Although Istanbul Grill is open 24 hours a day (because, obviously, you never know when a craving for doner kebab might strike), we opted to go for an early dinner. Inside, there isn't much to look at besides Formica and worn posters advertising Turkish tourism, so everyone was conversing vehemently. One table spoke Hebrew, one table spoke Turkish, and our waitress mentioned that she was from Kazakhstan. Forget Esperanto. Insert joke here about food as the true global language.
That night we spoke kofte and meze plate. The lamb kebab was well-seasoned and well-done, providing a hearty contrast to the coolness of the salads, including eggplant, hummus, thabouli, white beans with garlic, stuffed grape leaves, and sigara boregi (a fried piece of phyllo stuffed with feta), which we scooped up with freshly baked lavash. At the end of the meal, we patted our big bellies, the universal sign for 'thank you. Everything was wonderful, but we're too full for dessert. Next time.'