There must be something about hipsters and barbecue. How the beards, beanies and Birkenstocks gravitate to the smells of charcoal and rendered fat. Even when the word barbecue is translated to another language, as in Dalston where the Stoke Newington road is awash with mangal’s (Turkish for barbecue), they are here in full force.

There’s two notable Mangal in these parts, denoted by the numbers one and two. They are very different, so should you find yourself getting your ones and twos mixed up I’d book a doctors appointment, or at the very least wear darker pants. Number two is opposite eartH Hackney where the bar service is shit. One is, without taking the piss, a much more traditional affair. It’s where we eat because we want value and something quick at 3pm in the afternoon.

Quick it is. And exceptional value. Thirty-six minutes for thirty-six quid. We sit, bread arrives, order, and the starters come before the drinks, with the mains turning up before the starters are finished. The pide bread is superb; light and kissed with fire. The starters are also very good. Lahmucan is generous for £3 given it’s an entire disc cut into four triangles. The chopped lamb with parsley, onion, and peppers is just cooked to a soft pink, on a pliable flatbread that can be folded to assist eating. And falafel, hard fried, nutty pucks, with hummus which whacks of tahini and garlic. We swap starters and then swap back. It’s food to be shared.

The adana kebab is as good a kebab as I’ve eaten. It’s the same mixture as the lahmucan with the added edition of enough fat to warrant it being a course at Ynyshir. The outside is scorched and smells like a twenty-a-day habit, the inner a mix of pink shades. It comes with blackened tomatoes and Turkish peppers, and a selection of salads that I’m about to overlook for the second time.

Sophie’s aubergine dish is a garlicky mess of smushed veg, a bit like baba ganoush’s even uglier sister. She enjoys it and finishes it all apart from the superfluous rice. The best bits happen when it gets spooned into the pide with hunks of the lamb, pepper, and loads of the chilli sauce. And with that we’re out the door as more pour through the opposite way for platters way bigger than we ever could have considered.