Written by yours truly for TasteTLV.com!
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
A blog post dedicated to Mr. Arya Donay
This is Arya Donay:
Arya made aliyah on November 15th, 2010. After months of pushing and prodding from every Californian in Tel Aviv, Arya arrived and the group of friends was finally complete. But even though everyone proclaimed intense adoration of our group's token Persian LA Jew, he was met with this badgering sign when he stepped off the plane:
This is Tina, Arya's beautiful mom:
As Yoav so eloquently explained, "You know Arya's mom's cooking is the only reason he has friends, right?"
When I first heard about this elusive Arya figure last summer, I found out that a) Arya's an idiot, and b) his mom is an amazing cook. During years of friendship with Arya back in California, these hungry Jewish boys were lucky enough to be lovingly ushered into Tina's kitchen, where mounds of Persian Jewish cooking magically appeared for all of Arya's free-loading friends. Her specialty, gondi, has now entered into my weekly routine, as I desperately wait for Friday to roll around and for Arya to bring Tina's gondi to shabbat dinner.
This is gondi:
Gondi is a Persian Jewish specialty. This meat version of a matza ball is made from ground turkey and chicken breast, grated onions, salt, pepper, olive oil, tumeric, cardamon, dried sour lemon, ground chickpeas. The mouthfeel is a little harder than a matza ball, but it similarly sits in chicken broth and is made specially for shabbat dinner. Apparently invented in the ghetto of Tehran, gondi is the most characteristic food of Persian Jewish culture, and we are now lucky enough to continue this tradition in merkaz Tel Aviv.
To get a sense of just how good gondi really is, let's take a moment to listen to the wise words of Mr. David Abraham: "From the moment it enters your mouth, you get the savory taste of the spices from the outside of the ball, and when you take a bite through it, you begin to taste the scrumptious chicken/turkey mix that melts in your mouth with exquisite fluidity."
Tina makes gondi every friday. But even though Arya grew up eating gondi once a week, he never got sick of it. Gondi is surprisingly adaptable; it can even be eaten inside lavash bread with mint, Persian basil, fennel, watercress, and different herbs. It's usually eaten as an appetizer because, as Arya explains: "Persian shabbat dinner is like a Persian wedding- you sit around and drink and eat nuts and eat gondi until dinner, catching up about the week, until about 11:00 when you finally sit down to the meal." This routine makes gondi stand out as a highlight.
Arya, the self proclaimed hottest guy in USY, learned to make gondi from Tina after he moved to Israel. When he was home with Tina, he would help her make gondi sometimes, but it was only when he was in Israel and started to miss Tina's gondi did he finally learn the recipe himself. (Yoav adds, "they're still not as good as Tina's!") Yet despite learning to make gondi from Tina, the goddess of gondi herself, Arya explains that everyone's gondi always turn out different. "I can tell the difference between my mom's, my aunt's, my great aunt's... everyone's gondi reflects their character. Some are bigger, smaller... it all depends on the person." Benji here adds that this quality of gondi preparations means that Arya's gondi are "quiet but out there." What does this mean exactly? Arya's meatballs are just as he is-- maybe not perfectly shaped or executed with particular attention to detail, but always a highlight and never forgettable.
In the two months I've been here, I've already learned to wait with great anticipation for Arya on Friday nights. His gondi never fail. Never dry. Never bland. And since Benji only brings rice to shabbat dinner, I swear we'd all be much worse off if Arya wasn't in Israel.
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Hummus Said- Akko
I forgot the cardinal rule. Never, and I mean NEVER, try to eat hummus for breakfast after a night of drinking.
Hummus Said is the famous hummusia in Akko. It's just as worth the trip as Akko's prison,mosque, bathhouse. To be honest, I've only ever ventured north to Akko for the hummus. So after a long night in TLV, I hopped on an early train up north with some friends and started the trek through the bazaar for some good hot chickpea love. Bursting with excitement after waiting in line, I proudly ordered us five bowls of Mashowsha, the hot version of hummus with extra tahina and chickpeas.
It came dripping in oil, accompanied by the typical veggies. I dug right in. One bite. Two bite.
Uch.
I write this blog entry with shame. I didn't even finish half the bowl. When we left Said's, we could have pooled our leftovers together and been left with more than we had all eaten, combined. I am beyond embarrassed.
So despite the fact that I may never show my face in Akko again, you all should. It really is one of the best hummusiot in the country.
Sigh.
Friday, February 4, 2011
Sunday, January 30, 2011
Orna and Ella
I haven't updated Everywhere Eating in a while but, rightly so, I'm in Tel Aviv now and ready to get back in the swing of things. And where better to pick up blogging again than Orna and Ella, Sheinkin's dainty little hot spot bistro?
Saturday was my 23rd birthday, and Orna and Ella was the obvious choice to gather my women of valor for a night of feasting. We, the Tel Avivim and frequent Orna and Ella diners, sat down knowing exactly what we wanted to order. The newbies, our out-of-town guests from Jerusalem and Alexandria, were the receipients of way too many suggestions about the menu's must-haves. By the time our (debatably) very cute waiter approached, we were ready to order the whole menu. He even had to go back for pen and paper when he realized what we wanted.
"That's a lot of food, you know," he cautioned.
"OH. We know." Liana responded, too confidently for a person of her size.
We began with the two bottles of the Pelter Rose, our usual choice, and the sweet potato pancakes. The big plate. For the table. Obviously. These sweet potato pancakes are the staple of any respectable meal at Orna and Ella, and the restaurant's specialty. Please don't imagine fancy latkes or gourmet hashbrowns; these soft pancakes are little bites of sweet potato clouds-- with chive sour cream, tomatoes and cucumbers, just for good measure!
Needless to say, we had finished the pancakes before we had even toasted our Pelter.
After finishing every morsel of sweet goodness, we sat back and hoped to digest, of course failing miserably. That's when I knew (although, of course, I had already known) that I have the best friends in the world. It takes true love for five beautiful 23 year old ladies to stretch their stomachs in my honor-- and with such dignity! After a little, we all walked slowly home to our respective Tel Aviv apartments, nursing our bursting bellies with pride, secretly knowing that more dinners like this one are in our future. A good omen for my 23rd year....
Saturday was my 23rd birthday, and Orna and Ella was the obvious choice to gather my women of valor for a night of feasting. We, the Tel Avivim and frequent Orna and Ella diners, sat down knowing exactly what we wanted to order. The newbies, our out-of-town guests from Jerusalem and Alexandria, were the receipients of way too many suggestions about the menu's must-haves. By the time our (debatably) very cute waiter approached, we were ready to order the whole menu. He even had to go back for pen and paper when he realized what we wanted.
"That's a lot of food, you know," he cautioned.
"OH. We know." Liana responded, too confidently for a person of her size.
We began with the two bottles of the Pelter Rose, our usual choice, and the sweet potato pancakes. The big plate. For the table. Obviously. These sweet potato pancakes are the staple of any respectable meal at Orna and Ella, and the restaurant's specialty. Please don't imagine fancy latkes or gourmet hashbrowns; these soft pancakes are little bites of sweet potato clouds-- with chive sour cream, tomatoes and cucumbers, just for good measure!
Needless to say, we had finished the pancakes before we had even toasted our Pelter.
Next came our appetizers. We had it all: carrot soup, goat cheese salad, asian chicken soup, smoked salmon with corn bread, risotto balls. It was a synchronized dance of eating: sit up, reach, fork, bite, sit back, breathe, repeat. It's a wonder that our arms didn't bump each other as we all grasped at bites across the table. A delirium began to set in.
We had almost forgotten more food was coming when, all of a sudden!, our main dishes arrived. Salmon scallopini, chicken salad, fish balls with couscous, butternut squash tortellini, ricotta and asparagus ravioli. Dishes covered the table and we barely had room for our glasses. Liana started to laugh, I poured myself more wine, Niriel strategized, Emily quietly surveyed the scene and Monica dug right in. We all tried bites of everyones, but no one dared rank the dishes. It was all too good. 
After we wiped our plates clean, Liana summarized, "This is the best restaunt. I've been to a hundred restaurants and this is the best one." Which may or may not be true, but either way, it is certainly one of my favorites. In Israel, I often get trapped in an Israeli food/Italian/Sushi triangle, even getting sick of food that I usually love. But Orna and Ella unassumingly presents one of the most creative menus available, where Israeli classics are served with a gourmet spin. No matter how many times I order the same thing, it always feels fresh.
Finally understanding our digestive prowess, our waiter cleared our empty plates and offered us dessert menus. No one was hungry, but I sucked up the pain and ordered a tarte tatin for the table. Five spoons please! When our dessert arrived though, it was accompanied by a magnificent birthday surprise: a massive merangue, filled with whipped cream and topped with passion fruit syrup. When our waiter placed our two desserts on the table, we thought we were hallucinating.
"What IS THIS!?" Monica asked in wonder. Having lived in Egypt the past six months with limited food options, she had entered culinary shock two hours before. "Was this even on the menu!?"
Liana responded, "YES! I saw it! It's called the Poof!"
That's when we knew we were in trouble. It took us a whole thirty seconds to realize that Liana had no idea what she was saying. And that Orna and Ella would never print the word "poof."
After finishing every morsel of sweet goodness, we sat back and hoped to digest, of course failing miserably. That's when I knew (although, of course, I had already known) that I have the best friends in the world. It takes true love for five beautiful 23 year old ladies to stretch their stomachs in my honor-- and with such dignity! After a little, we all walked slowly home to our respective Tel Aviv apartments, nursing our bursting bellies with pride, secretly knowing that more dinners like this one are in our future. A good omen for my 23rd year....
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
Chicago: The Publican
I've been looking forward to this dinner for about a week now. I arrived in Chicago forty eight hours ago, hoping for some rejuvenation from my friends Charlie and D who moved out here last month. Usually I would rely on New York to provide distraction, but as it turns out, New York isn't for me right now. So, HELLLLLO CHICAGO. I wondered out loud yesterday if Chicago is America's hidden treasure, and then was lovingly reminded that millions of people live here and that Chicago is one of America's most influential cities. I mean, OBAMA is from here for god's sake. So if I'm a little slow on the uptake, at least now I'm in on this well known secret.
After the great disappointment that Rick Bayless' restaurants are closed on Mondays, Charlie came to the rescue (as he always does) by recommending The Publican in Fulton Market. A publican is a tavern keeper, yet as we stumbled through an area that screamed of organized crime but smelled of chocolate, we realized that The Publican is no normal tavern. Despite the long wooden tables and extensive beer list, The Publican's clean feel and product focused menu reinvents the tavern for the contemporary consumer who cares about more than pints and meatloaf.
Our waiter-- who may or may not have hated us-- brought us to our table, and then promptly locked us inside. The Publican offers side booths with wooden saloon doors, which really allowed us to focus on our private dining experience. We almost forgot that other people in the restaurant existed! It was amazing. Just a quaint little wooden box for three, what more could we need?
We began with beer, then Charlie's wine selection ["grenache, because white wine is only for getting drunk"], and then bread and butter. I love butter. That's all I have to say about that.
After the great disappointment that Rick Bayless' restaurants are closed on Mondays, Charlie came to the rescue (as he always does) by recommending The Publican in Fulton Market. A publican is a tavern keeper, yet as we stumbled through an area that screamed of organized crime but smelled of chocolate, we realized that The Publican is no normal tavern. Despite the long wooden tables and extensive beer list, The Publican's clean feel and product focused menu reinvents the tavern for the contemporary consumer who cares about more than pints and meatloaf.
Our waiter-- who may or may not have hated us-- brought us to our table, and then promptly locked us inside. The Publican offers side booths with wooden saloon doors, which really allowed us to focus on our private dining experience. We almost forgot that other people in the restaurant existed! It was amazing. Just a quaint little wooden box for three, what more could we need?
We began with beer, then Charlie's wine selection ["grenache, because white wine is only for getting drunk"], and then bread and butter. I love butter. That's all I have to say about that.
The Publican's menu focuses on pork and shellfish, which for the Jewish eater may prove a little tricky. Luckily, my kosher allegiances stop once shellfish is on the menu, so I still had many options at my disposal. Yet the porkcentric elements of the menu were too much for the boys to resist, and so our meal commenced with some good old fashioned pork rinds. I can't even imagine what these taste like, but I think it's probably something like pork fat fried into a chip and covered in chili. deeeeeelish, apparently.
For my appetizer choice, I opted for the fried perch with fried green tomatoes, lemon, parmesean and tartar sauce. The Publican suggests that most items be shared, so we all dug in with fervor. WOW. The perch was so tender, the green tomatoes so fresh, the parmesean a perfect complement to both... mmm. Since the Publican's menu specifies where each ingredient comes from, it is relevant to note that the perch itself comes from Lake Erie, and The Publican's owners probably tasted a lot of fish before deciding that Lake Erie's were the best. As our waiter said, "the chefs don't matter, the recipe doesn't matter, only the product matters". So while all the ingredients may not be local, they certainly are America's top quality ingredients. And as D intelligently pointed out, "it is local where it comes from".
Next, our forks dove into soft shell crab atop a shrimp-leek galette with lemon aioli. Soft shell crab is Charlie's favorite food, so this dish was a must. [side note: Charlie's second favorite food is hard shell crab.] I don't know how we ended up with so much fried food, but probably because I was the one ordering. Why I've never eaten soft shell crab before is beyond me, but trust me, I'll never skip over it again. You can just EAT THE WHOLE THING. It's so... carniverous. And yet, so delicate. I love it.
The boys reverted back to Suckling Pig as their entree. Ew. I mean, I'm sure it was good, but whatever.
YES! FISH TIME AGAIN. We chose the golden trout, whose insides were pink as a salmon, fried to a perfection and topped with cherry tomatoes and onions. This was amazing. First of all, it must be emphasized that Charles Kurose can gut and clean a trout in twenty seconds. What a hunk. The Publican's trout, which is probably only slightly more sophisticated than Charlie's trouts, is fried whole but without the bones, allowing the diner to just cut the fish right through, eating juicy pink meat with a crunchy fried skin. And then the geniuses in back just stick whole vines of cherry tomatoes right on top. It's so real! Tomatoes on the vine! Marvelling at the garden like purity of this plate was almost satisfying enough. But, obviously, it tasted great too.
As a side, we ordered the corn, which was made Mexican style with parmesean, chili, lime and aioli. THIS WAS SUCH A WINNER. The corn is grilled in butter, covered in aioli, and then dusted with parm and chili and lime. It's... brilliant. And although this can be bought from a street cart for two bucks, it's defintely worth the eight dollars at the Publican. The waiter explained that The Publican uses the street food recipe, yet replaces mayo with aioli and uses less butter and chili. When I asked him the difference between mayo and aioli, he confidently responded that Mayo is just the brand name for aioli. Since I was in complete shock at the revelation that Mayo is the same as Kleenex, Bandaids and QTips, I completely missed the fact that this makes absolutely no sense. As it turns out, our waiter was wrong. Mayo just has egg and aioli is olive oil and garlic. Annnnyway... ORDER THIS. Street food or restaurant style, it's incredible.
This meal was superb.
I would just like to leave this post with a quote from the back of The Publican's free post cards. Despite the fact that I don't eat pork, I find this poem the perfect way of describing the Publican's ability to take its food very seriously and still have fun at the same time. This is a great restaurant. Anyway, here goes:
"Here's to the Swine/ That animal divine/ who through mud and slime/ Grit and Grime/ Gorges over time/ Into Meats Sublime"
Thank you, thank you very much
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