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I fell for köfte almost 29 years ago, on my first visit to Istanbul. Like many tourists I found them by accident, following a trail of smoke to a curbside barbecue. There, on a busy street opposite the Kabatas ferry terminal, I waited with other hungry night-crawlers as a gentleman with a protruding broom moustache carefully turned plump, half-dollar-size beef patties with tongs, all the while fanning the glowing coals with a piece of cardboard. When the patties had acquired a mahogany crust, he split a huge, soft sandwich roll and pressed it to the surface of the grill. After sliding a few köfte into the bread’s maw…