How to narrate our values? Is it enough to present Turkey in mere tastings?

[Summary of an interview broadcast in Turkish]

Alongside agricultural expert Mine Ataman, I was a live guest on Zincirleme Reaksiyon, hosted by Seda Öğretir. The core of the debate revolved around a crucial question: “How must we narrate our values?”. The host opened with a paradox regarding hazelnuts: although those used in the world’s most famous cocoa creams originate from our lands, we still lack a global, high-end brand of our own.

The issue does not lie in the mere promotion of a single product. As hosts, we suffer from an excess of complaisance: we indulge the visitor by serving the usual kebab, depriving ourselves of the courage to educate their palate towards broader horizons. Indulging them beyond a certain limit becomes a vicious circle.

“Why is it that, unlike other traditions, we struggle to see our gastronomy recognized as a collective heritage?”

In late 2025, UNESCO inscribed Italian cuisine on the list of intangible cultural heritage, rewarding not merely individual ingredients, but embracing the entire culture of conviviality around the table, rooted from the very stage of agricultural production. We, conversely, persist in wanting to register single products like the fig or the apricot in isolation. We ignore that our millennial culture of fermentation, from şalgam to tarhana, down to nar ekşisi, constitutes an extraordinary cultural tapestry. By relegating them to fragmented tastings, we fragment our own heritage.

“To what extent do the visual context and the safeguarding of the landscape impact this narrative?”

Decisively. Any gastronomic heritage falls flat if it is not supported by the aesthetics of the landscape. In Piedmont, the Barolo vineyards are protected in their entirety, with stringent building restrictions. Here, a visitor often finds themselves admiring an excellent vineyard surrounded by degradation and refuse. Inviting content creators to capture meticulously selected, idyllic glimpses with a magnifying glass is not enough: to showcase the image Turkey deserves, an almost “dictatorial” attitude is required in preserving the authenticity of the whole.

The conversation then shifted to the potential of “harvest tourism” (tea, hazelnuts, apricots) and the valorization of archaeological sites, questioning the actual results achieved thus far.

There is no need for systematic self-flagellation; the successes are evident. Even a modest, industrial product like powdered apple tea, when integrated into a tourism dynamic, generated a formidable word-of-mouth abroad in the past. On the archaeological front, progress is undeniable: a decade ago we struggled to gather twenty enthusiasts for Göbeklitepe; today, the waiting lists count dozens of people. Not to mention the incredible global impact, the soft power, generated by our television series.

“What, then, should be the priorities for a structural, rather than occasional, course of action?”

The first step, elementary yet crucial, is to open these locations primarily to domestic tourism. This allows for the consolidation of high-quality services and catering, avoiding the reception of foreign tourists with improvised solutions. Secondly, a systematic approach is imperative. Brilliant intuitions, such as the Frankenstein-themed choreography by Fenerbahçe fans, which made headlines worldwide, are effective, but remain a flash in the pan if not fueled by a long-term vision. A captivating video on social media will not, on its own, guarantee the prosperity of our regions.