Turkish Delight celebrates regional cuisine in Anchorage

Zeynep Kiliç and I met in 2019, in what feels like a universe far, far away. At the time, she was Associate Professor of Sociology at University of Alaska Anchorage, and I taught at Alaska Pacific University. We both focused on Alaska’s food system, and our worlds connected when we teamed up to invite over 300 food scholars to Anchorage for an event. Pulling off a conference is never a small feat, but I was gobsmacked to observe this former Fulbright scholar not only plan and run an academic conference, but also prep, direct, and serve a full Turkish buffet for over 350 people that included a Turkish cooking team and hand-rolled döner kebab.

“That woman can do anything,” I thought.

Fast forward to 2022. Zeynep and I sat on her family’s seaside lanai somewhere outside Izmir, Turkey. Our new and old friends left after 10 days of falling in love with the place. We had one more junket in Turkey together before she turned me loose to solo explore her homeland.

But first, a meal.

Turkish breakfast is a strong contender for my final meal. A casual morning like this one includes at least three types of cheese on a spectrum from salty to pungent, pan-warmed slices of sujuk (a dry, spicy sausage), at least two types of olives (black and green), sliced cucumber and tomato, simit (a staple sesame bread), and my unexpected favorite breakfast addition: fresh greens eaten as-is and, in my case, by the handful—watercress and parsley in particular. We would bring out whatever we had from the previous meal, too: dolma, fried veggies, börek, any bread or pastries. (Once stateside again, I spent a week desperately trying to re-create this experience and it just resulted in Googling more plane tickets, sigh.)

Life as we know it has changed from those conference-planning days. COVID has happened. University life is different. Time feels ever more finite. We spent those weeks together, and as I ate and drank my way across the country, I learned more about her food story.

At 19, Zeynep left Turkey for England to work as an au pair, financing her dream of studying in America, and eventually leading her to earn a PhD in sociology. Her mother, not totally sold on the idea, asked why she wanted to go so far. Zeynep, no shrinking violet, embraced a Turkish saying: “Let me rub my nose raw on the pavement, and then I’ll come home,” a phrase that would serve her well when she left Turkey for the US at 23, and much later, wading into restaurant ownership.

Sociology wasn’t her first path. She studied economics in Turkey but found it to be an awkward fit. What captivated her were the seminars that explored the social dimensions of economic policy, Ottoman history, cultural evolutions, and the human stories behind the numbers. A chance encounter with an old acquaintance who had made the same switch from economics to sociology sealed her next chapter as a professor known for her lens on food.

Hers was a lovely life with meaningful work, until it wasn’t.

University budget cuts and a unique opportunity led the tenured, award-winning food scholar to change up her life recipe. In May 2023, Zeynep, along with her husband, Wayne, and brother, Engin, purchased the pre-existing Turkish Delight, owned at the time by another Turkish family in Anchorage.

Restaurant work is notoriously a grind. As Zeynep talked about transitioning to that life, I asked her, “Why would you do that?” at least a few times.

“Why would I choose this instead of something else? I want people to know about this flavor profile of food. This is both about my own sense of self and my commitment to our community.” I pressed her. We talked a lot about authenticity, what it really means, and why it’s annoying because it can create a singular lens on deliciously complex food cultures. “We want to present the version of Turkey that we grew up with. It’s so diverse across the regions, and we make food that is recognizable to Turks.”

“We’re not a kebab shop (and those are great!). We’re offering an expression of who we are, and it’s something we’re really proud to share.”

I asked about her appetite for dishes that are more fusion and artistic interpretation of Turkish food, but she pushed back. “We’re a culinarily curious team! But that fusion can only happen when you understand the foundations of a cuisine, and it turns out Turkish food is much more complex than people give it credit for.”

The restaurant feels like family because it is. Her brother, Engin, is a serial entrepreneur and knows the local business scene. Their complementary skills helped them keep finances in line from the beginning and build out a creative new iteration of the establishment.

Wayne, her husband, was crucial in the space remodel and restaurant planning. He hand-built much of the renovation himself. He’s also their unofficial PR guy, spreading the word and keeping the restaurant front of mind for friends. It doesn’t hurt that Wayne, who grew up in Anchorage, loves Turkish food and has been known to DoorDash from their own shop on a weekend. Sometimes they even throw in a free baklava.

The kitchen cranks out Turkish cooking with a consistent vision. Customers can expect rich flavors and a seasonal menu. The kitchen crew runs the restaurant like a family kitchen scaled up for a city. A meal at Turkish Delight can be a quick stop or a multi-course affair. As Zeynep hustled through the kitchen on photoshoot day, she whipped up döner fries and thrust the fragrant, steaming plate into my hands. It’s a favorite treat and one they only do for dine-in because the bed of crisp potatoes is best served fresh. It’s a full meal of loaded fries with shaved döner meat, basil yogurt, house sauce, and pickles (bonus, it’s gluten-free). I prefer to share it with someone, and it definitely requires a cup of Turkish Coffee afterward.

ON BUILDING A MENU THAT’S SCRATCH COOKED, FULL OF FLAVOR, AND FAR FROM ITS ORIGIN

Zeynep’s dream was to run the kitchen by the seasons, a philosophy that’s simple in spirit but complicated in practice, especially in Alaska. “Cucumber salata becomes broccoli stalks in winter,” she explained. “They’re more nutritious and easier to get.” Every menu decision reflects that same intention, using what’s fresh, what’s available, and what makes sense for the environment she’s cooking in.

Although Turkish cuisine is often thought of as meat-heavy, Zeynep is quick to point out that this is a regional misunderstanding. In the Aegean and Black Sea regions where she grew up, vegetables and grains are the heart of the table. “People couldn’t afford meat the way Americans think of it,” she said. “A steak per person? That was unheard of.” Even middle-class families rarely ate large cuts of meat; dining out wasn’t part of daily life, and most meals were naturally about 90 percent vegetarian. I can attest to this. Come for the kebab, come back for the börek (kind of like a spanakopita).

“We ate seasonally and plant-based by default,” said Zeynep. “Local was always cheaper, and that’s what we could grow.” Even as industrial agriculture has transformed food systems in Turkey, as elsewhere, Zeynep remains committed to the ethos she grew up with: build meals with recognizable, quality ingredients, guided by the seasons.

ON DINER DIVERSITY AND BUILDING COMMUNITY

The sociological lens that (thankfully) landed her in Anchorage continues to shape her work. How could it not? You give your life to a PhD, you better use it somehow. Zeynep views her dining room as a microcosm of society.

“We’re not a chef restaurant,” said Zeynep. “We think about what we serve, we have a vision, but we’re not trying to be everyone’s staple.” Together, she and her brother, Engin, see their work as both service and stewardship: feeding people, creating livelihoods, and giving young staff a place to learn and grow.

Looking around the dining room on a weeknight, I’ve seen camo, Xtra tuffs, bright-green bangs, tightly buttoned collars, couples, families, first dates, and old friends gather at their tables. That sense of community purpose extends far beyond their own kitchen. Zeynep talks often about wanting everyone in Anchorage’s restaurant scene to thrive. “Competition is real,” she said, “but it doesn’t have to be cutthroat. We can all make the pie bigger.”

It’s an ethos of collaboration over rivalry rooted in the belief that when restaurants support one another, everyone wins. Turkish Delight doesn’t try to serve halibut-as-usual because “so many places already do it beautifully.” Instead, they bring new flavors, new textures, and new stories to the table, enriching the city’s shared culinary network.

And it’s working.

Since opening, Turkish Delight has become one of Anchorage’s success stories. Zeynep and Engin have built a menu that reflects their shared preferences and culinary philosophy, showcasing the rich diversity of Turkish cuisine far beyond the expected kebabs. In Turkey, restaurants often specialize in a single dish like pide or künefe and aim to master it completely. Turkish Delight brings that same spirit of intentional execution to a wider range of offerings.

Their dedication has not gone unnoticed. The restaurant has earned multiple accolades, including third place in the 2025 Vegan Challenge, second place for Best International Cuisine in Alaska Business Magazine’s Best of Alaska awards, and recognition from the Far Pacific Region Business Rate Awards. In 2023, Anchorage Daily News food critic Mara Severin named their appetizers among the city’s best, and they’ve since become a favorite of Anchorage food influencers. “We’re not a kebab shop (and those are great!). We’re offering an expression of who we are, and it’s something we’re really proud to share.”

ON HER NEW IDENTITY AS AN ENTREPRENEUR

Zeynep is clear eyed about who she is, and who she refuses to become as an entrepreneur. She’s also candid about the fact that she probably wouldn’t have done this alone.

“I’m not the caricature of a Turkish business owner,” she said firmly. “Though I serve you, I’m not your servant.” She rejects the stereotype of the exoticized immigrant restaurateur. American diners often expect ethnic food to be cheap, abundant, and somehow less deserving of the price tags attached to European cuisine. “A Scandinavian plate can be tiny and cost 40 dollars,” she noted. “But an Ethiopian or Turkish meal? People expect mountains of food for next to nothing. We’ve been socialized that way.”

Running a restaurant in Alaska magnifies those tensions.

Sourcing real ingredients from Turkey is a logistical puzzle, made more challenging by recent tariffs. Suppliers lose trade access, barges are delayed, and substitutions rarely capture the same flavor.

“The cheese! Four of our key dishes depend on it, and it’s not that we can’t afford it, we just can’t get it.” Zeynep refuses to compromise on quality, even when that means slimmer margins. “We could buy cheaper,” she said, “but it wouldn’t be right. We want to eat this food, too. That’s our built-in quality control.”

Leaving academia for entrepreneurship was a leap of faith and required her to really examine her life trajectory. “The value of higher education is shifting,” reflected Zeynep. “I loved teaching but not the bureaucracy.”

Moving into business meant learning a new language of power, money, and capitalism, one that sometimes feels at odds with her values. Still, she brings her educator’s instincts to every part of the restaurant, mentoring young staff and creating space for immigrant workers to build stability and confidence. With as much grit as anyone out there, Zeynep’s version of entrepreneurship isn’t about status, it’s about community.

RELATIONSHIPS KEEP RESTAURANTS ALIVE IN SMALL TOWNS

Diners and restaurants meet on a two-way street to make a place thrive. Feeding someone is intimate. That type of relationship deserves empathy and perspective from both sides of the table. Online commentary and reviews can be crushing for new restaurants’ spirits. “Nine times out of ten, staff are truly trying their best.” The tone of public criticism, Zeynep feels, often reveals those who have never spent a day working in food service. For her, the solution is simple: Be kind. When Zeynep encounters a less-than-perfect meal elsewhere, she doesn’t post about it online. Instead, she reaches out privately to the restaurant, offering feedback directly to the people who can use it. “They can take it or leave it,” she explained, “but I haven’t put their business at risk by blasting them publicly.” It’s a philosophy rooted in compassion and a reminder that behind every plate is a human being doing their best. “Food service is relentless. It demands 100 percent excellence every day or risk the keyboard warriors taking you down.”

Authenticity, for Zeynep, isn’t about rigid tradition—it’s about truth. The restaurant doesn’t chase trends or reinterpret dishes for novelty’s sake. “You can’t remix something until you understand its foundations, Let’s educate people on Turkish food first, then mix it up.” The goal isn’t to impress, but to inform—to help Anchorage’s culinarily curious diners taste the nuance of real Turkish flavors, prepared with care and intention. In a city where the restaurant industry is tight-knit and diners are sometimes fickle but deeply invested in keeping local spots alive, Zeynep sees her role as both educator and neighbor. “People in Anchorage want new things. They’re curious. They care. That’s why we do this. I love being a restaurant people can walk to!”

Ask yourself—does the phrase “Turkish Delight” evoke anything other than C.S. Lewis’s description in The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe? If not, it’s time to grab a seat at this re-vamped Anchorage establishment with an old-world, flavorful, seasonal welcome.

Turkish Delight: turkishdelightalaska.com

For more on Zeynep Kiliç, check out her documentary Tables of Istanbul, an exploration of food cultures in Turkey and Zeynep’s personal story.