Groaning sounds emanated from the other end of the line when we told a friend the location of our dining plans for the night. The spot, a rowdy, charming dive specializing in Bosnian-style mezes and grilled meats, was in Pendik, a district of Istanbul well over 20 kilometers outside the center, on the outskirts of the Anatolian side. Our friends’ reluctance to join was a normal response in a city with terrible traffic and nightmarish commutes. Who would want to spend their free time on a three-hour roundtrip journey to eat out when there are plenty of excellent options just a stone’s throw away?

In the years of research for their new cookbook, Istanbul & Beyond, author Robyn Eckhardt and photographer David Hagerman became well acquainted with Anatolia and the distinct cultural identities, landscapes and, of course, cuisines that can be found on this vast plateau. So we are pleased to be working with Robyn and Dave on the first unique culinary adventure in a series inspired by Istanbul & Beyond that will lead us across Turkey’s diverse regions, bite by bite. This seven-day culinary experience (with an optional two-day photography workshop led by Dave), scheduled for May 2018, will be split between Istanbul and the Hatay region, an area that plays an important role in Robyn and Dave’s book and in the cuisine of Turkey.

Kurtuluş Son Durak is a busy intersection and transit hub that’s a hive of activity 24 hours a day. Marking a transition between the tidy, middle-class Kurtuluş neighborhood and the rough-and-tumble quarters of Dolapdere and Hacıahmet, the area is home to a host of eateries and cafes that never seem to close. Right in the center of it all, we stumbled across a diminutive white van rigged with a makeshift grill. Inside the tiny, elaborately decorated vehicle crouched Yıldırım Usta, a 75-year-old veteran of the kebab trade who has been serving up truly delicious dürüm – kebab wrapped up in flatbread – on Kurtuluş Son Durak for 28 years. He has lived in the area for just under half a century. “You see all these other kebab shops? I was here before all of them,” he told us.

After an awful 2016 punctuated by bomb attacks and a failed coup attempt, Istanbulites were clinging to the desperate hope that tensions would ease in the new year. Then, shortly after bottles had been popped and toasts had been made, news suddenly poured in that the city’s ritziest nightclub had been sprayed with bullets in a shocking and tragic attack that claimed the lives of 39 people. Though the year started off with the kind of bang I wasn’t expecting, things have calmed down in 2017. This has afforded Istanbulites the opportunity to spend less time worried about their own personal safety and more time focused on the still-troubling political situation that clouds Turkey today.

It was 10 a.m. on a bright, crisp Monday morning as we blasted down a miraculously traffic-free stretch of Istanbul’s E-5 highway. We were en route to Bağcılar, a jam-packed outer district home to three quarters of a million people. Awaiting us was an ambitious breakfast of büryan kebabı, delectable lamb meat roasted to perfection in a belowground coal-fired oak tandoor oven before emerging in all of its glory, ready to be sliced and devoured quickly with fresh flatbread. Clearing a vast swath of the notoriously traffic-strangled city in less than 20 minutes, the first meal of the day was just around the corner and we already had the feeling, mere hours in, that this was going to be a good week.

Everyone seems to feel at ease in Emice’nin Yeri. It’s the kind of place where workers come after their shifts, families and couples dine, single men drink their tea and watch football matches on the TV, and women too are comfortable eating alone. It’s not just a welcoming place – Emice’nin Yeri also happens to be one of the best Black Sea restaurants around. The emice part of the name comes from the Laz language and means “uncle,” or amca in Turkish, so can be translated to “Uncle’s Place,” a fitting moniker for the restaurant does have a certain avuncular charm.

It’s the first time we’ve seen this small truck while on our Born on the Bosphorus walk in Kuzguncuk. It was selling apples and persimmons – the bounty of autumn – in front of one of our favorite grocers in the neighborhood.

We boarded a train in Turkey’s kebab capital of Adana and headed an hour west to the calm, palm tree-lined coastal city of Mersin with one thing on our minds: tantuni. While available at a number of recommendable establishments in Istanbul and other Turkish cities, tantuni in Mersin exists on a different plane of existence, with its prized status as the city’s flagship food. Tantuni is frequently billed as the Turkish equivalent of a taco, and while this comparison is not altogether unwarranted, we think it is primarily invoked by those with a particularly fierce longing for Mexican food. We believe tantuni should be evaluated on its own merits, which stand proud and tall.

On a late spring afternoon I sat at the only table at Tadal, an Armenian deli in Kurtuluş. Behind me were shelves lined with imported liquors: French, Greek and Georgian wines, Russian vodkas, an admirable range of Scotch whiskies. Opposite, a refrigerated case groaned with meze (lakerda and taramasalata, rice-filled sweet red pepper dolma and mercimek koftesi, anchovies in olive oil), many varieties of olives and a range of cured meats that included not only the ubiquitous çemen-coated beef pastırma but also pork-based specimens like mortadella and salami. Cheeses were arranged next to tubs of pickles and clay dishes of buffalo-milk yogurt.

Fall often crashes down like a ton of bricks over Istanbul, but it’s a welcome blow. Crisp evenings replace sticky, humid ones overnight. During the day it’s warm enough to walk around in a T-shirt if it’s sunny, though you may need to have a sweater on hand if the sun dips behind a cloud. It was a late afternoon in early October that cemented our deep love for Istanbul. We boarded a ferry from the Anatolian side before the sun set. It was still warm enough to sit outside without a jacket, and the energy of the changing season, both invigorating and soothing, coursed through the air and then our veins.

Photographer David Hagerman is one half of the duo behind the new cookbook Istanbul & Beyond: Exploring the Diverse Cuisines of Turkey, which will be published by Rux Martin Books/Houghton Mifflin Harcourt (USA) on October 10. Together with Robyn Eckhardt, his journalist wife and the author of Istanbul & Beyond, he has crisscrossed Turkey countless times in order to document farm-to-table food culture and discover the country’s best dishes. The resulting book is a stunning culinary journey through Turkey, one told as much through the recipes collected as through Hagerman’s arresting photos. We spoke with David about his approach to shooting the images for the book, culinary culture in Turkey and some of his favorite spots in the country.

Turkey’s charming southern city of Antakya lies equidistant to the Mediterranean coast and the Syrian border, in the province of Hatay. The area is famed for its unique, spice-laden cuisine, though it is perhaps overshadowed by that of its neighbors to the east and west: Adana and Gaziantep, respectively. The former is practically synonymous with kebab while the latter is famous for, well, everything, and is often touted as Turkey’s undisputed food capital. But a recent two-day trip to Antakya made it imminently clear that its cuisine deserves just as much praise as Adana’s glorious grilled skewers and Gaziantep’s divine baklava. The integrity and autonomy of its rich cuisine comes as no surprise to anyone acquainted with this special city.

Our Bazaar walk wouldn't be complete without a stop or two at one of Istanbul's countless classic tea kiosks!

If Istanbul had a city museum, in the 20th-century exhibition we’d expect to walk into a life-sized recreation of Kenan Usta Ocakbaşı, a seminal grill joint in the Beyoğlu district. As visitors descended a few steps into the exhibition, sensors would trigger the harsh light of fluorescent bulbs overhead, illuminating a room covered in photographs of husky men with mustaches posing with a stout man in an apron, grill master Kenan Usta. The somber, groaning warble of the great Arabesque singer Müslüm Gürses would cue up in the visitors’ rented headsets and ducts inside the replica grill would belch out smoke scented authentically by grilled meat.

The assumption that falafel is a Turkish staple is a misunderstanding of global proportions. Perhaps this mix-up is due to its appearance on the menu of what seems like every Turkish restaurant outside of the country. Yet for years falafel has been largely absent from Turkey. We have often pondered why this was the case: The chickpea is a fundamental ingredient in Turkish cooking, after all. And hummus has made its way from the southern province of Hatay – which shares a border and culinary traditions with Syria – to the meyhanes of Istanbul and Izmir. But for whatever reason, falafel never made the jump; it used to be very difficult to find proper falafel in Turkey, although it remained popular over the border in Syria.