Telephone: 020-7704 1823
Address: 91 Green Lanes, London N16
Rating:13/20

"I'm sorry," said the polite young man. "We're not open until this evening."

"But I need lunch," I cried.

"Sorry," he said. "Why not try the Cukurova up the road, next to the off-licence. It's pretty good."

"Would you eat there?" I said, with some asperity.

"I do eat there," he replied with equanimity.

Disconsolately, I wandered off into dank and shiny Green Lanes.

I would be hard pressed to say that the Cukurova Lahmacun Pide & Kebab Salonu, to give it is full, sonorous title, worked very hard at drawing in the casual customer.

To be truthful, it was remarkably unappealing. The grandest thing about it was its name. But grandeur isn't everything. Indeed, after several weeks of eating pretty high on the hog, I rather yearned for plainer victuals and surroundings.

Places don't come much plainer than the Cukurova. It was like entering one of those eateries in a back alley of Istanbul. Basically, it is a long, dark, narrow vault, with a convex roof along which runs a shiny, fat air-conditioning duct that leads from the kitchen at the back to the entrance on the street. There are plain tables ranged singly one after the other down one side.

Just by the entrance is the classic rotating upright cylinder of meat, a long charcoal grill, like a glowing xylophone, and a counter filled with meats on skewers and salads in bowls. In other words, with the possible exception of the proper charcoal grill, it isn't much different from thousands of other kebaberies all over the country.

But there are kebabs and kebabs. One sort are as likely as not to put you in intensive care. The other come as something of a revelation. The beyti kebab I had at Cukurova was one of the second variety. Beyti is one of the infinite variety of kebabs made with minced lamb. It has its own, individual spice mix, and a touch of garlic.

What struck me about the particular example on offer at Cukurova was not only the fineness of the mince, which gave it a rather refined texture, but also how exactly appropriate the spicing was for the indoor barbecue treatment. Somehow, the slight burning here and there, the sweetness and richness where it had been merely caramelised, and the chilli-infused fragrance of the spices melded together to create a flavour that was mysteriously complex, unified and satisfying.

By the time I got to the kebab, I had already had a pide and salad. A pide is usually described as a Turkish pizza, and I suppose that's as good as anything. It's rather smaller than the classic Neapolitan pizza, and the base is made from one of those ubiquitous breads of the Middle East, very thin, and crisp from the baking. The top was scattered simply with minced lamb.

It was as simple as it comes and, together with the salad of tomato, onion, red cabbage, cucumber and loads of chopped parsley, was an excellent and completely balanced meal. For £1.50. There are fancier, more expensive pides. If memory serves, they go up to £2.50, but you wouldn't need anything else for lunch, unless you're as greedy as me.

Even so, I still managed a bill of only £8, and that included a beer. Luckily, I will be spared the derision that such a bill would produce in the accounts department because my request for a receipt produced only a blank look.

When I left, it was still dank outside, but somehow not so miserable any more. The colour and dash of the salad, the smell and flavours of the grilled meats, all carried with them the remembered warmth of Mediterranean meals. You may think that these are the maunderings of a chap who spends too much time eating on his own, a saddo who has to turn every dish into an absurdly over-rationalised experience. Cukurova is only a kebab house, for heaven's sake.

Well, I think that it doesn't do fat cat critics any harm to wander off piste occasionally, and celebrate somewhere where it doesn't take four pairs of hands to get your food on to the plate, where fancy dan laundry, glass, silverware and a football team of waiters don't add a pyramid of costs to the bill, and where the food is expertly cooked and utterly satisfying.

But £8. What was I thinking of?

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