The Place Istanbul Had Been Waiting For
Lately, both in Istanbul and in Barcelona, I have left most of the restaurants I visited on recommendations feeling disappointed, sometimes even regretful. But Gün Lokantası, tucked away in Istanbul’s Beyoğlu, was a rare exception.
Very few restaurants have made me feel so genuinely happy. In fact, I cannot even remember the last place that filled me with such joy.
Where should I begin? Perhaps by admitting that I am still under its spell. I tasted eight dishes that evening, and almost every one of them made me happy. Only the pickles missed the mark, like kissing at 160 kilometers an hour, and just then the wheel dives into a pothole.
When you choose a restaurant, you have already decided to like it, haven’t you? You dedicate your time, your money, and one of your limited meals to it. Yes, the number of meals we get to enjoy in life is finite. From the moment you step inside, the second round begins: the atmosphere, the cleanliness and comfort, the way you are greeted with genuine warmth rather than a rehearsed smile, the location and even angle of your table, the order around you, and even who the other guests are. All of these, long before you look at the menu, shape your feelings and either nurture or dull your first impression.
Tax wealth, not wages
As I wandered through the cosmopolitan backstreets of Beyoğlu, I suddenly found myself in front of Gün Lokantası near Asmalı Mescit. The small terrace facing the street immediately caught my eye. I wanted to sit there, eat slowly, and watch the people pass by.
On the opposite wall, someone had pasted old posters of the Italian Communist Party (PCI), which self-liquidated after the fall of the Soviet Union in 1991. I found myself wondering who might have put them there and how these forty- or fifty-year-old posters had survived to reach our time.
That night, I even toyed with the idea of turning their story into the outline of a novel.
Perhaps they had been put up by the modern heirs of the old PCI, descendants of that postwar generation whose leader, Togliatti, once summed up their dilemma with the words, “We are too few to seize power, yet too many to make a revolution.” Or maybe the posters were the work perhaps by the young generation of Turkey’s Workers’ Party, who combine struggle with joy, who had stumbled upon them while opening a chest inherited from a Levantine grandfather. Or maybe, simply, someone was just trying to cover an ugly wall. Perhaps there was no deeper meaning at all.
I stepped inside, leaving the posters, the street, and the little terrace behind. The calm simplicity of the interior, the open kitchen with its visible flames, and the easy warmth of the staff all made me want to stay inside. I liked Gün Lokantası even before tasting a single bite. Maybe that is why everything seemed so delicious. I should note that, because taste is always subjective and shaped by time and emotion.
In short, taste is both personal and historical.
I sat alone at a table clearly meant for a group of six, set for five, but perfect for one. I had time to look around, study the menu, and, most importantly, I had my reading glasses with me.
While waiting for my friends, the people I care about, some I have never met in person but know well enough, people I have long wanted to collaborate with… I made my choices from the menu. I was excited. Maybe, who knows, that excitement made everything taste even better than it really was.
In short, taste is subjective, and just as social as it is chemical or physical.
Yes, flavor has its chemistry and its physics, but it also has memory, emotion, and expectation. What is on the plate is not just molecules, and what we hear in our mouths is not just crunch or sizzle. It is feeling: hope, anticipation, happiness. It is the echo of family dinners and friends gathered around a table.
So, let us begin with the cold dishes.
It had been a long time since I had eaten brain salad this good, except maybe at Basta New Bistro. But the real revelation was the Tarama. Everything was perfectly balanced: the acidity, the salt, that elusive umami. Do not get me wrong, it was not better than the Tarama should be. It was the Tarama at its best, pure and complete.
Brain Salad
Tarama
The hummus with za’atar was not quite as divine as the one I had five years ago at Baklacı in Antakya, but it was still solid. The ceviche, though, I would have liked sharper, more acidic, filled with fresh coriander instead of parsley, and with those crisp corn kernels that make your jaw feel almost connected to your brain. That would have hidden the blue shrimp’s slight blandness, which did not quite live up to its bold name.
Ceviche
Grilled Heart
Among the hot dishes, the grilled brain stole the show. It was so good that we ordered it again without hesitation. The grilled heart, combined with beans, was a risk the chef took and absolutely nailed. I only hope it is still on the menu next time I visit.
Grilled Brain
And when will that be? Who knows. But if I could pre-order dishes for my next visit, I would ask for more tongue, more sweetbread which is not in the menu yet…
There was more, of course, but I will only mention this: the Frik pilaf with lamb cutlets was something special. I caught myself wishing I had watched how they grilled it. Sit by the open kitchen counter next time and watch closely. And when you do, say hello to the chef, the cook, the manager, and the waiters. To everyone.
