The Turkish Riviera isn’t just about superyachts and sun-drenched beaches; it’s a rugged frontier where the limestone Taurus Mountains meet the blue Mediterranean Sea. For millennia, this dramatic geography has dictated how people ate—a culinary collision between the nomadic Yörük shepherds of the mountain plateaus, and the sun-worshipping flavours of the coastal plains.

Most visitors never really scratch the surface of Antalya’s food culture. They stick to modern restaurants, missing the smoky grills, fragrant pots, and generations-old kitchens that define the city’s real culinary identity. Fear not, you’ve come to the right place. Start at a local deli to sample artisanal Ezine and cave-buried Van-Otlu cheeses. Holding strict Protected Designation of Origin (PDO) status, these aren’t your average supermarket fetas. Complete the platter with sun-dried peppers, fresh olives, and the bittersweet peel from the avenue-lining turunç orange trees.

Next is a flour-dusted shop that has remained virtually untouched since its doors swung open in 1930. This is no assembly-line bakery; behind the counter is octogenarian owner Uncle Tevfik, who expertly spins dough with three generations of inherited muscle memory. The result is deliciously flaky serpme börek pastries, washed down with tulip glasses of Turkish tea. It’s a masterclass in culinary heritage that you can't find anywhere else but Antalya.

We move deeper into the stone ramparts of the old Kaleiçi quarter to tackle a non-negotiable triple-act. First up is Antalya-Style piyaz; for locals, a bean salad without tahini is an insult. Here, it’s a sacred obsession defined by a rich pool of garlicky sauce and sharp apple vinegar dressing. Sitting beside is its soulmate: şiş köfte, fingers of skewered meatballs packed with local spices. To complete the trinity, we spoon-dive into candied pumpkin, a dish with roots tracing back to the imperial kitchens of the Ottoman Empire.

Later there’s a dish that migrated from Mersin, a port city further down the Riviera. Micro-chopped beef or seasoned chickpeas—dusted with heavy-handed shakes of sumac—are trapped inside soft lavash wraps known as tantuni. While we’d rather not spoil all the surprises of the 14+ tastings, our advice is simple: you’d best come hungry. Finish up with an Anatolian sweet tradition that is unique to this corner of the world; a serving of burned ice cream in wafer halva. Forget vanilla; its signature smoky flavor comes from goat’s milk scorched against the bottom of a copper vat. This is Antalya's authentic food scene as seen through the eyes of a local tastemaker. Step off-the-beaten-path and experience the city the way locals do.