No dramatic plot twists. No unexpected ending. No major conflict. Just the same scenes repeating every single day.
People meet for breakfast. Then they meet for coffee. Afterwards, they discuss where to have dinner. During dinner, they already start planning breakfast for the next morning.
If cities had hobbies, Istanbul would only need one.
Istanbul has an insatiable appetite for anything edible. The city’s food scene stretches from stuffed lamb testicles to outrageous desserts buried under what feels like 98 different toppings. Daily life revolves around food. Every bar somehow serves dishes worthy of a fine dining restaurant, and no Sunday adventure begins without an enormous Turkish breakfast—complete with what feels like 120 tiny plates.
Even the endless WhatsApp discussions about Saturday night aren’t really about what to do. They’re mostly negotiations over where to eat. One person suggests a meyhane, another votes for the new steakhouse, someone else insists everyone has to try the latest viral café.
A few days ago, I spotted one of those famous Istanbul queues again. Naturally, I had to investigate.
The poor waiter looked completely overwhelmed. People were packed outside the café while he desperately tried to coordinate the next available tables. The place had outdoor seating, but the line was so long that the people already enjoying their dessert were practically surrounded by the people waiting to eat theirs.
I honestly couldn’t decide which looked more uncomfortable: Sitting or waiting.
There was an elbow next to my face, someone’s handbag brushing against my shoulder every few seconds, waiters shouting table numbers across the crowd, and the unmistakable scent of warm pastries mixed with sweat and Istanbul traffic.
At that point, I thought: What on earth are they serving there?
Surely this had to be something extraordinary.
It wasn’t.
They were just waffles.
Not just any waffles. They were mini waffles!
Served in a cup, so you could eat them with a tiny wooden fork. Covered in every sauce, fruit, and chocolate topping imaginable. The funny thing is, this isn’t exactly a new invention. Waffles have been around in Istanbul for years. You can find them on almost every corner—often with a nicer view and a much cozier atmosphere.
The only difference? Hello? These ones are mini!
Apparently, eating a whole waffle on a plate is no longer exciting enough. I need my waffles to come in bite-sized pieces that I can stab with a little fork. Otherwise, where’s the innovation?
And of course, it doesn’t stop with waffles.
Now we have the Sushi Wrap. Which, in case you’re wondering, is exactly what it sounds like. It’s sushi—just not cut into eight pieces anymore. Instead, it’s served as one long roll that you can eat while walking down the street, just like a burrito. Because eating sushi with chopsticks while sitting down? Oh my god, that is so 2025.
The marketing, of course, makes it sound like the greatest culinary breakthrough of the decade:
„Forget every sushi you’ve ever had before… here comes the Sushi Wrap!“
As if we’ve collectively been eating sushi the wrong way all these years.
Also, apparently, I now need to pet a baby goat with my coffee every morning. That’s just how it is… and yes, this café actually exists, and I am totally here for it.
To be fair, I get it. In a city with around 50,000 restaurants and cafés, simply serving “delicious food” is a dangerously outdated business model.
You think opening a restaurant is about flavor profiles? Nope. It Isn’t.
First, you have to feed the Instagram algorithm.
Can you produce three Reels a day? Edit videos like a pro? Do you know enough influencers? Do you have a signature move when sprinkling salt? Can you smile at the camera for three minutes straight while cutting 50kg of meat? Can you create a dessert containing 80 bananas?
Perfect. You’re hired.
Cooking skills? We’ll figure those out later.
But at the end of the day, the waffle shop simply understood the assignment. They took something that had been around for years, cut it into smaller pieces, served it in a cup, and probably made the best business decision of their lives.
And honestly? You can’t even blame them.
In a world where black burger buns attract hundreds of customers a day, sushi suddenly needs to become portable, and people happily queue for an hour to try the latest viral dessert, you’d be crazy not to play the game.
Because, you know, you don’t have to reinvent the wheel.
In 2026, you just have to cut it into smaller pieces.
I really, really hate queues. Must be some kind of „I’m better than that“ attitude.
I’ll happily wait until the algorithm loses interest. By the time everyone has moved on to the next viral dessert, I’ll quietly show up, order the exact same waffle, and enjoy it without someone’s handbag in my face.
Sometimes, being late is the real luxury.
Just look at Dubai chocolate.
One week it was everywhere. Every café had it, every supermarket stocked it, and people were paying ridiculous prices just to try it. Then the algorithm moved on. Suddenly, everyone was desperately trying to get rid of it.
That’s when I bought one. Half the price.
Thank God. It was terrible.
At least disappointment was 50% off.
But that’s the beauty of Istanbul.
Food is everywhere, so we’re never short of conversation.
And now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to check my WhatsApp. We are currently in a very serious discussion about tonight’s dinner. Personally, I prefer chicken breast, but Tuğçe thinks chicken chops are juicier. But I had a chop yesterday, so maybe we should cook beef after all?
Elanur Dinc is the founder of Istanbul Muse, former agency owner and writer, originally raised in Germany and living in Istanbul for over six years. What started as a temporary move for a project slowly turned into a deep emotional connection with the city. Somewhere between chaos, stray cats and emotional overstimulation, she accidentally became a little bit of an Istanbul muse herself. She came to Istanbul for work — and stayed for the cats. Through personal essays and urban observations, she writes about the beauty, contradictions and emotional intensity of everyday life in Istanbul.
