Tzatziki and Istanbul’s Dairy Farms
Of all the mezzes that adorn meyhane tables and Istanbulites’ kitchens alike, tzatziki is probably the most widely recognized and adored by Europeans. There is of course, the Greek connection but that alone could not account for tzatziki’s popularity as there are numerous mezzes that are also part of contemporary Greek cuisine and yet do not share similar levels of popularity such as dolmades (stuffed vine leaves) or fava (pureed fava beans served with olive oil). So, how has a dish that is so easy to prepare using such common ingredients stolen so many hearts all over the world? Because of the refreshing, or even rejuvenating effect it has once the first spoonful touches your taste buds.
As simple as it gets
According to journalist-cum-food expert Mehmet Yaşin, some culinary historians claim that during the reign of Mehmed II (a.k.a. the Conqueror, 1451-1481) a type of tzatziki dish was made with yoghurt, chards, and black cumin. However, the first proper reference to it is made by Cypriot Mehmet Kamil Pasha in his Melceü’t-Tabbahin, or A Refuge for Cooks from 1844. Tzatziki (or, cacık) is listed under “Side dishes” alongside various salads and pickles and its recipe is as simple as it gets:
Use a mortar and pestle to crush a few cloves of garlic. Then add two finely chopped cucumbers, the crushed garlic, and salt to strained yoghurt and mix well. Add a few cubes of ice before serving.
From the 16th century onwards, Bulgarian immigrants (most of whom resided not in what is Bulgaria today but in Thessalonica) rose to fame as masters of dairy farming. And unsurprisingly, some of the best breakfast joints in Istanbul were owned by Bulgarians. Two of these were particularly famous: Pandelli Shestakof’s Pando, which was opened in 1894 and served Istanbulites for 119 years; and, Boris’s Place, which is located in Kumkapı (a borough famous for its meyhanes) and is still in operation. The owners still produce their own yoghurt and kaymak (clotted cream) and according to culinary expert Vedat Milör, it is one of the best places to enjoy a dairy-centred breakfast in Istanbul.
The recipe for tzatziki hasn’t changed much ever since. In rural areas, notes Mehmet Kamil Pasha, people have gotten accustomed to adding a small cup of vinegar to the mixture. Likewise, more contemporary recipes suggest adding mint or dill and drizzling with olive oil before serving. Finally, some (although not many) have substituted cucumbers with romaine lettuce, leaf lettuce, courgettes, or carrots.
The key to making the tzatziki is attaining a creamy but not watery texture. Restaurants often go the latter way, adding water to the yoghurt to give it an almost soup-like consistency and texture. According to Erdir Zat, editor of Gastronomy of Rakı, when it comes to tzatziki, that is a big no-no. Instead, he asserts, the creamy texture should be attained with the addition of olive oil and if ice is to be used to cool the tzatziki, it should be used in strict moderation to maintain creaminess.
Author and meyhane owner Fıstık Ahmet Tanrıverdi believes it’s the combination of simplicity and distinct refreshing taste that has turned tzatziki into an indispensable mezze for not only meyhane frequenters but also all Istanbulites. And perhaps no one epitomises this affaire de cœur as perspicuously as Cacıkçı Neşet Efendi, one of the most enthralling characters in author Şemsettin Kutlu’s cult classic Celebrities from Old Istanbul.
Cacıkçı, or Tzatziki-lover Neşet Efendi was a blacksmith who migrated to Istanbul during the Russo-Turkish War of 1877-1878. Although fond of rakı and all meyhane mezzes, his one and true obsession was tzatziki. So much so that for him, thousands of canisters of yoghurt from Silivri (a district of Istanbul, along the Sea of Marmara and outside the urban core, famous for its yoghurt) were brought to Istanbul and hundreds of thousands of cucumbers were grown in the Langa bostan (Langa, located in southern Istanbul, was one of the most well-known market gardens in the city for centuries before being destroyed by massive urbanisation in the 20th century) for one purpose and one purpose alone: to make tzatziki.
Neşet’s unquenchable thirst for tzatziki was attested to by one of his closest friends, Osman Cemal Kaygılı: “The moment someone uttered the word tzatziki he would uncontrollably start drooling and turn limp. Summer and winter alike, when he heard the sound of a mortar and pestle, he would imagine someone crushing garlic to make tzatziki and stop and listen to the sounds as if it was a musical masterpiece. And the sight of cucumbers and smell of garlic simply enraptured him.”
Istanbul’s Dairy Farms
That Istanbulites had unmatched access to fresh and delicious vegetables and greens throughout the year thanks to the countless market gardens located in and around the city was mentioned in the chronicles for vegetable fritters and roasted aubergine salad. And there is no doubt that the delicious taste of cucumber plays a significant role in attracting Istanbulites to tzatziki. A similar statement regarding taste, however, can be made for yoghurt in particular and all dairy products in general thanks to the innumerable dairy farms (mandıra, in Turkish) situated within the city walls and also on hillcrests across the Bosporus.
According to the Turkish etymological dictionary, the word mandıra comes from the Greek mandra, meaning barn.
Although not much has been written about Istanbul’s dairy farms (at least, certainly not as much as the market gardens), historians have shown that they played a key part in the city’s culinary life and food politics from Byzantine times onwards. During the Byzantine period, the dairy farm in Eyüp (a district that extends from the Golden Horn all the way to the Black Sea and was known as Kosmidion before the city’s conquest by Ottomans) met the city’s entire milk and other dairy product demands. And so incredibly tasty was the milk that was produced here (likely due to the quality of pasture) that the district became famous for its kaymak (clotted cream).
After the conquest of Constantinople by the Ottomans, there was a surge in demand for dairy products, accompanied by a mushrooming of dairy farms in and around the city. Dairy farms in Kağıthane (Glykà Nerà, or Sweet Waters in Greek – a district on the western border of Eyüp) and Merdivenköy (on the other side of the Bosporus) produced almost exclusively for the Sultan’s Palace while a myriad of others in Alibeyköy (a borough in Eyüp), Ayazağa (a borough north of the Bosporus), Levent (situated to the North of the Goldern horn), Sütlüce (on the eastern bank of the Golden Horn across Eyüp), Kanlıca (located on the Asian side to the north of the Bosporus), Üsküdar (Scutari – sitting on the Asian shore of the Bosporus right across the Old Town), and many others worked to full capacity to meet the city’s demands. In fact, so high was the demand that according to historian Donald Quataert, many bostan or agricultural farm owners decided to take to mandıracılık (dairy production). According to famous traveller Evliya Çelebi, by mid-17th century, there were around 2,000 active dairy farms in and around Istanbul and they could barely meet the demands of the city.
Today, largely due to unplanned urbanisation and massive migration, there are only 218 dairy farms located in and around Istanbul and it is mandıras in surrounding or nearby cities, such as Tekirdağ, Balıkesir, and Çanakkale meet Istanbul’s dairy needs.
Tzatziki and a common, cosmopolitan heritage
For centuries tzatziki occupied a key place in Istanbul’s cuisine. It was one of the countless dishes that represented the cosmopolitan complexion of the city. And as such, it belonged to the city as a whole but always different to and from itself. But that all changed with the 20th century advent of nationalism and like many other dishes, cultural practices, traditions, and even memories, tzatziki found itself at the very centre of a nationalist propaganda war.
The only other dairy product that could challenge tzatziki’s commanding position on the meyhane table is feta cheese. As Fıstık Ahmet Tanrıverdi puts it: “Feta cheese is so identified with rakı that you do not take notice of its presence but will immediately recognize and be troubled by its absence.”
Nationalists on both sides of the Aegean Sea claimed tzatziki or cacık to be representing not multitude and diversity but an ostensibly primordial national identity. For decades they fought hard, perhaps harder than for anything else, to prove it belonged to them, and them alone. To no avail of course, as tzatziki or cacık simply defied all attempts at national reification and continued to represent a more kaleidoscopic and euphonic way of being – a way of being many on both sides of the Aegean today desperately yearn for.