Yalla!
“Where were you Bar Mitzvahed?” Inquired the El Al security agent. I had been escorted into a barren back room at Lisbon Airport and pummeled repeatedly with questions. Apparently they had deemed me a security threat. The entire scene was quite surreal and like something straight out of a movie. The two men were more aggressive in their tone, but everytime they’d leave the room for a moment their sexy female counterpart would step in and sweetly play the role of good cop. It was so textbook perfect I nearly bust out into laughter sitting there in that cold room.
After an hour or so of interrogation they finally released me. And thus began the final leg of my journey to Israel. I had been to Israel once before. When I was fifteen my sister had been Bat Mitzvahed at Masada. I honestly had no plans to return anytime soon, but when my new Israeli friend Jonathan invited me to come stay with his family I couldn’t resist.
Jonathan’s family lives in Herzliya, an affluent suburban town just north of Tel Aviv. Normally I prefer digs in the heart of the action, but I had signed up for a taste of Israeli hospitality. I didn’t really know what I was in for. Mainly because Jonathan refused to answer any of my questions leading up to the trip.
“Brother,” he would tell me, “Don’t worry. You don’t even know. Israeli hospitality is the best. Everything will be taken care of.”
Although I had only known Jonathan for five months he both called and treated me like a brother.
I arrived prior to Jonathan. His mom greeted me and immediately asked if I was hungry, a question I soon became quite familiar with, but I was eager to get into Tel Aviv. I dropped my bags and caught the next bus south to the city.
I had been dreaming of shawarma. Sitting down at the counter at Keter Hamizrah I knew I was in store for something special. I could see that the shawarma spit, layered with fat and studded with pistachios, was quite skinny. Thankfully I had made it just in time.
I ate shawarma quite a few times during my ten days in Israel, but that first pita was otherworldly. Absolutely divine. The perfect lamb shawarma. I thought about it often during my time there, but alas I never made it back for round two.
After a day of rambling around the streets of Tel Aviv I made my way back home. Jonathan had finally arrived. Although I had eaten both a falafel and sabich pita that day, plus the epic shawarma from Keter Hamizrah, I couldn’t resist eating again when Jonathan’s mom started frying up a fresh batch of chicken schnitzel sometime around midnight. That was also when I got my first taste of his mom’s incredible eggplant and tomato salad. Jonathan had raved that his mother was an amazing cook, and apparently he hadn’t been exaggerating.
Over the next several days I continued to make day trips to Tel Aviv whilst Jonathan enjoyed chilling poolside at his parents’ home. I enjoyed a lovely meals at Balkan and Abie.
At Balkan, a kosher restaurant that specializes in dishes from the Balkan Peninsula, I sampled a Suboregi, a type of boureka made of buttery, flakey phyllo dough, stuffed with cheese, and topped with black nigella seeds. One of the more difficult types of bourekas to make, it was sublimely simple, and although quite rich it still felt light especially with the side slaw-like salad of carrot, cabbage, sunflower seeds and microgreens.
Right next door to Balkan is Lehamim, a renowned bakery that serves the best damned chocolate rugelach I’ve ever had. These decadent, chocolately pastry bombs are larger than the ones found in the US. They resemble mini croissants and they are luscious and absolutely to die for.
Abie’s modern take on Israeli/Mediterranean fare using only local ingredient is both familiar and uniquely interesting. One could easily imagine this funky little restaurant with its string light lit patio in Brooklyn or Silver Lake. The house made spicy dips and octopus were both standouts, as were the selection of local Israeli wines, most notably some local orange hued varietals.
After a few days in Tel Aviv I knew I had to make my way to Jerusalem. It was a bit of a trek, but worth the effort to get there. My pilgrimage from Herzliya took a couple hours, and I had skipped breakfast knowing there would be some earthy delights to feast upon in the ancient city.
Located on the outskirts of the Mahane Yehuda Market, Azura has been serving up a mix of Turkish, North African and Iraqi cuisines since 1952. I opted for their signature dish, a tender roasted eggplant laded with spiced ground meat, speckled with pine nuts, and doused in a cinnamon heavy sauce.
Strolling through the old city I did my best to avoid the touristic hoards, not an easy task. Although the old city does often feel magical, sadly at times it feels like one is walking through a giant gift shop.
Nevertheless, I made my way to the wall and said a prayer for humanity. Putting my hand on the wall I could feel the potent energy of that sacred place. That moment. That made it all worth it. I can’t really explain it, but I felt something very real and powerful. I was happy I had pushed myself to make the journey to Jerusalem.
There was time for one more meal before the long ride back to Herzliya. Machneyuda specializes in offal, the oft-forgotten cuts that most folks would rather not dine upon. Walking into the restaurant the energy level was booming and so was the stereo. Lively is an understatement. I sat at the bar amongst a rather young clientele and enjoyed a few dishes, most notably fried calves brains served atop my new favorite dish, eggplant and tomato salad. The spongy nuggets of brain were lightly fried and balanced perfectly by the umami rich eggplant.
Although I enjoyed all of these meals and others not mentioned, the true star of my visit was Jonathan’s mom. A few days later we celebrated Jewish New Year. His mom spent days cooking in preparation. Although I was thousands of miles from my family, I could not have felt more at home. You could taste the love in every bite of food. I ate as much as I could, and then they made me eat more. Who was I to say no?
As if our New Year’s feast was not enough the family threw a big BBQ a couple days later. Mom had whipped up a half a dozen or more more dishes that morning. Homemade hummus, babaganoush, and a myriad of other dips and spreads, including mom’s famous eggplant and tomato dip, and another one made with pumpkin. Dad grilled up kebabs, chicken, sausage, and even a fat lobe of foie gras. Again I stuffed myself until I could eat no more.
During my time in Israel I made many new friends. I can’t recall when I felt so welcome in a foreign country. It was more like going home than visiting a far off land. I’m extremely grateful and humbled to have been invited into Jonathan’s home, and I cannot wait to return again someday soon.
