3 September 2025 by Pascalinah Kabi

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I recently left my beloved Lesotho and journeyed to Istanbul, Turkey, for a ten-day Bertha Accelerator programme, co-hosted by Bertha Spaces and the Istanbul-based Postane.

When I applied, my main motivation was—and still is—my desire to sharpen my storytelling skills. After all, what is the point of writing a story if you, my loyal audience, cannot truly feel and relate to it?

But this article isn’t about my storytelling. It’s about something else that touched all of us during the programme—the food we shared at Postane, where every meal was vegetarian and every bite carried its own story.

What struck me most is Postane’s commitment to clean eating. It is not just about serving food; it is about honouring its journey to the table. The vegetables either grow happily under Postane’s watchful eye or arrive fresh from local farmers who clearly whisper sweet nothings to their soil. No chemicals, no funny business—just honest meals that taste like they have been scrubbed free of sin. Eating there felt like being introduced to food that had been raised with better morals than most humans I know. But of course, morals have never own elections in Lesotho —and that’s where my trouble began.

What followed was nothing short of a betrayal—a full-on feud between my eyes and my taste buds. You know how they say we eat with our eyes before the food even reaches our mouths? Well, my eyes had already made up their minds before the first bite. Still, not wanting to trouble my gracious hosts, I whispered to myself: “Eat, Pascalinah. Relax—nobody has ever died from eating vegetables.”

The first bite? Let’s just say my taste buds staged a full-on protest march. Maybe they were simply confused after being misled by my eyes—again. Honestly, I’m starting to wonder if my spectacles are even worth the small fortune I spent on them. How does someone who’s supposed to see clearly end up refereeing daily boxing matches between her eyes and taste buds?

Take the very first day at the welcome dinner, for example. My eyes, bold as ever, swore there was fish on the menu. I trusted them, only to discover that what looked like a golden, flaky fillet was, in fact, lentils—soft, pastry-like, and surprisingly tasty. That’s when I realized the chefs at Postane weren’t just cooks; they were undercover magicians, turning humble vegetables into glamorous imposters.

And just when I thought the joke was over, it got better. There I was, expecting a ‘proper’ main course, only to learn that Turkish dining is all about tiny portions. And with no cutlery in sight, there I sat, happily pinching away with my fingers like a child at a birthday party. Hahahahaha! No wonder my taste buds are considering going on strike.

Just when I thought I had adjusted to the surprises on my plate, Istanbul had another plot twist waiting for me. Everything felt almost 90 percent perfect—until one of the biggest betrayals arrived on August 20, 2025. For starters, Chef Ada Baytaş at Postane served us a potato soup that was warm, comforting, and absolutely tasty. My taste buds were optimistic. Then came the main course: bulgur balls with “beğendi” (bae-n-dee) – smoked eggplant with flour and milk.

The way Chef Baytaş plated it was nothing short of romantic—a slow dance between flavor and artistry. He spread the smoked eggplant with flour and milk across the porcelain plate like a painter laying down the first brushstrokes of a masterpiece. With a deliberate grace, he smoothed it into a flawless bed, then crowned it with brown, soft, rounded bulgur balls called beğendi (bae-n-dee). Finally, a whisper of green and golden oils rained down like liquid sunlight. It was more than food—it was a quiet seduction on a plate. My eyes surrendered first, already certain this moment would linger forever.

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Carrying it to my seat, I felt as though I was cradling a love letter sealed in porcelain. My heart beat with anticipation of a culinary romance about to unfold. Yet the first bite betrayed me—harsh, unloving, nothing like the poetry my eyes had promised. Betrayal, swift and bitter. Once more, salvation came not from artful seduction but from the humble embrace of potato soup and bread.

Of course, the joke was on me. Beğendi is considered a delicacy in Turkey—a national treasure on a plate. The problem, it seems, was not the dish but my unrefined palate, which clearly prefers carbohydrates over culture. While the Turks have mastered the art of smoking eggplants into silky elegance, my taste buds were still operating like village gossip—suspicious, dramatic, and completely unprepared for sophistication.

Clearly, my taste buds and my eyes had formed an unholy alliance—one chasing comfort, the other chasing beauty, both setting me up for culinary heartbreak.

But honestly, I should have known better—my eyes had already shown their true colours on August 18, when they convinced me that a gorgeous Volcano Cake was destined to be the highlight of my week. I believed them, my whole body believed them… until the first bite revealed yet another plot twist.

At this point, I am convinced my eyes are running a side hustle in Istanbul: setting me up for heartbreak while my taste buds keep filing complaints.

Refereeing the constant fights between my eyes and taste buds was exhausting, but thankfully the vegetable soups came to my rescue at every lunch. There was the potato-and-carrot team, the lentil squad, and even wheat showing up to play. They were different from the flavors I grew up with, yet somehow bizarrely familiar—like long-lost cousins of my homegrown food. And on days when the main course didn’t quite agree with me, I happily survived by dunking bread into those trusty soups.

I must admit, as much as I enjoyed the soups, I constantly craved something more indulgent—fried chicken, fish, or pork. I even found myself longing for red meat, though I know too well it’s a terrible migraine trigger for me. So, on 21 August 2025, after a wonderful excursion to the Prince’s Islands, I finally gave in and ordered fried chicken breasts with chips. The meal instantly reminded me of home and made me miss Lesotho terribly.

But the very next day, when I ordered dinner again, disappointment struck once more. That’s when it dawned on me: vegetarian meals aren’t as bad as we imagine. In fact, they can be surprisingly satisfying when prepared with the creativity, dedication, and flair I experienced at Postane.

Still, I’m glad to be back home—where I no longer have to play referee between my four eyes and my taste buds.

A special thank you to everyone at Postane for sharing your culinary creativity and for the thoughtful gift of the five different types of seeds. I also received a mint plant named Evren Burcu Iyioekim, similar to the Koena mint we have in Lesotho, which I immediately planted when I got home on August 26. Watching it grow will forever remind me of Postane and its team, fellow participants of the Bertha Accelerator programme and coordinators, and the magic of the meals we shared. Your generosity and care made this journey truly memorable.