Sathorn rising | The Dining Room at The House on Sathorn, Bangkok

Global cuisines in international cities are by no means a modern migration phenomenon. Immigration swells cities into bulging, integrated and homogeneous places, people bringing with them favoured nationalistic recipes and table staples, natives introduced to exciting new foods, tempted by prawn toast or a chocolate profiterole. Peking duck in Sydney and Arrabbiata in New York; Biryani in Birmingham and Sao Paolo is surprisingly competent with sushi, with Brazil having the second highest ethnic Japanese population outside of Japan. In Copenhagen, of all places, I had one of the best pizzas. But Turkish cuisine in Bangkok isn’t a thing. German food is gaining traction, but the Anatolian cannon, nah. Although, one young chef is hoping to change all that.

The man with the “Rock & Roll Chef” tattoo on his forearm appears unperturbed by such a challenge

Fatih Tutak is a Turkish native living in Bangkok. He grew up in the kaleidoscopic bustle of Istanbul but has spent much of his professional career in Asia, working under Paul Pairet at The Ritz-Carlton Istanbul before honing his skills in Tokyo, Hong Kong, Qingdao and Singapore, with a stint at the revolutionary Noma in Denmark. Since 2015, he’s been at the helm of The Dining Room at The House on Sathorn; twice featured on Asia’s 50 Best Restaurants list.

Few restaurant settings in Bangkok can rival The House on Sathorn for its beauty and storied history. Set in an old charming colonial mansion, it was built in 1889 during the reign of King Rama V for a wealthy Chinese businessman. It later served as the Hotel Royal and the Soviet embassy during the Cold, Korean and Indochina Wars, undergoing extensive renovations in the early 2000s before re-opening as part of the W Hotel Bangkok in 2015. I’ve been told that bugs and recording devices were discovered during the remodelling, hidden in the walls and light fittings. American-made.

Modern Turkish is having a twirl in the spotlight right now, although not so much in Southeast Asia. That isn’t to say there isn’t space in Bangkok, but the hugely popular and varied national cuisine already competes with Chinese, Vietnamese and Indian. Then there’s Indonesian and Cambodian, Laotian, Malaysian, Filipino, Singaporean and Padang, all tussling for top billing. But Turkish, erm… Meanwhile, a spat of Turkish-Cypriot restaurants has emerged in London, spurred by new waves of immigration and a need for employment. Turks and Cypriots began to move to London when Cyprus became a British Colony in 1878 and increased in the 1970s as refugees moved due to the ongoing war in Cyprus. This led to the Turkish invasion in 1974 and a further increase in the ’90s motivated by economic hardships and the embargoes imposed.

Fatih’s decision to cook full-blown Turk in Thailand throws another competing global cuisine into the mixing bowl. But the man with the “Rock & Roll Chef” tattoo on his forearm appears unperturbed by such a challenge. He keeps things rooted in the Ottoman canon, experimenting with tastes, textures and temperatures in a 10-course tasting menu, although expect more. Take, for instance, the restaurant’s introduction of meze and a rapid-fire five courses leaping from “Bosphorus Black Mussels” (actually from the Mediterranean) to Australian wagyu short rib to par with chilli oil; think Cilbir, like the wonderfully garlicky Turkish egg breakfast with yoghurt and warm spicy butter. Aside from flicks of recognisable heat, nothing about this is familiar to a Thai dining audience.

These dainty starters are meticulously prepared and plated in front of me – I managed to bag a seat at the counter – as a series of diligent young Turks and Thais toil and cook to order. Wagyu is charcoal-smoked, plump sea urchin placed on rolled cabbage, while other tasty morsels are topped with beluga caviar for a sense of inflated luxe. Japanese tomatoes are glazed with a pomegranate reduction to complete a course titled “Childhood Summers”, inspired by Fatih’s memories of youth. Similar nostalgia runs through “From my Mum”, a Turkish manti dumpling – minus the meat – with mint butter and kaymak produced by slowly boiling raw milk into a clotted cream and served with homemade ketchup consisting of five different types of tomato in varying forms of application: heritage, powder, paste, dried and frozen. Through all this, Fatih serves plates with a boyish grin, revealing his delight and accompanying a brief story with each, a little insight into the recipe’s genesis.

A particular standout is “Calamar Dolma”, a dish that stretches the capabilities of squid with delicious results. Caught off the west coast of Koh Chang, the whole body, tentacles and all, are used, the black ink underneath the body giving the illusion of a squid-shaped shadow. The tentacled, alien sea beast is filled with diced mushrooms and sugar snap peas, then lightly barbecued before it’s placed on the ink. I’ve discovered a new appreciation for squid since living in Thailand, plāh̄muk in Thai, trying it in various weird and wonderful forms – raw, grilled, steamed, fried and battered like traditional calamari. My friend, Memy, has an almost comparable plāh̄muk reverence. Together, we’ve fished off Koh Samet, pulling in plentiful buckets of multi-patterned cephalopods, usually eating them raw on the spot with some diced red chillies and a splash of lime.

The plating here, yet again, is exquisite. Fatih has an eye for beauty, showing a talent for artistry through food

Then there’s “Bosphorus Tandis”, in which a turbot is poached to perfection alongside baby artichoke leaves styled as a rosebud and stem, both of which are extravagantly excellent. The plating here, yet again, is exquisite. Fatih has an eye for beauty, showing a talent for artistry through food. This is accompanied by a glass of Australian Chandon Brut fizz, a mix of Chardonnay, Pinot Noir and Meunier grapes – light, creamy, fizzy and good with turbot. Other wines are fine, mostly reds with something from Chile. Not a patch on the food. For 3,600 Baht, around £80.00, this is a tasting menu of suitable value, serious craft and varying brilliance; plates I could hang on my wall and pass off as contemporary art. It’s so good that I returned the following week. And then the month after.

Service is attentive, with plates assembled and presented in front of me and empties taken away from behind or next to me. At various intervals, a hand appears from behind or reaches around my waist to remove something. It’s somewhat unnerving. As for the cooking, I found it bold and brave to introduce modern Turkish cuisine to Thailand without mentioning kebabs or wet burgers. Much of it is rooted in memory, Fatih recalling his mother’s home cooking and visits he made to the bazaars and spice markets of Istanbul with his grandmother. You instantly feel a connection, finding pleasure in the stories of his childhood before recalling your own. Good food does this; it raises a smile and sends you scuttling through time, triggering emotions.

Turkish food is long overdue an international ambassador. In the country itself, you can find chefs cooking with flair, advancing the culture and the Anatolian narrative. Still, broader afield, the cuisine lacks the understanding of many, often demoted to drunken kebabs of offal and entrails and luminous burger sauce. Fatih could be the man to unveil his national cuisine to the world, but first, he’s concentrating on lucky Bangkok. C

The Dining Room at The House on Sathorn, 106 North Sathon Road, Silom, Bangkok 10500, Thailand
thehouseonsathorn.com; 023444025