Address:
34 Yuri Venelin Str
Tel: 989 12 12
Working hours:
Noon-11pm daily

Credit cards not accepted

Ah, Turkey. It's all about perspective, isn't it? As a foreigner, it's a land where the national sense of success blinds you with every gleaming set of entrepreneurial eyes, the haunting call to prayer actually inspires people to bow their head and the bath strips your soul and skin into relaxing submission. Where the blend of melon tobacco, mint tea and men's cologne seem to linger comfortable on the bench of every park and garden. To Bulgarians, of course, there remain a few morsels of bitterness from this formerly-ruling Ottoman empire. Fair enough. But that's no reason to not enjoy their cuisine.

Our south-east neighbour is bursting with hazelnuts in the Caucasian Mountains; hamsi, a popular small fish similar to the anchovy, on the Black Sea Coast; spicy kebabs and sweet pastries in the south-east; olive oil and abundant vegetables on the Aegean and the most delicately flavored lamb in Istanbul.

So my expectations were pretty high. But I found TM34 terrific. I know the name sounds like a licence plate number, but no matter. This house, once inside, is akin to a multi-season villa. A coral-coloured wall, the warm and tropical hue of a cruise-director's outfit (in a good way), strikes you first. It works. And a tasteful collection of nargileh and tea sets help make it a truly Turkish entrance.

To the right, a vine-covered, built-around-a-tree breezeway, which feels just the slightest bit cabin-like, was an instant comfort. Outside, the covered, gas-lamp-lit garden was small, calm and a little too quiet. Anyplace that inspires you to whisper or accidentally produces guilt for hearing neighbours' conversations is never good. But a twist of the instrumental music's knob should fix that. And I will let the unframed travel agency posters of Turkey (with that annoying tanned couple) slide for now.

We were promptly greeted by a gracious server. And dare I spend a minute on drinks. My companion ordered an iced coffee. As per usual, they insisted they didn't have iced coffee. Expecting this, my companion explained that a Turkish coffee, with a cup of ice, and some milk would be great (complicated, but great). Ten minutes later, however, we were delivered two drinks. My aryan, which was in a glass (instead of a disposable yoghurt container, yes!) was cold, frothing and delicious. I swear it was homemade. The coffee, much to our surprise and pleasure, was Nescafe iced coffee, purchased and picked up from a store down the street while we waited. We could barely contain our surprise. Impressive.

Warm, obvious-out-of-the-oven, sesame-sprinkled bread arrived next. (They just bring it to the table, but charge you for it later.) And then came the meze. Similar to the Spanish tapas or the Bulgarian shopska salata tradition, this first course is most often consumed with wine or raki, the anise-flavored national Turkish liquor. Sound familiar? The best part is that they bring a bundle of shallow, white dishes right to the table. I like this tradition. Makes you feel special, and allows you to eye what you're about to eat. We chose couscous and eggplant puree (about two leva an item). Both were a flavourful and a strategic textural complement to the bread.

The lentil soup (actually a puree) was tasty (though in need of salt, but what's new?), and our main meals, two kebab selections (mains are about six to eight leva each), which included a mix of yoghurt, tomatoes, peppers, lamb, red sauce and fried bread, were rich, hearty and inventive. And it was lovely to begin dismissing my association of the word "kebab" with that massive doner skewer, most commonly found at a stand near the entrance or exit of a club or pub in the UK.

But I haven't forgotten the standard inquiries. Between the meze, meatless kebab plates, and a creative use of eggplant, there's plenty for the vegetariand in your circle. The menu was in English and Bulgarian and server-communication was clear (meaning, his English was good enough).

Finally, in what I've come to discern as stereotypically Turkish, much like softening the price of a rug with a generous cup of tea, our bill (about 33 leva) was nestled in a miniature, mother-of-pearl studded trunk. Just a little gesture to decorate the damage.