Eating well in Datça is not about finding the one famous restaurant; it is about surrendering to the rhythm of long, shared, unhurried meals. The formula rarely changes and never gets old: a spread of cold meze to start, something from the grill or the sea to follow, fruit and raki to finish, and an afternoon or evening that stretches happily out of shape.
Start, as everyone does, with meze. A good taverna brings a tray or a fridge to your table and you point: smoky aubergine, garlicky yoghurt, wild greens dressed in local olive oil, sea beans, stuffed vine leaves, whipped fish roe. Order more than seems sensible, share everything, and let this be half the meal rather than a warm-up.
Then the sea. Datça's fish tavernas — especially out at Palamutbükü and the north-coast coves — serve whatever came in that morning, simply grilled and dressed with lemon and oil. Ask what is fresh rather than reaching for the menu; the answer is the order. Prawns, sea bass, bream and the odd surprise are the usual joys, eaten with your feet almost in the water.
Inland, Old Datça does a gentler, more herb-scented version of the same idea, with a couple of standout kitchens tucked among the stone houses and bougainvillea. This is the place for a candlelit dinner rather than a beach lunch — slower, prettier, and worth dressing up for a notch.
A few habits help. Lunch is late and dinner later; nobody hurries the bill, and you should not want them to. Tap water is not for drinking — stick to bottled. And leave room, always, for the plate of fruit and the little glasses of something the owner brings unbidden at the end. That final, unasked-for round is Datça in a nutshell.