Panamania!

I was wrong about Panamanian food. I was thinking beans, cheese, some guacamole on the side... but now I am quick to realize my racism (that's Mexican, duh...) and know so much more about the subtleties of Panamanian fare. The trick to Panamanian food is this: there is no such thing as Panamanian food. Panama's history of being under the control of nation after nation has left its food without a truly individual identity of its own. Ask any Panamanian about what kind of food they eat, and they're most likely to respond, "um... chicken?"

With that in mind, Jenny and I trekked to what we wanted to eat without thinking of cultural immersion. After a saucy enchilada (Mexican), and then a perfectly wrapped Peking Duck (Chinese), we headed for what Jenny wanted most: pupusas (El Salvadorian).

Across from our hostel, was a little side-of-the-road cabin called Anita's, which advertised "pupusas, enchiladas, tamales". Anita's immediately became a priority. Pupusas are two thick corn tortillas welded together at the sides, stuffed with whatever. We chose cheese and refried beans. Anita's, possibly Anita herself, made our two pupuas with tender love and care... After fifteen minutes of anxiously awaiting, this arrived:




Pupusa's are, as Jenny says, "the perfect food". Eat with your hands, eat with a fork, eat with sauce, eat plain... however you do it, pupusas will hit the spot. Usually, the pancake comes with a side of spicy cabbage and sweet red sauce ("It's unbelievable! You think the red sauce will be spicy but then it's actually the cabbage!"- Jenny) but since we were in Panama, things were a little different. No red sauce, but just some sweet cabbage to top off the pupusa. Quite delicious.

The next day we ventured out of Panama city to Chame, a town that may or may not actually exist. Across from the side of the highway where our hostel was secretly placed, was this restaurant (Argentinian):



After going in four or five times for just a bottle of water, we finally sat down for a meal. It took 30 minutes for any waitress to notice us, then another half hour for the food to arrive, and over an hour for us to eat it. A long meal for just a side of the road truck stop.

We ordered the "half chicken with patacones". Patacones are fried plantains, possibly the most Panamanian food we ate the entire time, but really just Central American in general. They don't taste like much except for fried, but once we added the terrrrrrrrrrifyingly spicy i-want-to-die hot sauce, they basically taste like fried hot sauce.

Just so we're clear: a half chicken is A LOT of chicken. This picture comes from almost 3/4 of the way through the meal, and this chicken still has a long way to go before it's clean. We made it our personal missions to finish. It was so good... possibly the perfect roast chicken.. crispy skin with juicy meat. Not to mention the tongue-scorching hot sauce, the most perfect smelling chimichurri sauce, and the secret hidden-in-the-kitchen garlic sauce.

I am proud of my accomplishment. That was a LOT of chicken. Also, I was sick for almost all of Panama, so I kept having to blow my nose (hot sauce induced) and so by the end my plate looked like this:

I passed out about 20 minutes after finishing this meal.

Another reason for passing out: El Diablo, the 4:00 shot that Jenny and I met in Chame. Half tequila, half beer (Atlas beer, Panamanian) and then Tabasco hot sauce to top it off. Slap it down on the table so it fizzes and then gulp it down. Possibly the greatest way of experiencing Central America is just by introducing El Diablo in your life.


When we woke up the next morning, I was still recovering from chicken overload and Jenny said I smelled like chicken too. I wanted breakfast, something normal, maybe eggs (although on further thought, eggs are kind of chicken too?). But nope, Panama is not easy on the chicken hangover. Panamanians eat fried bread and pork for breakfast. Since I stay away from the pig, all I was left with was fried bread to ease by aching chicken stomach. Not what I really wanted, but when in Panama...


Words for the wise: when in Panama, make sure to bring some snacks. Not chocolate, though. You'll understand if you ever go there.

I knew it!

http://humus101.com/EN/2007/03/03/hummus-instead-of-prozac/

Falafel Oved

I officially dub Falafel Oved the best falafel in Jerusalem. Here are the reasons

1. They always have an abundance of fried eggplant

2. The falafel is crunchy on the outside but not dried on the inside

3. They have a special green spicy garlic sauce

4. Choosing a laffa over a pita doesn't make the meal exponentially  more expensive

5. They will add shakshuka into your falafel if you ask

Frying falafel balls... ahhhh oil!

Sabich, a similar wrap but with eggplant and egg instead of falafel

Falafel with all the fixin's

andddd... ready to eat!

Ramallah

A big part of Arab hospitality is in food. As I have now learned, guests are coaxed, prodded, forced even, into eating... non stop. Such was my experience last week when a few of us visited in Ramallah, the capital city of the West Bank.

We entered Darna, the "best restaurant in Ramallah", so said our host. The scenery was incredible: green trees, glass windows, and large family style tables covered the restaurant in a welcoming feeling. Immediately, plates and plates of food were set in front of us. It was a typical Arab meal: salads of all varieties, eggplant dishes, hummus, bread baskets brimming with pita. Then, after we were already stuffed from appetizers, out came kube, fried meat dumplings. Next, the main course: meat and vegetables cooked in a clay pot and spooned over a bed of rice.

It was all delicious. But it was too much! And there was no way we could refuse any of it for fear of offending our host. After we finished, stuffed to the seams, we thought we had escaped, but no. Next we went to Eiffel Bakery, where we were served plates of knafe. Knafe happens to be my favorite dessert, so I wasn't about to say no. There were two types, rough or soft. The soft kind tasted like a sweet corn bread with melted mozzerella and cinnamon underneath. The rough kind (most everyone's favorite, not mine.) was more of a sweet cheese baklava. 

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.