Türkiye Wants to Regulate Germany’s Beloved Döner Kebab Street Food 

Döner chef Hvesley Silva cuts döner kebab in a döner kebab restaurant in Berlin, Germany, Monday, Sept. 16, 2024. (AP)
Döner chef Hvesley Silva cuts döner kebab in a döner kebab restaurant in Berlin, Germany, Monday, Sept. 16, 2024. (AP)
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Türkiye Wants to Regulate Germany’s Beloved Döner Kebab Street Food 

Döner chef Hvesley Silva cuts döner kebab in a döner kebab restaurant in Berlin, Germany, Monday, Sept. 16, 2024. (AP)
Döner chef Hvesley Silva cuts döner kebab in a döner kebab restaurant in Berlin, Germany, Monday, Sept. 16, 2024. (AP)

Beef and chicken glisten as they rotate slowly on vertical spits before they are carved off in razor-thin strips. Two cooks slide from a sizzling griddle to a warm toaster in a practiced dance. Mounds of fresh tomatoes, cabbage and red onions shine in a colorful tableau.

The scene at Kebap With Attitude in Berlin’s trendy Mitte neighborhood is typical of any street-side stand or restaurant where cooks pile the ingredients into pita bread to create the city’s beloved döner kebab.

But the snack's status could be in jeopardy if the European Commission approves a bid by Türkiye to regulate what can legally take the döner kebab name.

In the balance is an industry that generates annual sales of roughly 2.3 billion euros (nearly $2.6 billion) in Germany alone, and 3.5 billion euros (nearly $3.9 billion) across Europe, according to the Berlin-based Association of Turkish Döner Producers in Europe.

“From the government to the streets, everyone is eating döner kebab,” Deniz Buchholz, the owner of Kebap With Attitude, said as waiters ferried steaming orders from the kitchen to hungry lunchtime customers on a rainy Monday afternoon.

The word “döner” is derived from the Turkish verb “dönmek,” which means “to turn.” The meat is grilled for hours on a spit and sliced off when the meat becomes crisp and brown. In Türkiye, the dish originally was made of lamb and sold only on a plate. But in the 1970s, Turkish immigrants in Berlin opted to serve it in a pita and tweak the recipe to make it special for Berliners.

“They realized that the Germans like everything in the bread,” said Buchholz, who was raised in Berlin and has Turkish roots. “And then they said, ‘OK, let’s put this dish into a bread’ and this is how it came to döner kebab Berlin-style.”

In April, Türkiye applied to have döner kebab protected under a status called “traditional specialty guaranteed.” It’s below the vaunted “protected designation of origin” that applies to geographic region-specific products, but could still impact kebab-shop owners, their individual recipes and their customers throughout Germany.

Under Türkiye’s proposal, beef would be required to come from cattle that is at least 16 months old. It would be marinated with specific amounts of animal fat, yogurt or milk, onion, salt, and thyme, as well as black, red and white peppers. The final product must be sliced off the vertical spit into pieces that are 3 to 5 millimeters (0.1 to 0.2 inches) thick. Chicken would be similarly regulated.

The European Commission must decide by Sept. 24 whether 11 objections to the application, including from Germany’s Federal Ministry of Food and Agriculture, have merit. If they do, Germany and Türkiye will have up to six months to hammer out a compromise. The European Commission has the final say.

“We have taken note of the application from Türkiye with some astonishment,” Germany’s Federal Ministry of Food and Agriculture said in a statement to The Associated Press.

“The kebab is part of Germany, and the diversity of its preparation methods reflects the diversity of our country — this must be preserved. In the interests of the many fans in Germany, we are committed to ensuring that the doner kebab can remain as it is prepared and eaten here," the ministry said.

It appears that vegetables, turkey and some veal kebabs — all of which are popular in Germany — would no longer be allowed under Türkiye’s application because it does not specifically mention them, causing confusion in the German food industry.

“The kebab belongs to Germany. Everyone should be allowed to decide for themselves how it is prepared and eaten here. There’s no need for guidelines from Ankara,” Cem Özdemir, Germany’s federal food and agriculture minister who also has Turkish roots, wrote on social platform X.

Buchholz of Kebap With Attitude said he isn’t worried about possible regulations.

Although he said it might be a way to keep the quality high for the traditional döner kebab — he believes it has lapsed in some places — he added that shop owners might have to harness Berlin’s legacy of creative solutions to keep their expanded menus.

“We will go the Berlin way and we’ll find a solution to name it different,” he said, like calling it a “veggie sandwich.”

Döner kebab impacts the political sphere, too. Anger over kebab costs that have risen into the double-digits led the Die Linke, the Left party, to ask German Chancellor Olaf Scholz for a “price break” that would have subsidized the street food and set a maximum price for customers. Scholz declined, but took to social media to explain that increasing food costs come in part from soaring energy costs — which are fueled by Russia’s war on Ukraine.

And German President Frank-Walter Steinmeier engaged in “döner diplomacy” when he brought a third-generation kebab-shop owner, as well as a full skewer of meat, to Türkiye in April. The trip was the first official visit there by a German president in a decade, even as Türkiye’s populist president, Recep Tayyip Erdogan, is seen as having increasingly authoritarian instincts. Erdogan's reputation has made some Turkish citizens who own kebab shops in Germany fearful of speaking out against the proposed regulations for fear of facing reprisals when they go home.

In its objection, the German Hotel and Restaurant Association wrote that Türkiye’s proposals differ from typical German preparations for döner, and that the regulations could lead to economic problems for kebab shops — as well as potential legal challenges.

The German döner kebab economy should not be held to Turkish rules, the association said in a statement.

“The diversity of the kebab must be preserved,” the association said.



Beauty Salon Near Ukraine Front Offers Brief Respite from War

Maryna Skromnaya didn't think twice about making the 40-minute to the salon. Genya SAVILOV / AFP
Maryna Skromnaya didn't think twice about making the 40-minute to the salon. Genya SAVILOV / AFP
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Beauty Salon Near Ukraine Front Offers Brief Respite from War

Maryna Skromnaya didn't think twice about making the 40-minute to the salon. Genya SAVILOV / AFP
Maryna Skromnaya didn't think twice about making the 40-minute to the salon. Genya SAVILOV / AFP

Maryna Skromnaya was ready to face shelling and explosions to get her hair done at a salon in Pokrovsk, the eastern Ukrainian city under intense Russian attack.

"I need to stay beautiful rather than run around looking like Baba Yaga!" she said, referring to the mythical forest witch who feasts on children.

Her blue eyes now framed by a fresh bob cut, the frail 57-year-old stood up from the hairdresser's chair and flashed a peace sign in a brightly lit mirror.

The salon's roaring trade exemplifies how thousands of Ukrainians living in partially deserted and shelled-out frontline towns are trying to cling to a sense of how things used to be, AFP reported.

Its pristine white-walled salon is a rare pocket of normal daily life in Pokrovsk, even as Moscow's forces less than 10 kilometers (six miles) away, are closing in.

The mining city was home to 60,000 people before Russia invaded.

Its population has plunged from around 48,000 to 16,000 over the last month, according to the authorities, who are urging all residents to leave.

Skromnaya was preparing to heed that advice, but wanted to savor a few final moments at home.

That included a haircut at her favorite spot, even if it meant a 40-minute walk to get there.

"Public transport? You may as well lie down on the floor waiting for it. It's gone," said Skromnaya.

'Always something exploding'

"You can always start walking, turn your music on, go feel beautiful," she said.

But venturing outside in Pokrovsk these days is perilous.

"There were bangs here, bangs there, there's always something exploding," Skromnaya said, waving her arms left and right.

Inside the salon, the buzz of hair clippers and blow dryers barely covered the thuds from the front line, some seven kilometers away.

Facing increased Russian bombardments, the authorities have ordered residents to stay inside their homes for 20 hours a day.

So would-be customers were constantly rushing in, pleading for a slot in the narrow window between 11:00 am and 3:00 pm -- outside the strict curfew.

"Look at me, I look like a bum!" one man joked, lifting his cap to reveal a slightly uneven cut.

Salon worker Natalya Gaydash shook her head apologetically. He didn't have an appointment.

The team was doing its best to squeeze in as many clients as possible.

"The war is not a reason to just lay down and die with your hair undone, your nails unclipped and dirty," said 32-year-old Gaydash.

The salon will stay open as long as the Russians are far enough away, said owner Ludmila Kovaleva, who opened the place five years ago.

"How can you stop going to work if people are waiting for you?"

'Empty soul'

"People come for a slice of positivity," Gaydash said.

"Some come to share their problems ... others share a bit of joy with us."

Feeling fresh and handsome after his trim, 54-year-old Yury Chaplygin beamed, revealing a few golden teeth.

"There's a good atmosphere, you can drink coffee as you wait for your turn," the locomotive driver said in a deep voice.

The few remaining workers from a nearby market, now mostly closed, hustled round the salon's coffee machine, sharing gossip for a few minutes.

Another beauty salon just round the corner, owned by Kovaleva's sister Iryna Martynova, recently shut its doors.

"Clients used to get served by my sister, then go see me, then go back to my sister just like on a merry-go-round," Martynova said wistfully.

But people stopped trickling in after the evacuations stepped up in August.

Martynova's salon is now empty, save for a few shelves covered in blue plastic wrap.

The door was cracked in a recent shelling attack.

"This is not normal, and with every day that passes it's getting even more abnormal. I've already made up my mind, I'm leaving," Martynova said, tearing up at the thought of having to start all over again.

She was taking some comfort that her former clients, now spread all across Ukraine, have already started calling her to see where she'll go and if they can make a booking.

"This is my life's work, my favorite job. I'm left without it. My favorite clients, I've known them all for years. Now my soul is empty."