Hand-chopped lamb and tail fat, seasoned with little more than salt and red pepper, pressed along a long flat skewer, grilled over charcoal and served on flatbread with grilled peppers, tomato, onion with sumac and parsley: Adana kebap carries the name of its city for a reason. It comes from Adana in southern Türkiye, where the name has been a registered geographical indication since 2005, with rules on the meat (lamb from animals under a year old, shoulder, leg and brisket), the fat (tail fat, about one part to four or five of meat) and the knife (a zırh, the wide curved blade, not a mincer). Its relatives are easy to confuse: Urfa kebap is the same construction without the heat, and a beyti is a kebab rolled in lavash with yoghurt and tomato sauce. A true Adana is spicy, coarse-textured and tastes first of lamb and charcoal.

The meat is chopped by hand until it is a rough paste with visible pieces of fat, then kneaded with salt and flakes of dried red pepper from the region, sometimes a spoon of red pepper paste for colour; onion and garlic are not in the registered recipe. The mixture rests cold so the fat firms up, then is pressed by hand along a flat skewer two or three fingers wide, pinched into ridges so it grips, and laid directly over a bed of oak or fruitwood charcoal with no grate between. The cook turns it often and presses the bread onto the meat as it grills to catch the dripping fat. Four to six minutes is enough. Ground meat from a machine will not stay on the skewer unless egg or bread is added, which is why minced versions taste of filler.

Score the texture first: the cut face should show distinct bits of meat and fat, not a smooth sausage grain, and the skewer should hold together without binders. The outside wants to be lightly charred at the ridges, the inside juicy and faintly pink. Dryness means too little fat or an overcooked skewer; a grey, bouncy interior means minced meat. The heat should build on the second bite, not scorch on the first. Expect fat-soaked lavash underneath, long grilled green peppers, a tomato half and sliced onion with sumac; a glass of şalgam or ayran is the usual drink. Mark down a kebab served on a plate without bread, beef passed off as lamb, and any Adana that arrives mild, which is an Urfa with the wrong name.

Adana kebap

Türkiye

Develi Pide is a legendary variation of the traditional Turkish pide, originating from the Develi district in Kayseri. It is renowned for its generous filling and unique preparation method. The star of this dish is the meat filling, typically made from high-quality minced beef or lamb mixed with finely chopped onions, tomatoes, and green peppers, seasoned with salt and black pepper. What makes Develi Pide special is the ratio of meat to dough and the technique used to spread the filling, ensuring every bite is juicy and flavorful. Cooked in a wood-fired oven, the crust becomes golden and crispy while the center remains succulent. It is often served with fresh greens, lemon wedges, and sometimes a glass of ayran. A true feast for meat lovers.

Develi Pide

Greece's vertical-spit kebab stacks slices of marinated pork, or chicken, on an upright skewer, roasts them as it turns, shaves them off in thin strips and folds them into a grilled pita with tzatziki, tomato, onion and a handful of fried potatoes: that is gyros. The word means a turn or circle, from the same root as gyroscope, and the dish arrived in Greece with the döner tradition brought by refugees from Asia Minor in the 1920s; the pita wrap in its present form took shape in Athens after the Second World War. Outside Greece, especially in the United States, gyros usually means a pressed loaf of minced lamb and beef, a Chicago factory product from the 1970s, which is a different thing. In Greece pork is the default, chicken the common alternative, and lamb a rarity.

A proper spit is built from thin slices of pork shoulder or neck, marinated overnight in olive oil, lemon, oregano, garlic, salt and often a little paprika or sweet wine, then threaded tightly onto the skewer with layers of fat so the cylinder bastes itself. It roasts slowly in front of a gas or charcoal element, and the cook shaves only the browned outer layer, so each cut yields crisp edges and juicy inner meat. The strips land on a hot plate and are often finished for a moment on the flat-top with a squeeze of lemon. The pita is a thick, soft Greek flatbread, oiled and warmed on the grill, not a pocket bread. Assembly is fast: tzatziki spread first, then meat, tomato, raw onion, chips and sometimes mustard or a dusting of paprika, rolled in paper.

Judge the meat as you would any spit roast: look for strips with a browned, slightly crisp edge and a tender centre, seasoned clearly with oregano and lemon. Grey, steamed shreds or uniform brown slices from a frozen cone belong to a different and lesser dish. The tzatziki should be thick strained yoghurt with real garlic and drained cucumber, not a thin dressing. The pita should be warm, soft and grilled, with enough structure to hold the filling. The chips inside are not a gimmick, they are standard in most of Greece; mark them down only if they are limp. A gyros plate, served open with the same elements and extra pita, is judged on the same points. Mark down meat that tastes mainly of salt, cold pita, watery sauce, and the pressed-loaf version if it is sold as the Greek original.

Gyros

Sheep's head and trotters, simmered for hours until the meat slips from the bone and served with garlic vinegar, a spoon of melted butter with red pepper and lemon: kelle paça çorbası is the soup Türkiye eats while the rest of the country is asleep. Kelle is the head, paça the feet, and most shops sell either or both: a kelle bowl is meatier, with cheek, tongue and sometimes brain; a paça bowl is all gelatine and tendon. It is the food of the late night and the early morning, sold in çorbacı soup houses that open before dawn and sit next to the bus station in most Anatolian towns, and it is the traditional cure for a hangover and the standard breakfast of people who have worked all night. Its relative in the Balkans is pača and in the Caucasus khash.

The heads are singed to remove the wool, split, soaked and scrubbed, and the trotters scraped clean; a shop that skips this stage will have a soup that smells of the farmyard. They go into a large pot with water, onion, bay and salt and simmer for four to six hours, skimmed often, until the broth is cloudy and sticky with collagen. The meat is picked off the bone, chopped and returned to the pot, and the bones discarded. Two finishing styles exist. The plain southern style serves the broth as it is, white and clear. The terbiyeli style thickens it with a roux of flour and butter whisked with egg yolk and lemon, which turns it pale yellow and gives it body. At the table everyone adjusts for themselves: a ladle of sarımsaklı sirke, crushed garlic steeped in vinegar; a drizzle of butter with pul biber; lemon, salt and dried mint.

A good kelle paça has a broth that coats the lips and sets to a jelly if left to cool, with a clean, meaty smell and no trace of mustiness. Mark down a thin broth that tastes of stock cube, meat that has been boiled to strings or left in chewy lumps, and any gaminess that the garlic has to cover rather than complement. The meat should be generous enough that a spoon finds something in every scoop; many shops charge by the bowl and ration accordingly. The condiments should arrive separately so the bowl is not pre-soured. Bread should be fresh and plentiful, because it is the only side. A terbiyeli version that has curdled or thickened into a paste is a technical failure, not a stylistic choice.

Kelle Paça Soup

Özel sos (domatesli ) /kıyma /mantar /biber /soğan / mozarella peyniri

Chefs choice ince tava pizza

United States

Shrimp bisque is a smooth, cream-finished soup whose flavour comes from shrimp shells rather than shrimp meat: the shells and heads are roasted or sautéed, simmered into a stock, blended and strained, and the resulting liquid is thickened, enriched with cream and a splash of brandy or sherry, and garnished with a few whole shrimp. The form is French, from the lobster and crayfish bisques of the classical kitchen, where the thickener was originally rice and later a roux; the shrimp version is a fixture of American coastal cooking, especially in the Gulf states and Louisiana, where Cajun and Creole kitchens add cayenne, bell pepper and a darker roux and where it sits on menus next to gumbo and étouffée. Restaurant shrimp bisque ranges from a thin, elegant velouté served in a cup to a thick, rust-coloured bowl that eats like a meal, and both are legitimate.

The shells are the whole flavour. Heads and shells from a kilo or so of shrimp are dried, then either roasted in a hot oven or fried hard in butter until they turn pink and smell toasted; onion, celery, carrot and garlic go in, then tomato paste cooked until it darkens, a glass of brandy flamed or boiled off, and water or fish stock to cover. The pot simmers for forty-five minutes, no longer, since shrimp shells go bitter with long cooking, and the whole mass is blended, shells included, then pushed through a fine sieve. The stock is then thickened with a blond roux or with rice cooked in it and blended, brought back to a simmer, finished with cream at roughly one part to four of stock, seasoned with salt, cayenne and lemon, and the shrimp meat, poached separately for a minute, goes in at the last moment. A spoon of sherry or cognac at the end is traditional.

Judge the colour and the texture before tasting: a good bisque is a warm coral or rust shade, completely smooth with no grit from the shells, and pours thickly from the spoon without being gluey. The taste should be of roasted shellfish first, sweet and deep, with tomato and cream behind and a clear kick of pepper or cayenne, and the shrimp garnish should be plump and just cooked. Mark down a bisque that is pale and tastes mainly of cream, which means the shells were skipped or not browned, a floury or pasty texture from too much roux, grit on the tongue from a lazy strain, overcooked rubbery shrimp, a bitter or fishy edge from shells simmered too long or not fresh, and a soup served lukewarm, since the cream dulls as it cools. A bisque made from shrimp meat alone with no shell stock is a cream of shrimp soup and should be scored as a lesser thing.

Shrimp Bisque

İnce kesilmek için ayarlanmış dana etinden gelme yumuşak et

Dana spagetti

A chicken burger is a popular fast food item made with a ground or whole chicken patty served inside a bun, often accompanied by lettuce, tomato, pickles, mayonnaise, and cheese. Originating in the United States as a variation of the classic hamburger, the chicken burger gained popularity due to its leaner protein profile and milder flavor. It is commonly grilled, fried, or breaded and deep-fried, and is served in fast food chains and homemade versions across the world. Ingredients typically include chicken breast or thigh, breadcrumbs or flour for coating, spices, and fresh vegetables. It is a symbol of Western fast food culture and is widely adapted with regional flavors.

Chicken Burger

Bursa serves its döner as a plated dish rather than a sandwich and calls it İskender kebap: thin slices of lamb laid over cubes of pide bread, covered in a tomato sauce, finished at the table with browned sheep's-milk butter poured from a pan, and served with thick yoghurt on the side. The dish takes its name from İskender Efendi, a Bursa butcher credited in the late nineteenth century with turning the horizontal grilling spit upright, which is the origin of döner as it is now known. His descendants still run restaurants in the city and hold a registered trademark on the name, which is why many menus elsewhere call it Bursa kebabı. The four parts are fixed: bread, meat, sauce, butter. Anything else on the plate is a local addition.

The meat is the hardest part to get right. Bursa-style döner is built from whole slices of lamb leg and shoulder, marinated in onion juice, milk and little else, stacked with layers of tail fat and cooked slowly in front of a vertical grill until the outside is crisp and the inside stays pink. It is shaved thin as it browns, in strips rather than crumbs. The pide is a flat, pale, unleavened-looking bread cut into fingers and warmed in the pan juices or with a spoon of butter so it softens without going soggy. The tomato sauce is light, made from fresh or grated tomatoes cooked briefly with a little butter and salt, not a thick paste. The butter is the signature: sadeyağ, clarified sheep's or cow's butter, heated until it foams and smells nutty, then poured over the plate in front of the diner so it hisses on the meat.

Score the meat first. Look for slices with a browned edge and a tender, juicy centre; dry grey shreds mean the spit was cut too deep or held too long. The bread should be soft from the butter and sauce but keep some bite underneath; a plate where everything has collapsed into mush was assembled too early. The butter should arrive hot and separately, because butter that was poured in the kitchen soaks in and vanishes. The yoghurt should be thick enough to hold a spoon and cold enough to cut the fat. Common shortcuts are processed döner made from minced meat pressed into a cone, ketchup-thick tomato sauce, and margarine in place of butter. Grilled green peppers and tomato on the side are standard in Bursa; chips are not.

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