One should only expect that every pilaf eatery is host to its own Turkish drama.
As I mentioned in another article about the meat market, I was actually on my way to a famous pilaf restaurant. After the meat market, I found my way back to the rice eatery. This type of rice restaurant is most common in Istanbul but there are some in Adana. This particular one has been open for 60 years. Now the grandson runs it on a daily basis although the grandfather does show up to keep the wait staff in order (like to tell them to get to work instead of talking to me… oops, sorry)
Like in most local places, or so it seems, the young teen touts are the ones that get you into the shop. Here there were two of them. One was wheeling a scratched blue wheelbarrow containing a large tinfoil covered cauldron. I followed him in. He proudly lifted the cauldron onto the counter and lifted the foil to reveal the steaming broad beans simmering in tomatoes. I did not order that. I was here for the rice pilaf with chickpeas (garbanzo beans) with shredded chicken breast meat on top. And the potato vegetable sauce. Oh, and the yogurt dressing not to be called tzatziki. It is called cacik (jaw-jik) here. But that is also another story.
I ordered and was guided to a table near the action. Once I sat down, the teen waiter sat down across from me with his lunch. The other teen waiter chatted to me from the next table as he used his Google translate to find questions for me. As I tried to eat without spilling (almost impossible when being watched and filmed?), the 20-something manager and the teen waiters asked me questions… Are you married? Where is your family? Where are you from? Are you here alone? Why? What do you do for work? Is America beautiful? Why are you not married? Take me with you. Mostly the teen waiters asked me these questions. I tried to deflect them as vaguely as possible and with my own questions. How old are you? Why aren’t they in school? They leave school at 12? The other waiter, a man who looked familiar in that way that he looked very Turkish, stood quietly and said nothing. I am sure I have seen his face somewhere. Maybe on the eatery’s social media.
Then, a man entered. He had a strong jaw and longish locks of hair curling over his thick brows. Omar worked there as well. The other boys and men in the pilaf shop extolled Omar’s English skills. Omar (I don’t recall his real name so I’ve named him after the main character in Black Love Money, a Turkish drama) had worked in Istanbul for six years at a deluxe hotel and that was why his English was as good as it was. Omar took a plate of food and sat on the tiny stool next to me. He had a moody sort of attractiveness about him that I could see the ladies might like. He looked to be about 38 so he was probably 22. Life can age one here, especially for those working since the age of 13, and smoking from before then.
Omar had recently returned to Adana. To fight with his family. He has ten brothers and sisters. He fights with his mother, his father, his brothers, and his sisters. The teen waiters and the grandson manager told me this. The silent one, who looks so familiar, nodded in concurrence. Omar fights with his family. Yes. It is so.
I asked why.
It seems that Omar lives, lived, his life as he wants and is not married with children, like he is supposed to be. Omar then said that life is bad here. He wants to go to America. The teen waiters chimed in at this point. One told me that he wants to go to Germany. Omar, and the teen waiters, wanted me to take them to America. (This reminds me of a taxi ride I had a month or so ago when the driver, through my friend’s translation skills, at first suggested that I marry him and take him to America… but then, when I told him that he was too young, offered to be adopted by me. As a joke, I said that I would have to give him a new name as well. He spent the next ten minutes laughing and saying, “Give me a name! Adopt me!” which made my Turkish friends laugh so that the taxi was rocking with our collective merriment.) At the rice shop, the question was, “When do you go? I go with you.” As if life were so simple.
Speaking of proposals, this is when the drama gets Turkish. And romantic. And tragic.
Omar told me that he had met a Lithuanian girl. They fell in love. She went back home. He was going to move to be with her. Then, he found out that she had died in a car accident. As he told me this, Omar quickly wiped the corner of his eye and said, “I am not going to cry. My heart is broken.”
What a sad story.
At that moment, the grandfather gave a command and Omar got up. There were tables to clean. Customers to serve. Not.
I got up and paid. I had places to be. One of the teen waiters told me to give them a five star rating.
If you are wondering, the rice pilaf with chick peas was good. My meal cost 130 Turkish Lira ($3). I left a 200 note. One of the teen waiters said, “Ah, the tip” which I am sure they got from the YouTubers who made this place famous. I am not sure that the Turkish drama is told every time.
