Is there still a place in the modern world for romantics, or will they slowly be crushed by modernity? This is the question Tony Bourdain wrestled with during his 2015 visit to Türkiye for CNN. The question stil applies, perhaps even more so today.
It’s uncanny how even today, all these years later, Tony Bourdain’s Parts Unknown episodes remain relevant on a global scale — not just the domestic US-based hours, as relevant as those are, but the foreign-based hours, with their global, international implications. Turkey, for example. Who can watch his Parts Unknown episode about Turkey, his second visit to that country, and not think about the situation facing viewers in his home country of the US, today.
Here’s Bourdain at the end of Istanbul, which first aired on CNN on the 8th of November in 2015:
“Democracy is always a fragile thing. Ninety-two years ago, modern Turkey was assembled from the fragments of the Ottoman Empire. It always struggled to find a balance between those in power and the consent of its widely diverse population.
“Since the filming of this episode, Turkey's newly-elected parliament failed to form a coalition, and President Erdogan quickly called for new elections. … Many claim that he effectively plunged Turkey into conflict to take advantage of an atmosphere of fear and uncertainty and improve his party's chances of success. This is not an unreasonable assumption on anyone's part. Fear works. Fear gets votes. The opposition had hoped that the tide was turning. It remains to be seen if they have any reason to hope.”
Hope, too, it would appear, is a fragile thing.
Earlier in the program, talking to Sezar Dallaryan, the son of Armenian restaurateurs in a diverse ethnic neighbourhood of Istanbul — Greek, Turkish, Jewish and Armenian — slated for redevelopment, like much of Istanbul during Recep Erdogan’s drive to modernity through a construction boom and the economic might a construction boom will bring, Bourdain asks his host if there’s still a place in Istanbul for romantics and the old way of life.
Political protesters, he is told, were kidnapped, and many disappeared. Ordinary, everyday people. “They were romantics,” Dallaryan tells Bourdain. “They killed those people. They used real guns. … It's the way people feel now. Because of the way that our president talks. It's not only a political issue; it's a reality. Somehow, he let people fight with hate. … That's what I'm afraid of. That's why I'm telling you that the young generation, Armenians, will leave this country.”
“I hope you’re wrong,” Bourdain tells him. “I mean, I’m not really an optimistic person, but I hope you're wrong about Istanbul, because it's an amazing place.”
“I hope you will be the one who's right,” Dellaryan replies.
Don’t think the episode is a total downer, though. That isn’t who Bourdain was, deep down, and it isn’t the reason so many of us follow him to this day.
There is always time for good food, for example. Bourdain never said so in so many words — that would have been too obvious for him, and Anthony Bourdain didn’t do obvious — but for people with disparate views, breaking bread together was, and still is, the great peacemaker.
Food now, Bourdain says. “We’ll save the world later.”
So — cue raki, Turkish anise liquor.
Iskembe çorbasi, tripe soup.
Pide, Turkish flatbread, with ground meat, cheese and onions.
A traditional spread of mezze, Bourdain notes, “an extremely tasty, very diverse assortment of dishes originating in every corner of the former Ottoman Empire” — Circassian chicken, fava beans, rice with mussels, eggplant, stuffed grape leaves, poached eggs with yogurt — ”all classic and all delicious.
“Man, this is so... Let me say, this food is extraordinary. I mean really, really, really amazing.”
Restaurants visited: Akar Lokantasi, next to Mihrimah Sultan Camii, Fatih; Poyraz Sahil Balik Restaurant in Istanbul’s Beykoz neighbourhood; Mutfak Dili Ev Yemekleri, Terane Caddesi, Ziyali Sokak No. 8, Karaköy; Karpi, Beylerbeyi Mahallesi, No. 2 Üsküdar, Istanbul; Mikla, the Marmara Pera, Mešrutiyet Caddesi, No,. 15, Beyoglu, Istanabul.
And if that sounds like a mouthful, it is a different country, different culture. Different language.
Bourdain’s sidekicks for the outing included Esra Yalçinalp, his longtime friend from his No Reservations visit — Esra opened and closed that hour as well — Ìhsan Aknur, Istanbul’s most famousest — and most garrulous — taxi driver (“How can you ask a taxi driver, did you make an accident?!” he shrieks at Bourdain, narrowly avoiding just that, on-camera at that); and Gündüz Vassaf, psychologist and author, and Vassaf’s friend, Serra Yimaz, an actress.
“What does it mean to be Turkish? Bourdain asks them.
“Serra, are you Turkish?” Vassaf asks Yimaz playfully.
“Yes,” she replies. “But it’s not my fault.”
Speaking for himself, Istanbul finds Bourdain in an alternatively pensive and hopeful frame of mind.
“Ten years from now,” he asks Nuri Egeli, a prominent, successful businessman and avowed supporter of Erdogan’s policies, at a posh rooftop bar overlooking the night lights of Istanbul’s fast-growing skyline, “will we be able to come to this bar, or a bar like it, and drink lots of gin drinks and misbehave?”
“No problem,” Egeli replies. “This is still a party town. We drink hard.”
Bourdain: “So it's all about money.”
Egeli: “It's all about money. Everything is all about money in the world.”
Well, not exactly. Don’t forget the food.
There’s always room for food.
Na zdorovie.
Supplementary reading:
