Do you, I say, sliding another baton of that salty, browned and bubbled Hellim cheese between two slices of pide and now taking a bite through its crisp exterior. Make this. Erm. Bread. Umm. In here? “Me?” asks Batuhan, our excellent but bashful young waiter whose name I will see printed on the bill and note later this cold but bright lunchtime.
“Oh no,” he says. Nah, nah, I add, wrestling simultaneously with that glaring weakness in the English language and a slice of crisped Sucuk, and dropping said spicy Turkish sausage, though not the second person pronoun, in alongside the cheese. “I mean do you, like all of you, in this restaurant make this pide [Turkish bread], in here? In this restaurant?”
“Oh. Yes,” comes the reply. “In that kitchen.” And with this, Batuhan gestures proudly back towards the grills and counters, chefs and, yes, TV screens at the rear of Eda. Huh, I grunt, thinking this is so like a very great focaccia, but with sesame seed, it’s uncanny.
But saying out loud: well, mwah, it’s very good. And with that I turn my attention more fully to the Muska, those triangular spinach and feta pastries that in here, anyway, are light, delicious, tangy. Oops, I’ve just eaten all four.
Eda, today then, is a pleasant place to be and I say that not just because all of us lunching in here today (that would be four people in total) are benefitting from its fast food restaurant style panoramic glass frontage, rare January sunshine bouncing off Glasgow Cross out there, dappling us all in sudden golden moments.
I have one such moment when the hot mixed meze (they’ll say platter I’ll say lorry-load) arrives and I snap a fluted Sigara Boregi in my mouth, to be crisply met with crunch, then savoury lamb mince and, just when I think it’s all over, what comes stepping gently from a Number 38C bus: some tingly spice.
There will be another golden moment when the Tavuk Iskender arrives and I taste first the little garnish of shredded salad and discover, as I suspected I would, that the cabbage, lettuce, onion yada-yada is not only lightly dressed in lemon and oil but, hallelujah, seasoned too. I eat it all. Only we British still don’t realise salad has to seasoned, says I anyway, veteran of a thousand dry, tasteless and bone-lazy, technically incompetent, restaurant garnishes. Pfft.
Now I’m leaning over to the other side of this plate – a long way, incidentally – to fork up some fluffy bulgur wheat, burnished as it is with tomato and butter.
This, I think out loud, could be a meal on its own. Eda, as I was saying, is slap, bang in what used to be (like 300 years ago) the vibrant, beating heart at the very centre of Glasgow.
Now it’s slap, bang in the middle of culinary nowhere in an area that has fallen so completely off the edge of Planet Shopping that it lies in that sometimes scary demi-world, called, I think, the zone of transition. Where it has been ignored by dafties like myself who see big windows and think small ambitions.
A mistake. I manfully admit, as I pick at a plate of grilled lamb ribs boasting the full Maillard effect and, yes, being still a tad chewy.
Oh, hang on. That Tavuk Iskender. I waffled so much about the care that went into the sides that I completely forgot to mention there’s also rice on there and char-grilled chicken, caramelised, chopped, mixed with toasted pide and then draped in tomato sauce and yoghurt. Good stuff.
OK, get to that point. Detail. There are grilled onions on the table, clearly prepared by hand, seared at the edges, doused in vinegar, there’s hummus, a sweet and sour and sticky pomegranate sauce, grilled tomatoes, hand made chilli sauce, yoghurts, basically a million opportunities to cut corners, pre-prepare, let things get tired. It doesn’t happen once.
And that not-so-little-thing to me, which also results in big fresh flavours, makes this place kinda special.
Eda
8 High Street
Glasgow
Tel: 0141 552 2843
Open: seven days says internet - but don’t trust it - check first.
Menu: It’s Turkish food and pretty much exactly as we would expect it to be, fabulous fresh and pillowy pide, grills, casseroles, hot and cold meze. Boom. 4/5
Service: Excellent service from a helpful and cheery young waiter who was knowledgeable and friendly. 5/5
Atmosphere: It’s a big old barn of a place at Glasgow Cross, but somehow with the grills and the open kitchen it still has a vibe. 4/5
Price: At first I thought the prices were high, then I saw the portions. The mixed Meze serves four at £25, the Tavuk Isender, ditto, £19.50 4/5
Food: You don’t have to be Turkish to run a Turkish restaurant but at times like this: it helps. Very high standard of food preparation, real pride in what they do, genuinely banging flavours. 8/10
Total: 25/30
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