The Unlikely Buddha

Wandering the labyrinthine alleys of Istanbul’s Kadıköy Pazar at dawn, the air thickens with anticipation.  Before your eyes adjust to the morning haze, the scents assail you: warm flour blooming against a sizzling sac griddle, butter melting into crisp edges, and the earthy whisper of spinach mingling with tangy feta.  Then comes the sound — the rhythmic slap of dough on wood, the whisper of an oklava rolling it paper-thin, and the faint hiss as a filled parcel meets convex iron.  This is gözleme, Turkey’s timeless stuffed flatbread, a humble Anatolian birthright transformed into the city’s heartbeat, drawing locals and travelers alike to weathered wooden stalls run by women in floral headscarves. Gözleme transcends mere street food; it embodies the Yörük nomads’ ancient ingenuity, those Central Asian wanderers who settled Anatolia millennia ago, baking thriftily over embers with whatever the land offered.  Its name evokes *göz* — the "eye" or pocket of precious fil...