Were it not for the bright rays of morning sunlight mingling with the foliage in the Palace Gate Cafe’s courtyard, you would be mistaken for thinking it was the lunch or afternoon tea-time rush hour.
Almost every seat at the long wooden tables, topped with red-and-white checked tablecloths, is full. Those perched in the alcoves and balconies of this 400-year-old building, tucked away in the black basalt alleyways of Diyarbakır’s old city, are equally busy.
But it is 10.30am, and here in south-eastern Turkey, breakfast service is the busiest time of day. It is a Saturday, and Diyarbakır’s residents are tucking into brass dishes of eggs sauteed with lamb or beef meat, known as kavurma, plates of bal kaymak (clotted cream with honey), and at least four types of cheese.
Diyarbakir’s residents mostly hail from Turkey’s ethnically Kurdish minority, and the city wears its identity proudly. Waiters flit between tables as thick vials of coffee are served on wooden saucers inscribed with phrases in the Kermanci dialect of Kurdish : “Where did I put my heart? With the roses and the wind.”
Turkey might be a republic, but its citizens take the adage “breakfast like a king” very seriously. The meal has made its way into literature. “I don't know what you think about eating, but breakfast must have something to do with happiness,” wrote the famous 20th-century poet Cemal Sureya.
From the border with Greece to the hinterlands by Iran and Armenia, and from the Black Sea to the Mediterranean, dainty dishes filled with jams, tahini, myriad cheeses, juicy olives and plump tomatoes are served at cafes devoted to the most important meal of the day.
Diyarbakir perhaps wins the unofficial - and competitive - prize for serving the country’s finest breakfast. In the Fertile Crescent, a sweep of land in the Middle East where farming first developed, the city is surrounded by arable and pastoral land perfectly suited to producing some of the country’s finest raw ingredients.
“What makes breakfast in Diyarbakir special is that we use traditional products that are special to this region,” Ibrahim Polat, 43, owner of the Palace Gate cafe, tells The National. “We have sun-dried tomatoes, local cheeses and scrambled eggs with chili pepper and kavurma.” Jams served at the cafe are made from fruit such as quince, grown near Hazar Lake north of Diyarbakir, which is famous as the source of the mighty Tigris River.
“We buy some of our ingredients directly from the farmers, and others from local suppliers,” adds Mr Polat, who set up the Palace Gate cafe in a former pickle manufacturer’s home in 2014. It is named after the nearby Saray Kapi, one of the grand entrance ways in Diyarbakir’s Unesco-listed city walls.
Palace Gate cafe owner
Tables heave with slices of the region's famously sweet watermelon, pink as a blushing cheek, crushed aubergines doused with olive oil, and a famous herby cheese from the nearby city of Van. There are so many items to distribute that the waiter has to come out three times with three separate trays. They bear orgu peynir - salty plaited cheese similar to that seen in Syria - plates of purple basil, and a Thermos flask. It is perhaps the least elegant item on the table, but it is essential for the frequent tea top-ups.
Unlike the sesame-seed covered Turkish bagels known as simit, bread here is hearty. Known as Diyarbakir acik ekmegi - literally, “open bread” - the flat loaves pricked with window-like square shapes are sometimes cooked in ovens lined with the city’s famous basalt stone. They more closely resemble an Iraqi tannour flatbread or an Iranian barbari than other types of bread seen in different parts of Turkey.
Diyarbakir’s cultural diversity means that other dishes rarely seen countrywide are on the menu here. Among them is murtuga, a cooked mixture of flour, salt and butter. Traditionally eaten by impoverished communities in eastern Turkey, it comes today topped with walnuts in a wide copper dish. It is an acquired taste that becomes oddly addictive.
Political instability - being at the heart of a long running conflict between Kurdish militants and the Turkish state - as well as high inflation has diminished the number of foreign customers, Mr Polat says.
Breakfast prices have certainly risen - not just in Diyarbakir but across the country. A serpme - a spread of dishes - with a few coffees costs 1,200 Turkish lira - about $29. But this is a treat, and local tourists ensure that the city’s many breakfast cafes stay in business.
Some of the tourists are Turks from further west posted in civil service jobs in the country’s east.
Cabbar and Umran Akcag, both 30, are originally from the city of Mersin on the Mediterranean coast, and work as teachers in the city of Mardin south of Diyarbakir.
“We don’t start the day without breakfast,” says Cabbar. “In the past, families would all eat together, but today, because of work, it’s a weekend thing.”
From where they hail, nomads on the mountain plateaus above Mersin make stuffed pancakes known as gozleme, which are not part of the spread in Diyarbakir.
“Turkey is a multi-ethnic, varied country and so there are lots of different kinds of breakfast,” Mr Akcag added. “We always come here because there are lots of organic and natural ingredients used.”
“We like the eggs with kavurma most,” chips in Umran cheerily, as their one year old daughter Erva clutches a box of sugar sachets.
In Diyarbakir, breakfast very clearly has something to do with happiness.
