Just in time: The Green Tomatoes

not the fried ones of the movie, but a classic Istanbul dish and a mix&match

Thanks for reading şemsa's food per se, a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.

Subscribe for free to receive my monthly newsletter on the last day of the each month.

If you like what you read here, are curious for more and want to support my writing please go paid and receive weekly posts every Tuesday.

We’ve seen the last of the season’s ripe tomatoes, and now is the perfect time for the green ones—the unripe tomatoes that are ideal for pickling. While pickling is a great option, there are a few other dishes that shouldn’t be overlooked.

One of those is green tomato pilaki, a dish I wait all summer to make. The opportunity to cook it comes during the very short window from the end of September to mid-October.

In the Istanbul of my childhood, it was natural to wait for certain produce to appear before making specific dishes. It was like waiting for lüfer, the prized bluefish of the Bosphorus, which we consider superior to all other fish caught in the strait. Another example is the first appearance of artichokes in April, when we would rejoice at the arrival of spring. We also eagerly awaited the arrival of spring lamb and sugar snap peas. Some of these ingredients would be available for several months, but others, like sugar snap peas and green tomatoes, were only around for about two weeks.

I remember my family excitedly discussing at the dinner table how a particular ingredient had been sighted, and how we couldn’t afford to miss the moment. Today, this might seem strange to many, but back then, eating seasonally was simply a way of life. We wouldn’t dream of eating tomatoes or aubergines in winter, or cabbage and leeks in summer. Everything had its time, and everything was locally grown. It was the only way to cook and eat.

The excitement around the first sighting of such produce, and the celebratory nature of cooking with them, speaks to a way of life that was intrinsically connected to the land, the seasons, and the community. Many are returning to this approach today, seeking to reconnect with food that is fresh, sustainable, and full of flavor.

Back then, we didn’t use terms like “organic,” “biodiversity,” or “sustainable.” It was simply a reverence for those moments when nature offers its bounty, creating a beautiful rhythm to cooking.

Years later, when I opened my restaurant, Kantin, in Istanbul, I carried this rich tradition, memory, and dedication to seasonal, locally sourced food into my work. It was simply the way I had lived, so naturally, it became the philosophy for my restaurant as well. I didn’t think there was any other way. But in the early 2000s, most restaurants were serving everything out of season because it was possible and available. Families, too, were eating tomatoes in winter, thanks to hothouse farming. No one cared about the seasons, the seeds, or where their produce came from. Traditional farming methods had all but disappeared, marking the decline of agriculture in my homeland.

Because I insisted on using local, seasonal produce, I was initially branded as “the mad woman of the restaurant scene.” No one took me seriously. But over the course of nearly 20 years, the tide turned, and I came to be seen as a pioneer. Not that I set out to be one—I was simply doing what I knew. I wasn’t trying to save the world.

Any vegetable, when grown in its proper season, from heirloom seeds and in organic soil, simply tastes better. Now, everyone knows the saying: Your food is only as good as your ingredients. Back then, no one seemed to care. It was just my lonely quest for real food and quality produce. I was stubborn about the quality of my ingredients not to make a point, but because I wanted my food to shine. And for that, I needed the best ingredients I could find. Early on, I sought out small farmers and artisanal producers, building relationships with them out of deep appreciation. I felt indebted to them.

Today, after the restaurant and my teaching kitchen, I remain committed to real food made with real ingredients. My food reflects my dedication to quality and authenticity. The decline of traditional agriculture and the rise of year-round availability haven’t hindered my constant search for local and seasonal produce.

Now, the short season for green tomatoes has arrived, and I’m celebrating the moment with two dishes: the classic Istanbul Green Tomato Pilaki and a new dish, Pickled Mackerel with Green Tomatoes.