Foodprints

My taste buds are still in the Middle East.  Many meals were simple meze.  My mind's-eye sees Hummous, presented wreath-like on a plate, its spoon-dredged circular moat drizzled with olive oil, and sprinkled with pine nuts.  I tear fresh pita bread – much thinner and lighter than the dense soggy bagged breads found at markets here – into a little triangle to scoop it, or its sisters, Baba Ghanoush,  Tahini and Tabouli, into my mouth.  On the corner of Manger Square in Bethlehem is a falafel stand, Efteem.  Eight shekels buys two sandwiches, which we load with yogurt sauce and crawl inside out of the blinding heat to dribblingly savor, along with a fresh squeezed orange juice.

For lunch, we wanted “sha-wherma” (the Arabic version of the Turkish doner kebab sandwich).  Up the street from our Bethlehem hosts, we were ushered upstairs to the family area (because I was one of the few women in the place at that hour) of their recommended shawarma spot.  We each tackled a huge “burrito” of chicken, various salads, French fries, and sauces crammed into lavash bread.  While we realized one would have suited the two of us, we both cleaned our plates.  While our waiter was away placing the order, the kitchen helper shook us down for a tip.  He kept polishing the frosted glass of the family enclosure and pestering us until we produced adequate baksheesh.  The waiter was surprised and delighted when we tipped him the same amount his colleague had demanded.  I didn't really begrudge the bus boy  that “price of admission”, although we thought the creativity of his request could use some work.

I cannot remember the name of the bakery on the Hebron Road in Bethlehem.  It was something like Swannees, or Fawnees – some American-South sounding Arabic transliteration, but Google isn’t any help.  I had to grip sugar-addicted Jim’s wrist to keep him from floating straight up into sucrose heaven.  We went there twice, with the excuse of bringing our hosts a gift.  If you are looking for it – there is a known bakery called Dana along Hebron Road. This one is a little further on the road traveling towards Jerusalem, across, on the left side of the street.  All over the Middle East the baklava is to die for. 

Breakfast was included at each of our lodgings.  With the exception of the hotel in Suleymaniyah, Iraq, each repast was more than adequate, and some were exceptional.  The standouts:  fresh warm pita bread, za’taar and olive oil or feta cheese, with fresh cucumbers and tomatoes in Bethlehem; watermelon at many of them; an exquisite French pastry I can still taste at the Art + Hotel in Tel Aviv; the sour cherry (visne) preserves in Turkey; and even… Nescafe. Over the years, I have come to associate Nescafe with vacation – especially boat trips.  The blue cruise we took in 2004 down the Mediterranean coast of Turkey proffered exceptional Nescafe.  The way to make it great is:  put 4 spoons of those freeze-dried crystals in a small coffee cup, add hot water, milk, and honey.  Remember you are in a location you want to be in, and the coffee tastes just perfect.  I do draw the line at powdered creamer – not even Santa Margarita Ligure can make that taste OK.  The luscious cup of home-brewed Peet’s I’ve been drinking while sitting outside under a blanket in this August-masquerading-as-early May California summer, so far hasn’t tasted better than the Nescafe in Jerusalem and Bethlehem.

Mint.  I may adopt the Arabian habit of adding fresh leaves to everything. It makes tea exotic, and lemonade, crushed mint leaves and ice muddled together in the middle of the afternoon, renews the day.

Reviewing our gastronomical footprints, we ate in few real, formal restaurants.  Partly it was too hot to eat much, and the meze and other casual and street food was highly satisfying.  Two restaurants in Tel Aviv stand out.  Sweet potato latkes are a specialty at the neighborhood restaurant of Orna and Ella  Here’s the recipe offered by another blogger: http://savvysavorer.blogspot.com/2007/08/orna-and-ella-pancakes.html .  At Alma Beach heading back from Jaffa we ate at Manta Ray, which -- including the armed guard at the door – might just be quintessential Tel Aviv.  Friday, pre-Sabbath,  at about 2pm, the dining room and sand-side terrace included families, lovers, dogs, BFFs revitalizing themselves from shopping expeditions, and a wry waitress with a great sense of humor.  The place did seem a bit full of itself, but I loved how the traces of the onetime beach-shack jibed with its edgily contemporary vibe.

On the Turkish side of dessert – I miss traditional dondurma – a thick, chewy ice cream that the fez-topped handler keeps churning with a long paddle.  I don’t think the intent of this video is to mock the tourist -- and I enjoyed a similar aesthetically striped result of chocolate and pistachio while taking a break from roaming the Grand Bazaar. http://www.safeshare.tv/v/fvUQQF5S4Dg

Bon Appetit,   Afiyet olsun!,     (bil hana wish shifa'!)  بالهنا و الشفاء!   ,(b'tayavon) בתיאב