Muhammad

Muhammad's pizza place is one of my favorite places in Jerusalem for so many nostalgic reasons. My dad used to visit Mohammad in the 70s, when the Damascus gate was still new to an Israeli Jerusalem. Mohammad then lived in East Jerusalem, but he has since moved into the Old City because of the pain of check points and such securities. My dad remembers his friendship with Mohammad and his family with a lot of pride and fondness; rightly so, as it was (is) uncommon for lasting relationships to form between people of such different backgrounds. 30 years later, Mohammad still remembers my dad every time he returns to visit the tiny pizza place tucked away in an alley. And now, Mohammad knows me too.

The Green Door Pizza Bakery is a just a tiny room with a giant oven. This facility serves as the common oven for anyone in the area who doesn't have an oven of their own. Often, while sitting inside the wallpapered walls, I'll see a young Arab boy enter with a chicken, or potatoes, or whatever, for Mohammed to cook. He'll return later to collect the food. Mohammad's therefore serves as a communal meeting place, with people rushing in and out with food or just popping in to say hi. 

Mohammad's is not sanitary by any standards, not that it matters. Mohammed stands inside a pit smoking cigarettes and letting the ashes fall directly into the food. His hands are charred black from the oven, but he will never wash them before spending hours kneading dough in the back room. The back room is also covered in sawdust and nails, because it also serves as a storage closet.

Mohammed himself is going on 70 years old now. He made this business for himself for over 50 years now. Beside from the cooking services, he also makes pizza. The pizza is classically Arab: tomato paste, laughing cow cheese, and egg yolk all get piled into a dough that is then is cooked in the oven. It's surprisingly tasty.

But you don't go to Mohammed's for the pizza. You go for his unenthusiastic "ahalan" even when you know he's so happy you remembered to visit. You go for the little boy who runs in and gives Mohammed a glass of tea. You go for the bad Arabic music videos being played in the background. And you go because this is authentic, a real person who has made his life standing in a fire pit, Allhumdillah. 

Far away from, and yet so close to, the stillness of the Jewish quarter I know so well, Mohammed spends hours upon hours standing next to his oven, smoking his cigarettes, and just being. I feel comforted knowing that every time I go back, he'll still be standing there. 

Abu Shukri, Old City, Jerusalem

Many native hummus lovers will tell you that Abu Shukri, located centrally at the bottom of Via De La Rosa in Jerusalem's Old City, is the best hummus in town. Although it's not my favorite, I can see their point. Unlike other hummusia-s in Israel, Abu Shukri has a wide selection of foods, not just hummus. Some would see this as a bonus, I see this as a distraction from the true love of hummus. I seem to always want french fries when I'm there, which takes away from a real hummus experience. But no matter-- the hummus itself is good, with a slightly lemon undertone, and soft soft soft chickpeas. The falafel is eh, no big deal, but a nice bite from time to time. 

Falafel and other dippables

The hummus

The kitchen

Cairo, FUL Galore!

Finally, a taxi driver told us the true best ful restaurant. The kind of place where the locals sit and dip and dip and dip until their stomachs explode with fava bean puree. It's called Acher Saah, which I can try to translate (with the little Arabic skills I have) as "other hour". I think.

We wanted EVERYTHING. But we didn't really know what everything meant, because the menu was only in Arabic. Luckily, we had Shira, our trusty Arabic speaker. And six waiters who all wanted to help the foreigners. 
First, obviously, some falafel. Of the fava bean variety. (read previous post for further explanation.) 
Then came... surprise! Veggies for dipping. And lucky for me, full eggplants. Once this plate arrived, Acher Saah was golden in my mind. Who delivers eggplants!?!? Tomatos, pickles, yes, sure.. but eggplant!? What a treat.

We ordered four different plates of ful. The first was this one, with full fava beans instead of mashed creamed beans. It also had tomatoes and onions on top, which really added to the whole plate. I think this dish was everyone's least favorite, but it was my favorite because I put a spoonful of it (full beans, veggies) on top of every bite of the other kinds, just to make each spoonful feel different. And with pita, it made little sandwiches instead of just dips.

The other three types of ful were of the creamy variety: one mixed with tahina, one I can't remember, and one mixed with tomatoes. ALL very very good, but kind of hard to distinguish when you're ravenously stuffing them in your mouth one after the other in a frenzy of feasting. 

FEAST!


The whole experience was a whirlwind of digestion. I think we ate so fast we could barely taste. But we all loved it. And when we left, no one was comfortable.... all of our bellies were exploding over our pants in happy fullness. Cairo is hectic, its streets are wild, and the atmosphere chaotic. This restaurant fit in perfectly.

Felfela, Cairo

Upon arriving in Cairo, we only knew one thing: we had to eat ful. Ful is Egypt's national dish, made out of fava beans. I know ful from Israel, as a hummus topping that I usually avoid. But in Egypt, ful replaces hummus as the condiment (meal) of choice and I didn't know how I would handle it. I was skeptical. 

A trick I've learned: when arriving in a foreign country, the best person to ask for the best local fare is... your taxi driver. Every taxi driver has his own opinion, but he usually knows what's best. For a full day, every taxi driver we asked about ful told us the same thing: felfela. 

As luck has it, Felfela was just down the street from our hostel. It appeared to be a chain; say, a local Egyptian McDonalds for the fava bean lovers. We knew we had been misguided, apparently no taxi driver thinks Americans can handle the real deal, the down and dirty of ful. But we wanted to try it anyway. 

The menu was loaded. Shawarma, ful, falafel, koshari... all the local goodies. And the best part: nothing for over two pounds, an equivalent of less than 50 cents! Oh baby, let's splurge.

You order the food up front and then wait for your meal to pop out of this tiny window. We went at lunch time, so there was a long long line, but we still didn't have to wait more than a few minutes for our food. 

First things first: When traveling, it's crucial to try the local specialties. This is Koshari, a staple of Egyptian street food. It consists of pasta, rice, lentils, chickpeas and fried onions, all covered in tomato sauce. Mix, mix, mix and you have a great combination. I specifically loved (and wanted more of) the lentils and fried onions, and would have liked a little less pasta, but it was still a flawless combination. And filling! Definitely more than just a side dish. 

I also ordered the mix sandwich, which contained ful, eggplant and falafel. Perfect for me! Falafel in Egypt (also called Ta'amiya) is made out of fava beans, different than the chickpea based Israeli balls. The debate was heated between Egypt and Israeli falafel, but I personally think that these fava falafel were so much better! They were bigger and crunchier and green inside. I loved them. Plus, the whole sandwich tasted so much fresher than an Israeli falafel sandwich, where you end up feeling sick from fried-ness for days afterwards. (But you always end up coming back for more... grrr) The eggplant salad tricked me into thinking I was eating healthy. I couldn't really taste the ful, but it didn't matter, because Felfele is not about ful. It's about fast, good, Egyptian food. 



A success! Especially the koshari. We ended up going back to Felfela the next day too, even though it was just a fast food chain. I mean, come on, everyone's doing it. 

Abu Hasaan

I'm back in Israel! This time, living on my own. Earlier this year, while my roommate and I browsed craigslist desperately in search of budget living options, I had only one requirement: that our summer digs be at least within a reasonable range of Abu Hasaan, my favorite place in the whole world.

The hummus culture of Israel is defining; a crucial part of eating in this country is understanding and appreciating a hummusia (a hummus joint). At a real, classic, Arab hummusia, hummus is the only item on the non-existent menu. You can order hummus in any way you want: with ful (beans), with egg, with hot sauce. My favorite is when there's a masabacha option, a hummus variant that is creamier. Usually, a good hummus plate comes with zatar, charif spice, full chickpeas, and puddles of olive oil. On the side, obviously a big pile of pita is a requirement, but usually a plate of onion, tomato and pickles arrive too.

Here's when you know good hummus: when you don't need the pita because you'd rather eat the whole plate like soup with a spoon. 

The hummus debate in Israel becomes personal, fast. Everyone has their favorite hummusia and their preferred way of eating each delicious bowl. There's obviously Abu Shukri located centrally in Jerusalem's old city, where the hummus comes with falafel balls. Then there's Hummus Said in Akko, with the creamiest and softest chickpeas you'll ever find. But in my mind, there's no competition: Yaffo's Abu Hasaan is, far and away, the best hummus in Israel.

All of these people lined up outside at 11 am seem to agree:

The restaurant is just these few tables, where everyone crams in with strangers at any open seat opportunity. You sit next to who ever is there and watch them scoop up the last drops of hummus as you wait impatiently for yours to arrive. Although the wait is short: you order your plate on the way to your seat, and usually by the time you're settled, a fresh plate is already on its way.
Simplicity is beauty.
And here it is! A full plate of masabacha. This plate just melted in my mouth, a perfect blend of all the different ingredients that are meant to be joined. The olive oil seeps into the eggy puree, and gets accentuated by the spices on top. It's actually.. perfect. I like to cut up little onion pieces for a little zest, but to each his own. 
Abu Hasaan is only open from 11-3, so go quick. You'll be bursting with heaviness after your plate, but you won't mind. If you have the will power, walk up the street and buy a knafe at the dessert shop up the street.

Peace, love and hummus.