One in America, where the freezer was full and dinner was fast. One in Turkey, on the Aegean coast, where food was a labor of love, our grandmother stretching the dough and folding the börek with a practiced grace.

Every summer, we’d cross an ocean, returning to a table that was never set for the right number of people — because in Turkey, there’s always room for one more.


And every winter, when our grandmother came to visit us in America, she’d fill our kitchen with the same smells of her home— cumin, Aleppo pepper, and butter browning in a pan. She made Turkish food in an American kitchen, and somehow it tasted exactly the same.

We learned that comfort food isn’t confined to a place if it has hands that remember.


Sofra is the Turkish word for “table,”–– but it has always been defined by the beautiful chaos of people talking over each other, brought together by food so good it transforms a daily meal into an unforgettable gathering.


That’s what our grandmother’s sofra meant to us, and bringing that feeling to yours is why we’re here.


Food is a universal language with thousands of dialects. Ours happens to be Turkish.

Flaky, golden, savory, spiced, rolled by hand, baked until the edges shatter. Börek is the food that says someone loves you enough to make this from scratch.

Lahmacun is the flatbread that’s older than pizza and bolder than anything in your freezer right now.


We’re not frozen food that apologizes for being frozen. Our grandmother’s recipes deserve a place in every kitchen in America, and freezing is how we get them there without losing a single layer.


Sofra is committed to authentic ingredients. Our dough is made the way it’s been made for centuries: with patience, and with real spices. We don’t put in what doesn’t belong, and we don’t take out what makes it Turkish.

If you finish one of our meals knowing a little more about where it came from — and wanting to set one more place at your own Sofra — then we have done our job.