Folding a City into a Dumpling - Why Handmade Mantı at OCTO Became My Unforgettable Istanbul Bite

I had expected panoramic views when I rode the lift to the ninth‑floor restaurant of the JW Marriott Istanbul Bosphorus, but OCTO’s dining room still surprised me - glass walls framing the Golden Horn bay, linen‑draped tables, and the blurry silhouette of the Asian shore on the far horizon. Even before a single plate landed, the city felt warm, full of salt, sun, mosque domes and delicious food.

But the reason I was here was not scenery but dough. OCTO’s chefs had agreed to pause their mise‑en‑place and let a handful of curious travellers, myself included, step behind the pass for a crash course in mantı: Turkey’s thumb‑sized dumplings that carry the comfort of Anatolia in every crease.

A brief note on mantı for the uninitiated

Mantı are cousins to Chinese jiaozi and Korean mandu. Each piece hides a pinch of spiced ground beef (sometimes lamb),which is boiled until tender, then dressed in garlic‑laced yoghurt and a scarlet butter scented with Aleppo pepper, mint and sumac. Turks call them “minik ama yürekli”, tiny but brave, because a single spoonful explodes with tang, heat and nostalgia.

Rolling up sleeves at the workshop

Our Chef began by bringing a round ball of dough to the table. He tipped flour over it a couple of times, and started rolling it with a stainless steel pin. Soon, it was up to me to make the dough achieve the same paper-thin appearance. 

Once I got the dough to the desired thinness, I cut lengthwise and then across, carving out postage‑stamp squares perfect for mantı making.

I grabbed a piping bag full to the brim with seasoned beef, and began depositing pea-sized amounts onto each square. Then, I tucked in the beef, pinching four corners heavenward so each dumpling esembled a little Ottoman fez. The chef’s were neat soldiers; mine, lopsided paper boats. Still, into the pot they all plunged at the end of the day.

While they simmered, a bowl of thick yogurt was smashed with garlic and sea‑salt; butter warmed with tomato‑pepper paste bloomed a brick‑red aroma that smelled like every Anatolian grandmother’s kitchen at once.

The plate arrives

At last the mantı surfaced, and were sluiced onto a white porcelain dish. A drift of yogurt, a spiced butter, then a confetti of dried mint and sumac finished the plating. 

My first bite was like biting into Istanbul itself, with the texture of the mantı wrapper yielding to juicy beef, and the yoghurt contrasting with the spice in the sauce. I soon realised I’d found my edible headline - this was the best thing I ate in Istanbul. Not solely for flavour, but because I’d coaxed each dumpling into being with my own clumsy fingers - and because the view beyond my plate showed ships treading the same waters that once ferried the Silk Road’s spices northward.

Why the experience matters

1. Participatory dining – Cooking classes abound in the city, but few happen inside a fine‑dining kitchen whose windows frame the Bosphorus in CinemaScope. OCTO’s workshop turns diners into makers, deepening respect for the labour behind minimalist plates.

2. Cultural continuity – Mantı’s lineage stretches from Central Asia to modern Turkey; folding them is a tactile history lesson. The act of pinching dough corners mimics the centuries‑old gesture of nomadic cooks on the steppe.

3. Taste-to-memory ratio – Food psychologists say flavour married to effort burns brighter in the hippocampus. I may forget museum labels or carpet‑seller patter, but my muscle memory will always recall that final, decisive pinch.

   
   

Practical bites

• Where: OCTO Restaurant, JW Marriott Istanbul Bosphorus, Karaköy.

• When: Anytime, but book ahead. The kitchen limits workshops to keep instruction personal.

• Afterwards: Stay for lunch. Our table’s slow‑cooked ribs melted like butter and the dessert was quite literally the cherry on top. And do order a Turkish tea; it glides down particularly well after yogurt‑slicked dumplings. (ittn.ie)

Cities often reveal themselves bite by bite, with Istanbul being no exception. When taste, place and participation braid together, food becomes a souvenir no duty‑free shop can match. My advice? Skip one museum queue, tie on an apron, and fold Istanbul into a dumpling of your own. You’ll carry its flavour long after the Bosphorus slips from view.