Blessing With Lokma: Tasty Traditions in Izmir

Blessing With Lokma: Tasty Traditions in Izmir

Lokma

Since I started writing about underrated foods and tasty memories, the idea has somehow taken shape on its own. I began thinking about one flavor that carries both taste and the power of connection. And then, the title naturally appeared: Lokma.

I was walking down the street in Izmir with a friend from the US on a rainy day, when I noticed a colorful line of people near the hospital. I soon realized they were waiting for something really sweet and delicious.

— The end of the line led to a traditional dessert — something authentic that could be called Turkish street food. You can often spot it on street corners, especially in front of mosques on Fridays. At this point, the word lokma has so much to tell. But I’ll try to keep it as brief as I can—

My friend and I started chatting over the lokma. He was surprised and curious — wondering if there was any other food that could carry such diversity and meaning. He was a bit shocked. I pointed to the board next to the lokma truck. It read, “El Fatiha for the soul of [name of the deceased].” I explained to him that he just needed to quietly send a heartfelt prayer. The language or religion didn’t matter — because by being there, he had already become part of the lokma circle.

He was very happy because of the taste, but he also learned to be patient since the lokma was fresh and as hot as it should be. Then he made a joke: “I hope I don’t forget to pray. It’s so delicious!”

A few days after that memory, I shared a Facebook status that said: Beautiful ladies, homeless people, kids, teenagers, goths, rockers — all in the same queue. That’s the power of lokma. Such a sweet kind of nostalgia.

A few years later, a friend of mine from Istanbul came to visit Izmir. We were walking through a completely different part of the city when we saw a queue in front of a mosque. I suggested we get some lokma.

When it was our turn, she instinctively reached into her purse and pulled out her wallet. I was a little surprised — she was about to pay for the lokma. She opened her mouth and started to ask, “How m…”

But I gently stopped her — like a local should. It was my responsibility. You don’t ask that question. Lokma isn’t about money; it’s about respect, prayer, sharing, and caring.

I pointed to the board next to the lokma truck. It read: “El Fatiha for the soul of [name of the deceased].”

This time, I didn’t need to explain anything. She understood it right away.

I’ll never forget the look of astonishment on her face. She quickly slipped her wallet back into her purse, took her lokma, took off her white-framed glasses, and blinked her curious blue eyes, savoring the perfect balance of the lokma’s hot and amazing sweet taste — all while standing there in her sweet plaid dress. Maybe it was one of the sweetest moments of my life.

As you can see, my dear friend, I’m not really talking about the history of lokma in this post. It’s more about lokma in my personal history — my memories and small moments tied to it. But there’s something even bigger here.

In these chaotic times, with all the heavy news and uncertainty, it’s hard to stay motivated, to keep going, or to give our best. But if there’s a food that has the power to bring together so many different people around it, then maybe — we still have the power to carry on.

The crispy result that comes from the contact of soft and perhaps slightly runny dough balls with hot oil. It reminds the life to me. Finally you can put some sugar water with a lovely touch of rose water or consume it with cheese. And you have your own joy, experience. It is your own blessing.

What do you think?

What is your connective food?

Love From Jade