And then I did some sit-ups

I have a weakness for Turkish desserts. Honey-soaked baklava, creamy custard, crumbly buttery cookies... last night I chased ice cream with hazelnut-chocolate pudding.

To be honest, I'm slightly embarrassed to profess my little problem to the wide world. Generally, I eat healthily. My diet is guided by a strict good-bad dichotomy, supplemented with a Draconian list of forbidden foods (including, but not limited to, doughnuts, funnel cake, non-diet soda, etc.) I would put money on the claim that I consume more fiber than you average American in the 18-24 demographic. This summer, my roughage has come with a heaping hot side order of sugar and fat.

Last Saturday, I wandered down to Besiktas, a bustling district full of clothing retailers and bus stops on the water. The walk was never intended to be a pilgrimage to the State Waffle House, a modest family owned place on the main square. The "waffle" is a patently Turkish invention: cover a thin warm waffle with a thin layer of chocolate and hazelnut pudding and then wrap it around fruit, sprinkles, nuts. It's an ice cream sundae, hold the ice cream.

And it's wonderful.

Turns out the waffle house owned the roof of the building that soared six stories overhead. Tea and waffle in hand I slipped into the rickety elevator. Up, up, up and then -- 180 degree view of the Bosporus. When the call to prayer started, it rolled out, joining the other mosques along the water in a haunting chorus that you can only appreciate from up high.