You may or may not have noticed that I haven't posted in a while. As it turns out, blogging is the worst and I hate it. Goodbye forever.
-SC
Friday, April 20, 2012
Wednesday, January 4, 2012
Steakiat Habirah: Shwarmtastrophy Strikes
When we were first coming back here to Israel last month, I didn't have any specific shawarma related goals outside of eating several boatloads. I hadn't yet conceived of my mission here, and I didn't have any specific falafel shop in mind to visit. Except one: Steakiat Habirah (Capital Steakhouse). The story behind Steakiat Habirah is as follows. One Friday afternoon back in '07, when Miriam and I were here last, we were at the crowded Central bus Station in Jerusalem, trying to find the bus to Kedumim to spend the weekend with my cousins. Well, Miriam got a little irritated at me because I kept wandering off (she doesn't appreciate a good wander like I do). And in the oyster of the bustling* Central Station on a Friday afternoon, that irritation grew into a full sized pearl of a fight (I'm awesome at metaphors). Eventually I had enough of that fight, so, naturally, I wandered off.
I moseyed on out of the bus station and down the block, until I saw a restaurant with a sign above the door saying (can you guess?) "Steakiat Habirah." Hungry from my extensive moseyings, and hypnotized by the twirling stick of meat just inside, I decided this would be a good place to rest my weary legs. Now, to be honest, I remember very little about the shawarma I ate there. All I remember is leaving the place and thinking to myself that that was the best shawarma I've had in this wondrous shawarma-filled land. It was truly the shawarma of kings.
Since that day, any time I heard someone was going to visit Israel, I demanded they pay a visit to Steakiat Habirah. For their own good. So when I returned to Israel, what choice did I have but to do the same. So after we arrived, I decided to pay a visit and become reacquainted with my long lost, beloved steakiyah, and to be reminded why I loved it so much. So I hopped on the #4 bus to Central Station. And with the ghosts of perfectly spiced flakes of meat dancing on the back of my tongue, I made my way to the shop.
To my disbelief, the sight I arrived at was very different from the one that greeted me four years before. The man behind the counter was replaced with a different, more bearded, man behind the counter. But more disturbingly, the warm stack of juicy meat turning in the shawarma oven was replaced by a listless pizza turning in a pizza oven (or whatever it is pizzas do in there). The name on the sign was different too. I can't remember it, something with the word "strudel" in it; "Sal's Pizzas and Strudels," or "Strudelman's Pizza." Something like that. I had to find out what happened. I could only shuffle inside, as when one's shock is so profound, one can't muster any gait more than a shuffle. I asked the bearded fellow behind the desk what happened to my beloved steakiah. I have no idea what he said. In my grief filled daze, his response just sounded like gibberish to me (or maybe Hebrew, they sound very similar). But it didn't matter. Steakiat Habirah was no more. Yankel's Strudel Emporium was there in its place. All I can do now is grieve and promise to do everything I can to ensure that no shawarma place will ever go out of business again.
*an appropriate word for the situation, no? Brings up images of people hustling for a bus. Plus, people who are hustling for a bus don't have time to say "I'm hustling for a bus." So they just say, "I'm bustling." I'm pretty sure that's where the word comes from.
-photo courtesy of Veev
I moseyed on out of the bus station and down the block, until I saw a restaurant with a sign above the door saying (can you guess?) "Steakiat Habirah." Hungry from my extensive moseyings, and hypnotized by the twirling stick of meat just inside, I decided this would be a good place to rest my weary legs. Now, to be honest, I remember very little about the shawarma I ate there. All I remember is leaving the place and thinking to myself that that was the best shawarma I've had in this wondrous shawarma-filled land. It was truly the shawarma of kings.
Since that day, any time I heard someone was going to visit Israel, I demanded they pay a visit to Steakiat Habirah. For their own good. So when I returned to Israel, what choice did I have but to do the same. So after we arrived, I decided to pay a visit and become reacquainted with my long lost, beloved steakiyah, and to be reminded why I loved it so much. So I hopped on the #4 bus to Central Station. And with the ghosts of perfectly spiced flakes of meat dancing on the back of my tongue, I made my way to the shop.
To my disbelief, the sight I arrived at was very different from the one that greeted me four years before. The man behind the counter was replaced with a different, more bearded, man behind the counter. But more disturbingly, the warm stack of juicy meat turning in the shawarma oven was replaced by a listless pizza turning in a pizza oven (or whatever it is pizzas do in there). The name on the sign was different too. I can't remember it, something with the word "strudel" in it; "Sal's Pizzas and Strudels," or "Strudelman's Pizza." Something like that. I had to find out what happened. I could only shuffle inside, as when one's shock is so profound, one can't muster any gait more than a shuffle. I asked the bearded fellow behind the desk what happened to my beloved steakiah. I have no idea what he said. In my grief filled daze, his response just sounded like gibberish to me (or maybe Hebrew, they sound very similar). But it didn't matter. Steakiat Habirah was no more. Yankel's Strudel Emporium was there in its place. All I can do now is grieve and promise to do everything I can to ensure that no shawarma place will ever go out of business again.
 |
| You Maniacs! Damn you Strudelman! Damn you to hell! |
*an appropriate word for the situation, no? Brings up images of people hustling for a bus. Plus, people who are hustling for a bus don't have time to say "I'm hustling for a bus." So they just say, "I'm bustling." I'm pretty sure that's where the word comes from.
-photo courtesy of Veev
Tuesday, December 20, 2011
Arkadash
Arkadash
6 Shamai St.
City Center, Jerusalem
Shawarma Baguette
30 shekel
I've already mentioned the two vehicles for shawarma; the lafa and the pita. Well, it seems there's a third one: the baguette. I've probably seen it on tons of felafel shop menus, but have always overlooked it due to my poor Hebrew reading skills. As you can tell from all the perfectly good letters going to waste, 'baguette' is a French word (How many T's do they really need? Don't they know there are poor Hawaiians who've never even seen a 'T' in their lives?). Purists feel that shawarma should only be eaten out of a lafa, or, in case of emergency, a pita; but never a baguette. They'll tell you that the baguette is foreign to Israeli cuisine, and therefore has no place in shawarmadom. But to them I say, "bring me your baguettes, and your malawachs, and your whatnots. After all, isn't Israel itself just a melting pot. An assortment of contrasting salad-cultures, meat-cieties, and sauce-nicities, all mingling together. And wrapped in a delicious bready shell. Like a burrito." And then I say "dammit, I mean shawarma," and be all annoyed that I'm no good at giving speeches off the cuff.
Anyway, I got the opportunity to demonstrate my open-mindedness at Arkadash (motto: "we bring honor to shawarma") at the behest of Dan, the fellow who sold me my cellphone plan. Dan also demanded that I get my shawarma in a baguette, which is the only reason I even noticed their existence in the first place. On entering the place, the decor is very thought out for a shawarma place, in that there is a decor of some sort. An orange and black type that I can't bring myself to care enough about to note more than two adjectives. It doesn't matter though, because the second you enter, your eyes are immediately drawn to the back of the restaurant, where three skewers of shawarma are twirling in unison in front of their fires. Like ballerinas; if balerinas could sweat liquified fat and were made out of beef, turkey, and dark meat chicken, respectively, as these ones were.
They all look marvelous, and I can't choose, so the fellow at the counter recommends I try all three, and who am I to argue. The shawarma man pulls a baguette out of what I thought was a garbage can. I order coarsely chopped Israeli salad (there are two sizes, what luxury!), fried onion, skhug, and hummus (I'm intrigued by the guacamole, open-mined as I am, but not today). Next the fellow pulls out the pan of the mixed shawarma meats, adds parsley, or cilantro, or some similar worthless herb, and deftly spreads an even layer over my salads. Then he finishes it off with a good shot of techina.
I wish I could say that all the meats perfectly complement each other, that the flavors and textures of each one bring out those of the others. However, the meats just taste like a pile of meat. A crispy, meaty, delightfully spiced pile of meat. But you don't care about the meat; you want to know about the baguette. Well let me tell you: it holds up beautifully. The oils, techina, and meat juices all make their way down into the bready interior, mingling and mixing, until they combine into a creamy goodness that rolls down your chin like a red carpet for for the meat and salads it accompanies. And it's all held together by that thin, toasty, baguetty crust that greets you enthusiastically with every bite.
In conclusion, shawarma on baguette is wonderful. I'm going to eat more. So should you.
6 Shamai St.
City Center, Jerusalem
Shawarma Baguette
30 shekel
I've already mentioned the two vehicles for shawarma; the lafa and the pita. Well, it seems there's a third one: the baguette. I've probably seen it on tons of felafel shop menus, but have always overlooked it due to my poor Hebrew reading skills. As you can tell from all the perfectly good letters going to waste, 'baguette' is a French word (How many T's do they really need? Don't they know there are poor Hawaiians who've never even seen a 'T' in their lives?). Purists feel that shawarma should only be eaten out of a lafa, or, in case of emergency, a pita; but never a baguette. They'll tell you that the baguette is foreign to Israeli cuisine, and therefore has no place in shawarmadom. But to them I say, "bring me your baguettes, and your malawachs, and your whatnots. After all, isn't Israel itself just a melting pot. An assortment of contrasting salad-cultures, meat-cieties, and sauce-nicities, all mingling together. And wrapped in a delicious bready shell. Like a burrito." And then I say "dammit, I mean shawarma," and be all annoyed that I'm no good at giving speeches off the cuff.
Anyway, I got the opportunity to demonstrate my open-mindedness at Arkadash (motto: "we bring honor to shawarma") at the behest of Dan, the fellow who sold me my cellphone plan. Dan also demanded that I get my shawarma in a baguette, which is the only reason I even noticed their existence in the first place. On entering the place, the decor is very thought out for a shawarma place, in that there is a decor of some sort. An orange and black type that I can't bring myself to care enough about to note more than two adjectives. It doesn't matter though, because the second you enter, your eyes are immediately drawn to the back of the restaurant, where three skewers of shawarma are twirling in unison in front of their fires. Like ballerinas; if balerinas could sweat liquified fat and were made out of beef, turkey, and dark meat chicken, respectively, as these ones were.
 |
| I can't tell if this looks delicious or gross. |
I wish I could say that all the meats perfectly complement each other, that the flavors and textures of each one bring out those of the others. However, the meats just taste like a pile of meat. A crispy, meaty, delightfully spiced pile of meat. But you don't care about the meat; you want to know about the baguette. Well let me tell you: it holds up beautifully. The oils, techina, and meat juices all make their way down into the bready interior, mingling and mixing, until they combine into a creamy goodness that rolls down your chin like a red carpet for for the meat and salads it accompanies. And it's all held together by that thin, toasty, baguetty crust that greets you enthusiastically with every bite.
In conclusion, shawarma on baguette is wonderful. I'm going to eat more. So should you.
Wednesday, November 30, 2011
Moshiko
Moshiko
5 Ben Yehuda
City Center, Jerusalem
Shawarma pita
25 Shekel
Moshiko was the first shawarma place I ate at when I got here. I had been in Israel a day, and I was dying for some shawarma already. Moshiko is one of the more well known falafel places among Americans weary from loading up on knock-off tee shirts and overpriced Judaica on Ben Yehuda street. It's a clean looking place. I wasn't too hungry, so I got a pita. Though they had a great selection of salads to choose from, I figured I'd stay conservative with my first shawarma, so I just got Israeli salad, pickles, and fries with chummus and skhug. The meat itself was lamb, I think (I wasn't really sure. I called later to ask, but the phone number I found online belonged to a nice fellow who used to, but no longer, works there. Although, I guess I could have just asked him if the shawarma there is lamb, but it's too late now.).
The meat was unlike most shawarma I'm used to, in that it was soft and juicy and not crispy. Meat generally is cooked so that it's crispy on the outside and juicy on the inside. With shawarma the pieces are are too small to have both. So you have to choose one. I choose crispy, since the rest of the sandwich is juicy enough on its own between the salads and sauces. If you don't have the crispy meat, it sometimes gets lost among the other stuff. And if you can't taste the meat, then what's the point?
Even though the meat wasn't crispy, I can't really complain though since it was still delicious, and it held its own just fine. Maybe because I went light on the sauces. Maybe because it was lamb. I don't know. Either way it was good. I did have a bit of an issue though with the pita. As I've already brought up, pitas are tricky. If you don't pack them properly you end up with a trifle instead of a shawarma, with each salad and sauce in its own layer. Shawarma's like a high school prom; if everyone's not mixing its a failure. I wouldn't exactly say this shawarma was a failure, but, Moshiko, if you're there, maybe work on that.
5 Ben Yehuda
City Center, Jerusalem
Shawarma pita
25 Shekel
 |
| There's more to the left. You'll have to trust me I guess. |
The meat was unlike most shawarma I'm used to, in that it was soft and juicy and not crispy. Meat generally is cooked so that it's crispy on the outside and juicy on the inside. With shawarma the pieces are are too small to have both. So you have to choose one. I choose crispy, since the rest of the sandwich is juicy enough on its own between the salads and sauces. If you don't have the crispy meat, it sometimes gets lost among the other stuff. And if you can't taste the meat, then what's the point?
Even though the meat wasn't crispy, I can't really complain though since it was still delicious, and it held its own just fine. Maybe because I went light on the sauces. Maybe because it was lamb. I don't know. Either way it was good. I did have a bit of an issue though with the pita. As I've already brought up, pitas are tricky. If you don't pack them properly you end up with a trifle instead of a shawarma, with each salad and sauce in its own layer. Shawarma's like a high school prom; if everyone's not mixing its a failure. I wouldn't exactly say this shawarma was a failure, but, Moshiko, if you're there, maybe work on that.
Sunday, November 20, 2011
Falafel Doron and the Marvelous Origami That Is the Lafa
Note: The first few shawarmas aren't posted in the order in which they were eaten, for anyone keeping score at home.
Falafel Doron
2 Rachel Imenu
Emek Rephaim, Jerusalem
Shawarma lafa
35 shekel
I'm familiar with Falafel Doron from when I lived in the Arnona neighborhood of Jerusalem and would walk in daily to Emek Rephaim street for the free internet at Cafe Aroma. On the trendy, restaurant-laden street, It's one of the few true holes-in-the-wall, which is to Shawarma as the concert hall is to classical music. It's where shawarma was meant to be experienced (I guess it has to do with the acoustics or something).
I got my shawarma in a lafa, which I had yet to have since I got here. I was pretty excited as lafa is my favorite vehicle for shawarma, falafel, and just about every other edible thing. If you haven't had a lafa before, imagine a burrito, but thicker, and fluffier. Like an edible down blanket. Now imagine it fresh from the oven. Now imagine further that it's folded just like a burrito except with the top left open so it holds about a ton and a half of food. And if you turn your attention to the bottom of your hypothetical fluffy burrito, you'll note that all the folding going on down there has created a bready wad at the bottom inch or two, which acts as a grease trap that catches all the juice, oil, fat, and hummus that escaped capture initially. Like a delicious, drenched, pillowy POW camp. See fig. 1.
The final advantage of lafa over other breads is that because the lafa is packed while its open and then wrapped up, it takes less skill to execute properly. All sauces, salads, and meats can be easily distributed evenly throughout the lafa from top to bottom. A feat that is more difficult to master in a pita (although pita, when done right, has its own advantages, as we shall see later on).
Back at Falafel Doron, I had ordered my shawarma lafa, and was deciding on the salads to go in it. There wasn't too much deciding to do since there were so few choices. Just israeli salad, pickles, fries, a few cabbage things and maybe one or two other salads. For sauces just hummus, turkish salad, green skhug and amba (which I'm not ready to try just yet). There were a few other things in a separate self serve salad bar, but once the lafa is put together it's not worth trying to stuff more salads into it.
The meat was turkey. I got mine with hummus, israeli salad (it was an odd one. The tomato was cut small and the cucumber shredded in to half inch long bits), skhug, and fries. Unfortunately, my son was due for a nap, so I had to take the shawarma home and eat it in the less then ideal surroundings of my non-hole-in-the-wall apartment.
On opening the wrapping, the presentation was a little disappointing. The lafa was maybe two thirds full. For 35 shekel I expect my shawarma to be packed to the brim. It took a bit to work my way down to the actual shawarma. That was a disappointment too. I'm not usually one to complain about having too much meat, since I love it so much. But I'll be damned if there wasn't just too much meat. Every shawarma needs to have a balance between meat and salad. Too much meat and you just have a turkey sandwich. Not enough meat and you just shelled out $9.50 for a veggie wrap. As you can see from the picture, my shawarma erred on the turkey sandwich side. Now, as a God-fearing Jew, I don't mind a nice turkey sandwich every once in a while. But this was not a nice turkey sandwich. I couldn't get three bites into it before I needed a glass of water to wash down the first two. It was just so dry. Between all the ingredients, the only thing adding any moisture to the party was the salad. And as noted earlier, There was not nearly enough of it; which is baffling since there was so much room for more. Also, I suspect that the small size of the pieces salad contributed to the dryness, since it seems like it wouldn't hold as much moisture.
The turkey itself was passable, well spiced (although the spice somehow made it seem less shawarma-ish and more turkey-sandwich-ish), and not too dry, but when turkey is the appetizer, main course, and dessert it damn well better be more than passable.
Either way, I just couldn't get past how dry the thing was. I guess it's better for the Kinneret, wasting less water on sandwiches and everything. But goddammit, I want my shawarmas soaked head to toe. Isn't that why they built all those desalination plants?
Falafel Doron
2 Rachel Imenu
Emek Rephaim, Jerusalem
Shawarma lafa
35 shekel
I'm familiar with Falafel Doron from when I lived in the Arnona neighborhood of Jerusalem and would walk in daily to Emek Rephaim street for the free internet at Cafe Aroma. On the trendy, restaurant-laden street, It's one of the few true holes-in-the-wall, which is to Shawarma as the concert hall is to classical music. It's where shawarma was meant to be experienced (I guess it has to do with the acoustics or something).
I got my shawarma in a lafa, which I had yet to have since I got here. I was pretty excited as lafa is my favorite vehicle for shawarma, falafel, and just about every other edible thing. If you haven't had a lafa before, imagine a burrito, but thicker, and fluffier. Like an edible down blanket. Now imagine it fresh from the oven. Now imagine further that it's folded just like a burrito except with the top left open so it holds about a ton and a half of food. And if you turn your attention to the bottom of your hypothetical fluffy burrito, you'll note that all the folding going on down there has created a bready wad at the bottom inch or two, which acts as a grease trap that catches all the juice, oil, fat, and hummus that escaped capture initially. Like a delicious, drenched, pillowy POW camp. See fig. 1.
The final advantage of lafa over other breads is that because the lafa is packed while its open and then wrapped up, it takes less skill to execute properly. All sauces, salads, and meats can be easily distributed evenly throughout the lafa from top to bottom. A feat that is more difficult to master in a pita (although pita, when done right, has its own advantages, as we shall see later on).
Back at Falafel Doron, I had ordered my shawarma lafa, and was deciding on the salads to go in it. There wasn't too much deciding to do since there were so few choices. Just israeli salad, pickles, fries, a few cabbage things and maybe one or two other salads. For sauces just hummus, turkish salad, green skhug and amba (which I'm not ready to try just yet). There were a few other things in a separate self serve salad bar, but once the lafa is put together it's not worth trying to stuff more salads into it.
The meat was turkey. I got mine with hummus, israeli salad (it was an odd one. The tomato was cut small and the cucumber shredded in to half inch long bits), skhug, and fries. Unfortunately, my son was due for a nap, so I had to take the shawarma home and eat it in the less then ideal surroundings of my non-hole-in-the-wall apartment.
 |
| I know it's in here somewhere. |
The turkey itself was passable, well spiced (although the spice somehow made it seem less shawarma-ish and more turkey-sandwich-ish), and not too dry, but when turkey is the appetizer, main course, and dessert it damn well better be more than passable.
Either way, I just couldn't get past how dry the thing was. I guess it's better for the Kinneret, wasting less water on sandwiches and everything. But goddammit, I want my shawarmas soaked head to toe. Isn't that why they built all those desalination plants?
Monday, November 14, 2011
I Have Returned
In the summer of 2007 I came with my dear wife to Israel. We arrived with just the clothes on our backs (and in our suitcases, of course), and a dream. The same dream that my father dreamed while canning lox in a basement in Queens, and his father dreamed while being pelted in the head with rocks by angry Poles, and his father before him dreamed, probably also while getting pelted with rocks. The dream of two thousand years worth of rock-pelted fathers. The dream to eat every shawarma in Israel (I'm pretty sure they touched on it in Hatikva).
This is shawarma. It is better than sliced bread. It contains the entire food pyramid* and every other food shape worth a damn. It can cure everything from scurvy to pickled beet deficiency. But most importantly it is the most delicious food on earth. It's a living, breathing sandwich that wants nothing more than to be eaten and enjoyed by me and you, and asks for nothing in return other than maybe a drop on your shirt to remember it by. Shawarma shops are the most ubiquitous food purveyors in Israel. And do you know why? Because Israelis are smart. They want their food to be quick, clean, cheap, and satisfying. Now, I'm not saying that if you start eating shawarma daily you will become the world leader in venture capitalism. But, as they say: correlation equals causation.
*if you replace dairy products with Tahini products, as well you should.
To make a long story short, I failed my dream. I imagined I'd travel around the country like Pac-Man; chomping up shawarma after shawarma, stopping only to snack on the occasional pretzel or blinking ghost. But it wasn't to be. I left the Holy Land beaten and bewildered. I was exiled to Washington, DC. Where the people's need for ethnic pocketed meals is fulfilled by burritos and calzones, and the benevolent shawarma is cast aside and ignored. But I have finally returned. And I'm ready to once again eat tons of shawarma. And I will record it here, as a guide for all of you. In order to do that, I must get inside the shawarma. I must become one with the it. I must become...
This is shawarma. It is better than sliced bread. It contains the entire food pyramid* and every other food shape worth a damn. It can cure everything from scurvy to pickled beet deficiency. But most importantly it is the most delicious food on earth. It's a living, breathing sandwich that wants nothing more than to be eaten and enjoyed by me and you, and asks for nothing in return other than maybe a drop on your shirt to remember it by. Shawarma shops are the most ubiquitous food purveyors in Israel. And do you know why? Because Israelis are smart. They want their food to be quick, clean, cheap, and satisfying. Now, I'm not saying that if you start eating shawarma daily you will become the world leader in venture capitalism. But, as they say: correlation equals causation.
*if you replace dairy products with Tahini products, as well you should.
To make a long story short, I failed my dream. I imagined I'd travel around the country like Pac-Man; chomping up shawarma after shawarma, stopping only to snack on the occasional pretzel or blinking ghost. But it wasn't to be. I left the Holy Land beaten and bewildered. I was exiled to Washington, DC. Where the people's need for ethnic pocketed meals is fulfilled by burritos and calzones, and the benevolent shawarma is cast aside and ignored. But I have finally returned. And I'm ready to once again eat tons of shawarma. And I will record it here, as a guide for all of you. In order to do that, I must get inside the shawarma. I must become one with the it. I must become...
...The Shawarma Chameleon.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)