One of my main gripes about living in Turkey is the lack of alternative cuisine. Admittedly, we are luckier than most being in Istanbul. At least Istanbul makes an attempt. One can get decent sushi and pretty good Chinese food here. There is an amazing, but unsung, Thai restaurant hidden in the shadows in the European neighborhood of Pera. And there are two Indian restaurants which I have deemed palatable.

The fact of the matter is just that Turks love their own food. They obviously think there’s no other food worth eating. When visiting the above-mentioned restaurants, you will ususally spy either tourists or other expats as your fellow diners. There are often expat groups that include the occasional adventurous Turk, as well. But I hardly ever see a Turkish couple out at these places, and when I do, I assume one thing: that they have lived in another country or are, at least, well-traveled types. It sounds stereotypical, I know. But I feel I can say such a thing having lived here for four years now. I am officially no longer a stranger. (the word for stranger and foreigner are the same in Turkish, by the way: yabancı)

I remember once years ago, trying to find a sushi restaurant in Kavacık, a neighborhood here on the Asian side. We pulled over to ask some guys standing in front of a kebap shop if they knew where it was. They said things like, “Why would you want to eat that?” and “Who knows what they put in their food!”, and even, “They eat dogs and cats, you know.” They also offered us a table at their place. We passed and drove on, annoyed.

Having said all of that, I am quite relieved that the boyfriend has an open-minded palate. He’s game for any culinary experiment I embark in. Most Turkish men are hung up on their mother’s food. A friend of mine received a Turkish cookbook for her birthday from her fiance. Inside he wrote, “My mother is very picky about food, so you’d better start practicing.” She should have taken the hint then; but silly her, being in love, she thought it was a joke. It wasn’t.

The boyfriend doesn’t have such an attachment to his mother’s grub. In fact, since I have been cooking for him, he has become increasingly turned off by her food. After all, she has a repertoire like most Turkish moms. He has been eating her green beans and rice for thirty seven years now, if you get my meaning. They tend not to be big on experimentation. After all, their husbands won’t really allow it.

But lately I am beginning to worry slightly about what I consider to be a bent for white trash food in the boyfriend. Being from southwestern Ohio, I have had my share of white trash food over the years. Most recipes in Ohio contain either mayonnaise or Miracle Whip (I gag just to mention it!) as a main ingredient. To this day, one of my mother’s favorite dishes contains such white trash staples as Durkee’s fried onions, Campbell’s cream of mushroom soup and Cheez Whiz.

Every once in awhile, I enjoy re-creating an American classic in the kitchen. It’s fun to re-imagine these meals with items from a Turkish grocery store, for one. And it somehow makes me feel closer to home.

One night, I made my grandmother’s meatloaf and that went over big. In fact, anything with red meat usually gets a thumbs up. One night, I simply made steak and mashed potatoes and he raved about it all night long. Obviously, he’s a meat and potatoes kind of guy in a green beans and rice kind of country.

He has recently developed a love of cheap processed packaged pasta meals from America. Suddenly Salads and Kraft Mac’n'Cheese send him to heights of culinary ecstacy. He enjoys it all a little too much. I try to remind him that fun as that stuff may be on occasion to eat, none of it is very good for you. Maybe it doesn’t concern him because he’s one of those tall skinny guys that never gains a pound despite his appalling dietary habits? But I happen to be short with a left-over athletic build and at my age, I find myself realy having to mind what I eat, for the first time in my life. I have always been conscious of what I put in my body, but have also never dieted or skimped. These days, I find myself eating “light” whatever- I-can-get-my-hands on. (sidenote, ladies: avoid Dr.Oeteker’s Light Pudding with your life!)

The point is that after making chili dogs last night and seeing the fire in his eyes, I wondered if I might be putting us on a course towards food disaster. You see, we are planning on heading back to States in the next year or two. Does he think we are going to live off of pre-packaged preservative-laden boxed food? Does he envision us eating nachos from 7-11 at 3 am, eating chili dogs from the Wal-Mart cafeteria? I haven’t yet had the heart to tell him that I won’t be eating Mac’n'Cheese myself. I’m more of an Annie’s Organics kind of gal.

Something tells me that I’d better get the white trash out of him now before I end up next to him in a pick-up truck with a gun rack, heading to Sam’s Club to get a pallet of Ramen noodles.