Beware the Mystery Meat

I recently was asked to write a quick little funny story about our time so far here in Turkey. I figured it was worth posting here as well. Enjoy!

There we were, only having been newly arrived in Turkey for a week or two, when we found ourselves seated at an outside cafe about to enjoy the innards of some poor goat.

Of course at the time we were blissfully unaware that we were about to enjoy such a delicacy... you see we had just moved into our new apartment and we wanted to start exploring the neighborhood and to start establishing some relationships with those we came to serve. With this noble ambition in mind we figured that we would go downstairs and try out this quaint little restaurant / cafe that is right across from where we live. In fact we were quite excited, we figured that this would be a great place to hang out and practice the few words of Turkish we had learned hence far. We imagined we would become something of a regular visitor to the place so that whenever we would come in they would rise and greet us with mighty hellos and a firm slap on the back.

So it was we found ourselves, seated outside on the patio looking at the plastic laminated menus that were placed on each table. The first thing we noticed was that the restaurant was painfully empty, but we just figured that Turks must not eat dinner at 6pm. Or maybe it was too early yet and they were commuting home from a long day at the office, or even better, maybe there was a soccer match on that was just too enthralling to miss (as we have found that the Turks are very serious and very passionate about their soccer). The second thing we soon realized was that most of the dishes on the menu contained the word 'Kokorec'. Granted, this word was also pasted, in very large, white letters that hung on a marquee that ran across the front of the building but we somehow managed not to make the connection that this might be a specialty restaurant, to put it politely.

After a little indecision on our part we ordered some meatballs, or kofte, for our two year old ball of energy Keira and Jessica and I decided to go for the house specialty. Of course the process of ordering took about 10 minutes as we didn't speak more than a few words of Turkish and our waiter spoke no English. If you can imagine a flurry of arm waiving, pointing and hand gestures you can get the gist of what it looked like for the Amis family that night to order food. But we were brave, and hungry, and we eventually conveyed that we we wanted the largest looking Kokorec sandwiches they had on their menu. Feeling pretty good with this recent transaction we watched the waiter walk away and give the order to the cook. It was at this point that we finally had a short discussion between ourselves as to what this mystery food may be, but resting on our past accomplishments we figured it couldn't be anything as bas as some of the food we had 'enjoyed' during our last 4 years in Afghanistan. The Lord must have laughed and repeated 'Pride cometh before the fall' around this time I imagine.

Well, after a short, and uneventful wait, the food came out. The first thing to hit my senses was the smell... the smell that will likely haunt me for a long time to come. It is hard to describe it unless you have had the opportunity to be exposed to the stuff, but it had a earthy yet pungent organ like smell. It was at this point that I knew we may have made a bit of a mistake... but not wanting to taint the waters I figured it was best not to say anything to Jessica just yet and to try it and see if perhaps the smell was masking some time honored Turkish culinary masterpiece. The first bite quickly dissolved any idea I had that it might be something delicious, in fact I would have gladly settled for consumable at this point. As I slowly looked up over my steaming, mystery meat sandwich I saw Jessica staring back with a look on her face that I imagine I too was making.

We quickly realized that there was no way we could eat these sandwiches without them making a repeat appearance at the restaurant, so we started trying to figure out a solution that would get us out of the restaurant with some honor in tact and without offending those who had cooked and served it. I went for the tap and wrap move; for those unfamiliar with this technique I would wrap the bottom of the sandwich with a napkin, as if to keep my hands clean, and then would then tap the sandwich a number of times to get the meat to fall to the bottom, and into the napkin. Then I could eat the bread (which was still a chore as the meat juice had permeated every bite) and make it seem as if I was enjoying it. Jessica went another direction, and after two bites put the sandwich down and announced that she could go no further, regardless of what might happen.

Eventually we paid and went home and ran for our dictionary where we found that Kokorec is a Turkish dish made from intestines and other delicious meat from that part of a goat. Such are the joys of cross-cultural living!