Why a Cooking Class Is Always Worth Adding to Your Istanbul Itinerary

I have a theory that the best travel days are usually the ones that look slightly impractical on paper.

You cross the city for one spice shop. You take a ferry instead of the faster route. You spend several hours cooking food you could technically order in a restaurant. Then you stay in the neighbourhood afterward because someone tells you there is a dessert nearby that you should not miss.

This was one of those days.

Before my trip to Istanbul, I did what I always do when choosing a cooking class: far too much research. I wanted something small, personal, and not overly polished for tourists. I was less interested in making one spectacular showpiece and more interested in learning what people actually cook at home.

That is how I found Turkish Flavors, a private class with Sibel.

The class covered five dishes, took place in Sibel’s home, and promised a proper introduction to Turkish home cooking. This sounded exactly right.

We Started With Spices, Naturally

We met at Istanbul’s Spice Market, but this was not one of those tours where you stop at every stall and slowly lose track of what you are buying.

We visited one shop: Hayfene.

The spices were outstanding. They smelled fresh, the selection was broad, and there were plenty of blends that felt genuinely useful rather than designed mainly as souvenirs. I bought several, and I still use them regularly at home, which is always my test of whether a food purchase was sensible or simply made under the influence of travel excitement.

From there, we took the ferry across the Bosphorus to Kadıköy.

Technically, this was transport. In reality, it was part of the class.

There is something about taking the ferry in Istanbul that resets the day. You leave the noise of the historic centre, stand outside with the wind in your face, look back at the skyline, and arrive on the other side feeling as though you have gone much farther than you actually have.

By the time we reached Kadıköy, the class already felt like more than a cooking lesson.

A Cooking Class in a Real Home

The class took place in Sibel’s home, in a beautiful and quiet part of Kadıköy.

It was an individual class, which meant there was no rushing, no dividing tasks between ten people, and no pretending to chop an onion while someone else actually did all the cooking.

We could talk – and that was the best part.

We talked about ingredients, traditions, everyday meals, and how Turkish families put together a generous table without spending the final hour before dinner in a state of panic.

Cooking with someone in their home gives you a different kind of information. You notice which steps are treated as essential, which ones are flexible, what gets prepared in advance, and when the answer to “how much?” is really “taste it and decide.”

The menu included:

• kısır
• karnıyarık
• havuç tarator
• cheese börek
• green beans cooked in olive oil
• dried apricots soaked in syrup and stuffed with kaymak

I will be sharing some of the recipes separately, but these were the three dishes that changed the way I cook most.

Kısır and the Importance of Buying the Right Bulgur

Kısır looks simple, and it is simple, but only once you stop buying the wrong bulgur.

This was one of the first useful lessons from Sibel: look for medium bulgur or köftelik bulgur.

That detail matters. Bulgur comes in several sizes, and choosing the wrong one can leave you with something too coarse, too soft, or generally not what you had in mind.

The bulgur was soaked with boiling water, then mixed with tomato paste, spices, olive oil, herbs, spring onions, tomato, and pomegranate molasses.

The mixture was worked thoroughly by hand, which helps distribute the seasoning and gives the finished kısır a more cohesive texture.

It tasted exactly how I want kısır to taste: tangy, fresh, herby, and substantial enough to feel like real food rather than decorative salad.

At the class, it was served as part of the meze spread.

When I made it again at home, I followed the recipe exactly, with one substitution. I had no pomegranate molasses, but I did have mulberry molasses that I had bought in Turkey the year before.

It worked beautifully.

Was it traditional? No. Was it delicious? Yes. I consider this a successful kitchen decision.

The best part was how easy the recipe was to recreate. There were no mysterious professional tricks, no missing steps, and no moment when I suspected that the home version had been deliberately simplified beyond usefulness.

[Recipe: Kısır]

Karnıyarık and the Eggplant Step I Had Been Skipping

Karnıyarık means “split belly,” which is a very accurate description of the dish and also makes it sound slightly dramatic.

The eggplants are peeled in narrow alternating strips, sautéed until tender, opened down the centre, and filled with a savoury meat mixture.

The key is pre-cooking the eggplant properly.

Before the class, I understood the general idea of stuffed eggplant, but Sibel’s method made the structure of the dish much clearer. The eggplant must be soft enough to open, but not so soft that it collapses.

Once sautéed, it is slit down the middle and gently opened to make room for the filling.

The meat mixture should already be almost cooked before stuffing. The final baking stage is there to bring the dish together, not to rescue raw meat from inside a half-cooked eggplant.

The result was rich, juicy, savoury, and lightly sweet from the eggplant.

I have made this recipe several times since the class, and it has worked every single time.

That kind of consistency matters. A recipe that succeeds once can be luck. A recipe that succeeds repeatedly becomes part of your actual cooking life.

Karnıyarık now feels like one of those impressive dishes that is secretly quite manageable once you understand the order of operations.

[Recipe: Karnıyarık]

Havuç Tarator and Why Raw Carrots Are Not Always the Answer

I have made many grated carrot salads in my life. Most involved raw carrots, garlic, something creamy, and a vague belief that this was enough.

Havuç tarator proved otherwise.

The carrots are coarsely grated and lightly sautéed in olive oil over low heat. They reduce significantly but keep some texture. Then they are cooled and mixed with the remaining ingredients.

This step changes everything.

The carrots become sweeter, softer, and more integrated into the final dish, but they do not turn into purée. The texture is still there; it is simply better.

Tahini was noticeable in Sibel’s version, and I liked that. It gave the dish depth and made it feel more substantial than a basic carrot-and-yogurt salad.

We tasted and adjusted the seasoning after mixing, which is the only sensible way to deal with ingredients like tahini, yogurt, garlic, and lemon. Their strength varies, and recipes cannot always predict the mood of your particular jar of tahini.

I later made havuç tarator for a Turkish dinner with friends, and it worked just as well at home.

This is also an excellent make-ahead dish. In fact, the whole class changed the way I thought about preparing a Turkish spread.

[Recipe: Havuç Tarator]

The Turkish Table Is Generous, but Also Extremely Practical

A full Turkish table can look like a major production.

There are vegetables, salads, dips, pastries, bread, herbs, olive-oil dishes, and often several plates that seem to have appeared from nowhere.

But what I learned is that this style of cooking is remarkably practical.

Many dishes can be made in advance. Some are better after resting. Several can be served cold or at room temperature. You are not expected to stand over five pans while your guests sit in the next room wondering if dinner has been cancelled.

When I later made a Turkish dinner for friends, I prepared most of it ahead of time.

This made the meal feel generous without making the cooking stressful.

These dishes are also ideal for barbecues and potluck dinners. They travel well, they do not depend on being served at an exact temperature, and they fit easily into a larger spread.

I also love how naturally vegetable-forward Turkish home cooking can be. Eggplant, carrots, peppers, tomatoes, beans, herbs, and greens are not afterthoughts. They are the meal.

The Recipe Book Was Not Just a Souvenir

At the end of the class, Sibel gave me a recipe book.

Cooking-class recipe books can be unpredictable. Sometimes the recipes are more like notes, and sometimes they work only if the teacher is standing beside you.

But this one worked. Later, I made Sibel’s muhammara exactly as written.

Muhammara is a roasted red pepper and walnut spread, usually seasoned with spices and pomegranate molasses. The recipe was easy, the flavours were well balanced, and the result was beautiful.

I especially liked that it did not require complicated technique. It simply depended on good proportions.

That extra recipe gave me even more confidence in the material from the class. The book was not a souvenir – it was useful.

The Rest of the Day

After the class, I stayed in Kadıköy and went for a walk.

And that is really why I think a cooking class is such a valuable addition to a travel itinerary.

You learn recipes, of course. But you also learn how people shop, how they organise meals, what they make ahead, what they serve together, and what they recommend eating afterward.

You get conversation, context, and a reason to spend time in a neighbourhood beyond its most obvious attractions.

This particular day gave me spices I still use, recipes I have made repeatedly, a better understanding of Turkish home cooking, and one very pleasant walk through Kadıköy.

That is a day well spent.

Turkish Flavors cooking class is a 10/10 experience for me 🙂

This experience was entirely self-funded, and all opinions are my own.