WE LOVE YOU & WE LOVE MÜNFERİT!

The world is a big, weird place full of weird people. Some pretend to be cars, some (doing yoga) take this sun salutation thing very seriously, and some go to Lucca. The latter is an “unidentified” venue situated in Bebek – to me, the most claustrophobic neighbourhood in Istanbul despite the by-the-sea location- that has been in operation for the last 4 or 5 years. At Lucca, one is offered mediocre food, ordinary cocktails that are outrageously priced  and a large population of so-chic-that-it-scares type of human beings, all in an obnoxious environment shaped by an ugly and cheap-looking mixture of furniture. Supposedly, Lucca is a cafe (the signboard reads it is also a restaurant), but it pretends to be a night club after dark. So one expects a superb audio system that is well-spent a few bucks from that hard-earned cash (cocktails, anyone?), just like one anticipates to find in every other night club. However, in this case, one falls short of one’s expectations. At Lucca, the music is played loud through a set of lousy speakers, and when accompanied by the general hum of voices, there’s no melody to enjoy, but a malady for one’s pair of ears is always guaranteed. If you are not very sensitive about music or a deaf person, I still can count a lot of viable reasons to why you should avoid Lucca. From a few (very rare) personal experiences and also from what I’ve been hearing from other people, the staff is rude and intolerable. The place gets so overcrowded that you sometimes find yourself kissing someone-you-don’t-know’s neck. And there’s always a huge big traffic jam to get stuck in on the way back to home-sweet-home.

I really don’t understand why anyone would even consider Lucca as a going-out activity.

I love the artichoke without caring about if the artichoke loves me back or not. It is my most favourite vegetable in the whole world. My grandma used to make the best artichoke dishes, and my mom is not bad at creating her own version of artichoke food formats either. And there’s Kantin’s artichoke spread which, for me, is a yummier than yummy side dish. And I say “hello” to those two men who sell fresh artichokes on the corner of a street in Nisantasi whenever I make eye contact with one or two of them. So, up to here, I think I’ve made myself clear about my feelings towards the cynara cardunculus. They are just marvelous. On the way to Ikea this past weekend, right at the heart of Bayrampaşa, a district which has made a name for itself with its eponymous prison (I’m thinking that these days Ikea is way more popular than the prison. Ask for directions and you’ll notice that everyone is in the know.), I found this fountain made of giant artichokes. OK, I know we are shit at designing urban objects but what the hell is this?  One more question to the Swedish people: Does your Ikea offer such incredible sights en route?

Today, I have the most beautiful flowers on my desk at the office.

Thanks
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