The man held a piece of cheese across the counter to me and, when I inevitably took it, he offered me another. Then another, followed by olives and meats and even some little squares of sweet, sweet baklava. “All from Turkey!” he declared with a huge smile.
The market was busy, filled with Anatolian locals buying what they needed for dinner that night. But this particular merchant and, I would find, every other one I encountered in this shopping spot on the far side of the Bosporus, was focused on me. I could’ve stayed all night, being served free food in that bustling back lane.
