No longer hip

I’m fortunate that I've made friends from all over the world, including Turkey. It's been these friends that I have relied on heavily for advice on things to see and do while in Istanbul, as well as to find out about “insider” restaurants away from the tourist hordes. Now that we're here in Istanbul, we hit up one of the recommendations for dinner – a great place with great food and great views. But the moment this recommended eatery we knew something was wrong.

The maitre d’ looked at us with obvious skepticism. “Do you have a reservation?” she asked. Her tone was layered with barely hidden incredulity.

“Yes,” I said. “Our hotel concierge had called ahead, and had even asked if it was ok to bring a two year old.”

The maitre d’ laughed – a mirthless, you-must-be-kidding-me laugh. “I don’t think so. We don’t allow children in our restaurant.”

Hmm, ok. Obviously there had been miscommunication somewhere along the way. I peeked into the restaurant, and realized that I should probably not be too concerned about this person’s attitude. Inside, the trendy restaurant was filled with young people, decked out in designer clothes. Lounge music was playing, lighting was dim and the china looked fine. Not a place for a loud two year old.

Saeeda sensed the dilemma as well, and half turned to leave – she’d rather not deal with the stress of dinner in a place like this. However, Saeeda's movement may have made the maitre d’ think that she may be offending us, because as Saeeda headed to the door the maitre d' softened her tone somewhat.

“Ok, don’t worry. I have a table in the back." Then the following: "Is your baby a good baby?”

Good baby? What the hell sort of a question was that? Was her baby a good baby? What was a good baby? Was she implying I had a bad baby? So many questions, but I bit my tongue. The stubborn mule in me prevented me from walking away with Saeeda, and instead I agreed to be seated. We'd show her.

Inevitably, we were seated in a corner of a well appointed room, away from almost every other diner who was enjoying their food with great views of the Bosphorous. From the point our butts touched down on our seats, we began a stressful dance with Nuha, basically ensuring that she remained distracted and entertained, and never in a position to utter a peep. We made up our minds on what to order in record time, wolfed down whatever was put in front of us, skipped dessert, and were ready for the check within 30 minutes. I have to admit, I think Nuha picked up on our desperation too, because she remained beautifully well-behaved throughout the short meal. Whenever a neighboring diner would look our way, Nuha made to sure to look her cutest and coo back at them. She refrained from throwing silverware on the floor (which happens to be one of her favorite pastimes). At no point did she insist on running around the restaurant, and she ate what we put in front of her with gusto.

As we left a surprised maitre d’ behind us on our way out (how’s that for a good baby, you arrogant excuse for a restaurateur?) I realized that I would not only have to start filtering any advice I receive from friends who don’t have kids, but that hip eateries such as these were going to be off limits for a long, long time to come.

Oh well.