I guess it might be called a doner, but it wasn’t a doner like I’m used to in the rest of the Turkish universe, meaning the country itself and every stall with a spit that is reasonably near. This thing was different. And it was oh, so very good.
It was at the carnival sort of park that is Ozungul, an easy drive from Trabzon on the Black Sea. I walked up to the guy and immediately saw one huge difference: there wasn’t the big vertical spit with the juicy meats all pressed together waiting to be sliced and served, but rather a large circular cooking piece, about a meter across, with a dip in the middle about six inches wide like a nipple in reverse. And off to the side was the man’s meat, the goods ready for sale.
The meat itself was a different sort, neither spit-style trimmed nor kebab-grilled nor minced or ground. It mostly resembled minced, to be sure, but it still kept some of that grilled character, like a trim that went especially fine, or maybe it was a grind especially loose.
I nodded at the guy and he tossed a healthy handful in the nipple upside-down. Then he began a dance I had not seen before.
First he splashed water in the little bowl with the meat, I guess to bring it all back to life. Next came oil, and it started to sizzle and smell. Then a mix of spices, front and center. And finally the choice of goods beside, tomatoes, lettuce, sauce. I wanted not a one of those impostors. I wanted that meat – that oh, so delicious smelling meat – and I wanted it unadorned.
When the whole thing was getting ready to take its rightful place in this godblessed world, the guy did one final thing. He took the piece of bread and he spashed a little goodness on it and he put it straight down on top of the nipple and just let it sit there. Meat underneath, soft bread on top, everything perfectly in its place.
He wrapped it for me and I took it and walked away. It was the best meal I had that week in Turkey. How can I find this thing again?