Moorish Marmaris
The Turkish Riviera comes to South Yorkshire
The first time I saw Burnley play was 25 August 1974. Newly promoted to the First Division, the opening match of the season was at Bramhall Lane, home then and now to Sheffield United. Two first-half goals: I remember one as a bit of a scramble (plus ça change) and the other, a long-range strike from Martin Dobson I think, were sufficient to make for a very happy drive back over the Pennines to Burnley with my Dad & Uncle in the late summer sun.
Since then, I’ve not had much cause to visit Sheffield other than access to the Snake Pass for twenty-odd miles of motorcycling intoxication, and circumnavigating the outskirts of the city or its inner ring road is enough to question the very existence of a god. So I’ve never been tempted to explore the manifest charms its many supporters claim of it. But 16,506 days later, both teams find themselves competing again at the highest level. Our hope is for a similar result to all those years ago, but expectations based on the recent form of both teams point to a different outcome.
My daughter was twenty-eight the day before and, despite being married, still insists on a parentally-sponsored ‘Birthday Outing’ and a good feed of sorts. But tastes change, so as the years went by, McDonald’s gave way first to Pizza Express and then to Yo Sushi! via Wagamama before escalating to places like the fabulous Moorcock Inn (reviewed in a previous STWHA issue) which is where we went the evening before. So after a visit to the excellent Yorkshire Sculpture Park at Bretton Hall on Saturday morning, we find ourselves trudging through the light-industrial wasteland of Sheffield’s hinterland for this year’s birthday ‘treat’ in the pissing, freezing rain and in search of lunch.
The omens are not good: various steamed-up cafes full of ‘Blades’ fans chomping huge white breaded things abound as do fried chicken shops, that leitmotif of urban desolation. The Copthorne Hotel next to the stadium is rammed full of the kind of uppity people who think Copthorne Hotels are aspirational venues, so the helpful concierge suggests walking up to London Road where he assures us there are loads of places to eat. There are, but with the full spectrum of preferences, dietary restrictions and appetites to deal with, the consensus is Marmaris, a modest-looking Turkish restaurant with just a few customers sat in the back. But sometimes you get lucky and this is one of those times.
A shy, gentle waiter brings us excellent bread with a slightly salty glaze - like a brioche but without any sweetness - while we study the menu. All the classics are present and as my son-in-law fancies himself as a bit of an authority on Levantine cuisine, he suggests an Adana, a spicy mix of minced lamb with peppers, parsley and herbs that is the litmus test of a good Turkish and so we both go for that. After the excesses of the night before, my mum is happy with a bowl of lentil soup while my vegetarianish daughter goes for Ezme (a salad of vegetables, red chillies and olive oil) some hummus and - regressing to being six again - a portion of chips for dunking purposes.
I’ll spare you the suspense: it was fabulous. All of it and without reservation. The soup was luscious smoky, silky and tasted of pure goodness. It might not have looked great but lentil soup can’t help looking like prison food. The hummus is freshly made, fragrant and closer to whipped cream in consistency and in stark contrast to the gloopy wallpaper paste peddled by some supermarkets. And the kebabs, oh the kebabs…despite six courses the night before and a full English a few hours earlier, we wolfed the lot within minutes, along with the perfect rice, tangy side salad and what was left of the Ezme, hummus and chips. The quality of the meat, the care of the spicing and precision of the cooking - lightly charred on the outside; juicy on the inside but without any oiliness - far in excess of what we expected. Presentation was neat and thoughtful too: oblong plates featuring a long recess for the meat and two smaller compartments for the rice and salad.
A combination of the previous evening’s excesses, driving duties and temperance means we give the booze a miss. This was a shame as there are some interesting bottles from Turkey and Lebanon at insanely reasonable prices (sub-£20 a bottle) together with decent choices from Italy, Spain and France for the less adventurous.
The restaurant has now filled up with Turkish families and an understated babble of exotic tongues fills the air. Our excellent waiter recognises we are going to the match and so brings the bill without being asked. In under an hour, we emerge back onto London Road. The weather has lifted and with a spring in our step that genuinely good food provides, we head towards the stadium.
My mum confessed she actually preferred it as a meal to the previous evening. I wouldn’t go quite that far, but as a random pre-match lunch in an unfamiliar city, it could not be bettered. I can’t tell you how much it was as my son-in-law charmingly whisked the bill away before I could get sight of it, but I reckon it was about £50 for four including soft drinks and coffee.
And that’s where luck departed us as it did the two thousand or so like-minded souls in the ludicrously monikered Redbrik Estate Agency Stand. Three goals down in the first half and there was simply no way back against a really good Sheffield side. Attractive, attacking play with a negligible level of theatrics from their players.
As the teams trooped off at half-time, I ask how much worse could it get? Score-wise, it didn’t but I can tell you how it can get worse: you can end up standing next to a fellow Burnley supporter who farted continuously and noxiously for the entire second half, oblivious to the complaints all around him and up to three seats away.
Without tempting providence - as things stand - it looks a fair bet that this fixture will be repeated next year as both teams sit perched sixth and seventh as I write this. As soon as the fixture list is up, I’m booking a table at Marmaris. Not sure that I need to but it’s just too good to risk missing out on. Sheffield might not be on the Turkish Riviera like the town that lends the restaurant its name, but I’m thinking that if you close your eyes, take a swig of Bekaa Valley Cabernet Sauvignon while munching on an Adana, you could well be.
Lunch for four is about £50 including soft drinks, coffee and a generous and well-deserved tip. Adding wine and drinks would probably add £30 to £40 to this.
Marmaris Restaurant, 276-278 London Rd, Sheffield S2 4NA, 0114 438 6056