By Tom Sietsema
Washington Post Magazine
Sunday, June 16, 2002

A bright dress and a large hat precede the loud voice of a small woman who steps inside Cafe Divan for her first look at the new restaurant in her neighborhood.

"I just came in to see your place," she informs the cheerful hostess, waving away the menu that has been offered to her. Like an inspector on a mission, the colorful stranger scans the window-enclosed dining area to her right, awash in the light of an early Saturday afternoon. Next, she marches into the narrow room to her left, where a pretty banquette faces a kitchen that is partially hidden by a raised counter. The aroma of dough baking into pizza perfumes the air.

"Very nice!" the woman says, summing up her walkabout. She returns the hostess's smile, thanks her, then exits onto a sidewalk that captures a slice of upper Georgetown, crowded as it is this hour with joggers, flea marketers and the kind of women who appear to have embraced the healing powers of Botox. Some of them slow down to see what those of us on the inside are eating: sun-dried beef baked with tomatoes, rotisserie chicken with pureed eggplant, and rectangular pizzas, their puffy surfaces scattered with ground lamb and herbs.

Another Turkish restaurant in the Washington area warrants a bulletin. There aren't very many such purveyors around, and Northern Virginia claims most of them, including Kazan in McLean, where Divan's owner, Cavit Ozturk, previously worked as maitre d', and Nizam's in Vienna, which lost its chef, Yucel Atalay, to this new cafe. Rarity alone shouldn't elevate a cuisine, however. At its most seductive, the cooking of Turkey is an edible tapestry, weaving together some of the flavors of the New World with those of the Middle East.

Let me say it from the start: Divan is not the best of its kind -- I reserve that honor locally for the luscious Temel in Fairfax -- but it does some dishes admirably, and in a setting that packs in a lot of style for the price. One of the most enticing entry points is the mezze platter, an attractive sampler that includes squares of chalk-white feta cheese; moist grape leaves stuffed with sweetly spiced rice, pine nuts and currants; a dab of chickpea dip; pencils of fried pastry oozing hot cheese; and smoky pureed eggplant. Thoughtfully, this tour is offered not just for a group, but for the single diner as well ( for a manageable $6).

Other appetizers are improved with a sprinkle from the sleek little saltshakers that grace the shiny wood tabletops. Both the pink cloud of whipped caviar (taramasalata) and slivers of broiled chicken draped in
velvety walnut sauce (cerkez tavuk) need a pinch of salt to get their flavors moving. Tender ringlets of squid in a wispy batter are better when dunked in the accompanying cocktail sauce. On a warm day, I tend to gravitate toward the shepherd's salad, a summery toss of chopped cucumber, green bell peppers and tomatoes brightened with fresh parsley, feta and a few black olives.

Most restaurants limit serving doner kebab, a combination of lamb and veal pressed on a spit to weekends, when they're busiest, since the Turkish specialty is best served fresh and any extra should be discarded. Yet steady requests from fans resulted in Ozturk changing his mind and offering doner kebab every day of the week, and at lunch as well as dinner. I'm a fool for this dish, in which the meat is marinated overnight in olive oil, onions and cumin and carved to order in thin slices that are crisp on the edges and succulent throughout. But the meat is only half the equation; the folds are arranged on a savory cushion of bread draped in yogurt and enlivened with tomatoes and hot green pepper, for one of the best one-dish meals around.

Of the other meat entrees, I'm partial to the tender lamb shank, covered with thin slices of eggplant and served with rice that gets more delicious as it welcomes the juices of the lamb. Spiced ground beef finds a place in slippery house-made dumplings, or manti, another Turkish treat; picture ravioli in a cloak of garlicky yogurt sauce, dusted with tart-sweet sumac. And from the kitchen's oak-burning oven slide those satisfying pizzas known as pides, which can be topped more than a dozen ways -- take your pick from smoked eggplant, sliced chicken, mild white Turkish cheese and dried beef, similar to pastrami and sharp with paprika.

Note to imbibers: Cafe Divan didn't have a liquor license when I visited and probably won't get one till next month, according to Ozturk. Instead of beer and wine, there are fresh juices and a yogurt drink, ayran -- cool, thin and tangy -- to sip with a meal.

A cup of dark Turkish coffee is probably the best way to close a visit to Cafe Divan, for its baklava is dry, its rice pudding is dull, and a confection of rice flour, milk and rose water is a curiosity, neither good nor bad. Moist and springy, this flat white custard comes across as a lot like a marshmallow.

Even with its shortcomings, it's hard not to like Cafe Divan -- and easy to understand why it was named after what Ozturk says is an old Turkish word for "meeting place." All that glass in the main dining area fosters an open and airy feel, a modern look warmed by walls of flagstone or painted in tones of pomegranate and mustard. (Privacy seekers will zero in on the two tables in the corner, obscured by pillars but affording an outdoor view.) For such a small space, there's much to catch the eye: Meshed screen panels float from the ceiling, and pretty yellow sconces adorn whatever's not a window. The utensils are elegant; the art would look at home in a gallery.

Polishing off a plate of doner kebab, all by myself, I nod as I recall the small woman with the loud voice. "Very nice" indeed.