"Wait, so what's the difference between lahmacun and gözleme?" my boyfriend asks me as we navigate…read morethe slushy sidewalks of Perleberger Straße.
"Lahmacun is Turkish pizza, gözleme is like a Turkish quesadilla."
"And we're going to a place called Güllü Lahmacun to eat...gözleme?"
"Yes," I said, doubting whether this was indeed going to be the right restaurant.
The first time I lived in Berlin, a friend of mine took me to this little restaurant tucked away on a random street corner whose name I could not for the life of me remember -- all I knew was that only women worked behind the counter, somewhat strange for this area. Thanks to some Internet sleuthing, I found out the name of the place and decided to go back for old times' sake.
In the years since I was last there, not much has changed. We were warmly greeted by a woman tending to the large, decorative electric grill that sits in the front window and waited our turn to order. We ordered a cheese-and-spinach gözleme for €2.50 and took a stand in the corner to wait for her to prepare our food.
The only one working, she ripped a chunk of dough from a pile sitting on a counter in a large plastic bag and put it through an automatic roller to get it to the perfect thinness.
"Scharf?" she asked me, the only other woman in the restaurant, with a smile. Of course. Slowly but deliberately, she laid out the fillings, folded the dough over and set it on the grill, brushing it with some fat to give it that perfect gleam. After waiting 15 minutes -- nothing moves quickly here -- she sliced the gözleme up into squares and piled it on a to-go plate for us to take with us on our way to a beer festival a few U-Bahn stations away.
The best gözleme I've ever had? Not really, and the price is a bit steep -- I've had better, bigger portions for less than €2. But for a relaxed atmosphere and kind service, it's a sure bet. And for that, we certainly plan on heading back next time we're in the neighborhood.