1. Go to the Mayor’s House by Selda, a Turkish-Mediterranean restaurant in Oak Cliff.
2. Order the dessert tray.
3. See what happens.
A dessert trip to Selda on a weekday afternoon seemed like no tall order for a valiant Dallas Observer food writer. The restaurant's original location is on Belt Line and Preston, but we visited the bigger second location just outside the Bishop Arts District. The place is elegant. Perched on a hill, it's a large two-story historic house with a sprawling patio ripe for hookah. It looks like a beachside restaurant and was our selection for 2024 Best Mediterranean.
On the menu, neither the dessert tray nor its items are listed; rather, there are simple instructions to “ask your server.” Upon hearing the question, the server came back with a massive, weighty tray with nine unique desserts, each a sizable portion.
The true Selda dessert experience was not the job for a party of one. (Editor's note: Simon called his editor panicked, asking if he was expected to eat everything on the tray. "Why yes, of course.") I retreated and returned days later with cavalry in the form of four freeloading friends lured in by a “dessert party” text.
In one fell swoop of gluttony, we tasted every dessert Selda offered, including a pistachio and strawberry cake we'd trust to fall into. There's rice pudding and a San Sebastian (or burnt Basque) cheesecake. Even though Selda is a Turkish restaurant, not all the offerings originate from Turkey, like cheesecake, tres leches and profiteroles — French desserts with cream puffs covered in chocolate sauce.
Each item was fresh, meticulous, and rich, and clearly, it was not your typical day-old cake in a display case or half-baked (literally and figuratively) pie used only as a vessel to get whipped cream in your mouth. No, these had to be hand-crafted, with love, by artists. We had to know more.
Meet Suleyman and Naki
Pastry chefs Süleyman Sezer and Naki Ates are both from Turkey and, like most employees at Selda, primarily speak Turkish. With the help of general manager Max Texkol, who translated for us, we could chat with them about the most fantastic dessert tray in Dallas.Sezer and Ates grew up in Mersin, a port city in south Turkey, and began working at bakeries in their early teens. From an early age, their lives revolved around pastries due to pride and economic necessity for their families. There’s a palpable competitive nature when they talk about baking. Throughout the interview, they took turns showing photos on their phones, either of elaborate sweets they or others made. It made for a charming juxtaposition: two outwardly gruff Turkish men who care so deeply about the minutiae of pastries.
The two have been in Dallas for a year but already sense an excellent opportunity to be the catalyst for locals to learn about Turkish desserts. But their acclimation at Selda wasn’t immediate: Texkol paraphrased the men’s thoughts on American food supplies, saying they were pleasantly surprised by the quality of chocolate but struggled to find oils similar to those they use in Turkey.
Perhaps worse, Sezer and Ates have to share the kitchen with the restaurant's entire staff of chefs and cooks, which gets cramped. For the two to truly create in the way they crave, they need more space. Less than a year in, they’ve already reached a breaking point.
This summer, the owners of Selda plan to open an exclusive bakery location. It’s not official yet, but Texkol says they’re eyeing a 6,000-square-foot space in Richardson, which would ideally begin operating in June. There, Sezer and Ates would have a kitchen to themselves, bigger display cases, ovens specifically made for desserts and the freedom to create and add more to the menu.
“It’s not chemical or gelatin,” Texkol says of the desserts. “It’s all natural. We don’t buy cream from a restaurant or grocery store and put it on a cake. They make everything here, the cream, chocolate, everything.”
Even the pistachios, which are heavily featured in the desserts, are imported from Turkey.
The desserts include a flan-like cake, San Sebastian cheesecake and cream puffs covered in chocolate.
Simon Pruitt
“They’re not 100% happy with all this stuff,” Texkol says. “If it’s a soccer game, we’re behind 3-0. Once we move to Richardson, it’s gonna be much better.”
Texkol spent years as a soccer coach and often draws comparisons between the game and the restaurant business. The desserts were a home run, not to mix sports metaphors. But if there is another level to Selda’s offerings, we’ll be first in line to try them.
You get the impression that Sezer and Ates, buoyed by Texkol’s support, are the type never to be satisfied. Why? We may never know. To quote They Might Be Giants, “That’s nobody’s business but the Turks.”
“You always want to win,” Texkol says. “If I know there’s something we can do better, I’m going to shoot for that, and I know we can do better.”
I can't wait for that assignment.
