The döner shop that opened about a month ago, right next to the Lipschitzallee U-Bahn station, reflects the inner world of Turkish newcomers in Germany. Döner, often perceived as a bridge between cultures, is now caught in debates over national identity. Germans call it theirs; Turks call it theirs — yet the differences are striking.
In Germany, döner is often served with sauces and salad, while in Turkey, it's typically just meat and bread. The shop I visited emphasized "yaprak döner," a thinly sliced version that resembles the Turkish original more than the German adaptation. It attracted newer migrants who crave authenticity.
Customers were heard saying “This is what döner should be,” and refusing sauces. For many, it’s not just food — it’s emotional. One friend even booked a ticket to Istanbul after eating it, realizing how much he missed home. Döner, in this case, wasn’t just a dish. It was memory, identity, and belonging wrapped in lavaş.