Simit & The Banker

Walking through the streets of Ankara one chilly Saturday evening, the golden-brown simits stacked on a vendor’s cart caught my eye. They weren’t the most enticing I’d seen—slightly overbaked, a little uneven—but something about the man selling them made me pause. His posture, the way he observed passersby with quiet amusement, felt oddly familiar.

As I handed over 2 liras for a simit, I studied his face. Then it hit me. I had met this man before—but not here. It was at a party of high flying financiers in Istanbul, a room filled with sharp suits and sharper minds. This wasn’t just any street vendor; he was a senior merchant banker at Merrill Lynch, someone who dealt with trades worth millions.

Curiosity got the better of me. “What are you doing here?” I asked, half-laughing, half-bewildered.

He grinned, tearing a piece of simit and popping it into his mouth. “Decompressing, Chef.”

He went on to explain that every now and then, when the weight of global markets and high-stake trades felt too heavy, he would slip into old clothes, set up this cart, and sell simits to strangers. Not for money, but for something deeper. For perspective.

“In my world, I deal with numbers, risks, and strategies. Here, I deal with stories, laughter, and silence. It’s a different kind of wealth,” he said.

It made me think—about my own craft, my pursuit of perfection, my restless drive for excellence. What do we chase, and at what cost? Maybe, like the banker with his simits, we all need a way to step outside our world now and then. Not to escape, but to reflect.

As I walked away, I took a bite of the simit. It was dry, a little too chewy. But in that moment, it tasted like wisdom.

Chef Hina Akgül