The table is set by the day’s harvest.

Pounded in a stone mortar, with fire-roasted peppers.

A finely chopped garden salad with pomegranate molasses.

Fire-roasted aubergine — plain, and smoky.

Strained yoghurt with wild mountain thyme.

Made with the day’s vegetables, from the vendor’s tray to the table.

Thimble-sized hand-rolled dumplings, chickpeas and meat broth — Adana’s wedding soup.

Fine bulgur in a garlic-rich tomato sauce; the heritage dish that carries our name.

Hand-rolled dough, an old-style filling, yoghurt and smoked butter.

A nearly forgotten dish of old Adana, chosen by the master for that day.

The house signature: an old recipe, meat hand-minced on the zırh, the embers at their most generous.

Large cuts of meat, a long slow roast over embers; the second signature, handed down from mountain tables.

The Adana way: male lamb, tail fat, the zırh. Served with fire-roasted tomatoes, peppers and lavash.

Fresh lamb’s liver from the morning’s cut, interleaved with tail fat, seasoned with cumin.

Lamb shank and leg, cut large, seared over the embers.

Milk-fed lamb chops over embers, in their own fat.

Homemade, thin-layered, its syrup just so.

The classic close to a kebab feast; filled with pistachio.

Adana’s geographically certified cooler — in season.

Spicy or mild; Adana’s fermented classic.

Churned ayran served in a copper tankard, thick with foam.

The glass bottles of childhood.

To close the meal, by the edge of the embers.