It’s always a bit awkward, visiting an eatery famous for one or another thing, yet explicitly ordering something entirely different. Is it worse when the thing you order isn’t even on the menu? Probably mostly. But not this time.

Gazi Köşk Kebap & Beyran Salonu—a sprawling restaurant a few blocks from the hilltop castle that dominates the Gaziantep skyline—takes such pride in its two signature dishes, they are built into the name and repeated on every sign. Meaty kebabs (kebap in Turkish) and beyran, a spicy soup locals insist can be eaten only at breakfast.

And in fact, I had come to Gazi Köşk to learn their kebabs, most of them assembled from honking hunks of lamb and whole onions and heads of garlic threaded onto giant skewers, all roasted over a blistering bed of coals nearly the length of a school bus. The secret, owner Vedat Adanacıoğlu explained, was the sauce.

Pomegranate molasses, hot chili flakes, lime juice, oil, salt and black pepper, a blend of it all lavished onto the meat and produce before, during and after grilling. A dusting of sumac and a side of grilled tomatoes and spicy green chilies are essential. Ditto for a bit of fresh mint.

No question, Adanacıoğlu and his cook, Okkes Yektas, know their stuff. And they should. Adanacıoğlu’s father started the business decades ago as a butcher shop. Sometimes, he’d also grill kebabs on the street out front. Those kebabs were so popular that 30 years ago he gave up butchering and transformed the space into a restaurant.

I watched as Adanacıoğlu’s cooks assembled the kebabs, eager to bring their lessons home. I had visions of that sauce slathered on all manner of grilled foods. But then Adanacıoğlu made a mistake. He let me speak to his mother.

Sulbiye Adanacıoğlu clearly was a quiet culinary force who enjoyed operating behind the scenes at Gazi Köşk. She even seemed a little embarrassed when I asked about her own cooking. With a bit of encouragement, she eventually admitted she made the best ekşili köfte, a soup that translates loosely as “sour meatballs.”

Which doesn’t quite do the dish justice. Luckily, Ms. Adanacıoğlu’s description did.

A silky-rich tomato-chili broth studded with meaty chickpeas, hunks of fork-tender lamb and meatballs formed from a blend of ground lamb and bulgur, all of it tied together with a drizzle of tangy-sweet sumac syrup (the sour in the “sour meatballs”).

I was sold. I also quickly forgot about the kebabs (lovely, I’m sure). And in short order, I’d persuaded Ms. Adanacıoğlu to make me a pot of ekşili köfte on the spot. Best decision I made the entire trip.

“When I was a child, around 11 years old, my grandmother showed me how to cook it. I was hungry,” she said with a shrug and a smile. And the recipe has not changed one bit. “It’s the same as my grandmother’s original recipe. I am not a supporter of changing recipes. I want to preserve the originals.”

The cooking was blissfully simple. The soup base was made by simmering two common Turkish ingredients—tomato paste and pepperchili paste. Both are sold at most markets, but Ms. Adanacıoğlu makes her own. Simmered with a bit of water and sugar, they blended into the tomato soup of my dreams. Meanwhile, in another pot she browned chunks of lamb with oil and onion.

Eventually, the two pots are combined, along with cooked chickpeas.
But the star was the meatballs. I’d never considered using bulgur in meatballs, but it makes brilliant sense. We don’t think twice about adding breadcrumbs or a panade to Italian meatballs. And once hydrated, bulgur serves the same purpose, binding the lamb together.

Is it over-the-top to say her meatballs were almost works of art? So perfectly formed, so round and marble-like. Some larger, some smaller—“Mother and daughter,” in Ms. Adanacıoğlu’s words. I wondered how many she’d rolled before her grandmother approved. She spiked them simply—hot pepper flakes, a bit of finely minced yellow onion, cumin and ample black pepper. Added to the soup base, they cooked in minutes. To finish, two drizzles: mint bloomed in hot oil and a sweet-tangy syrup made from sumac that tasted very much like pomegranate molasses.

To Ms. Adanacıoğlu’s obvious pleasure, I ate two bowls of it. This was easily the best thing I ate the entire trip. Savory, meaty, a little herbal and slightly tangy. It was the sort of soup that pulls you back to lost childhood. It really was that good.

And no regrets over ditching the kebabs.

JM Hirsch

J.M. Hirsch is a James Beard Award-winning food and travel writer and editorial director of Christopher Kimball's Milk Street. He is the former national food editor for The Associated Press and has written six books, including “Freezer Door Cocktails: 75 Cocktails That Are Ready When You Are.”