtains, and interpreting for the Turkish chefs and the American waitresses, the ultra-competent Koushki was promoted to manager.

She broke away from our conversation to turn up the oil lamps just as our food arrived. The waitress swooped into our little raised alcove with a basket of hot bread fresh from the oven and two plates of appetizers. I ordered the appetizer combination platter: a dozen or so dollops of mostly vegetarian salads, from the eggplant-based baba ghanouj to Ispanac Ezme, a spinach-yogurt purée with garlic and paprika (I'd order it by the kilo were it available), and tasty tender stuffed grape leaves, the likes of which are unheard of by Mamoun's standards. My companion began to hunker over his Sigara Böreks, and when he grudgingly offered me one I realized why; Böreks are the tastiest foods on Earth--light pastry filled with feta cheese, egg, and parsley. The name translates as "cigarette pies," so called because of their shape. As my companion ate the last one, I stifled my envious rage with a sip of water and a mouthful of baba ghanouj.

The menu's description of Hunkar Begendi (Sultan's Delight) reads, "Luxuriate in the rich tomato-marinated lamb and creamy smoked eggplant of this most classic Ottoman dish." Needless to say, I ordered it, and learned that my childhood distaste for eggplant must have been born of some distant species. The creamy smoked substance under the rich tomato-marinated lamb was not my mama's eggplant. Yet by this point in the meal I lacked the appetite to finish. As my companion dug into his prettily prepared kebab platter, I took advantage of the cushions in our cozy corner and reclined for a while. I had eaten too much.

I had also spent too much. At about $15 per entrée, plus appetizers, Istanbul Cafe is not an inexpensive dinner destination. But Jasmine told me they stay open until 3 a.m. on the weekends and they're expecting their liquor license soon. She's also working on packaging flavored tobacco to smoke in the water pipes that line the private nook where I sat. I will go back, but I'll get a $5 sandwich or share a vegetarian entrée three ways and try to talk Jasmine into some sort of all-you-can-eat deal on Sigara Böreks.

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