Immigrant influences have lent Israeli food a rich and nuanced character, making its cuisine almost a delectable, edible pastiche of sorts
By Raul Dias
There is no such thing as Israeli cuisine!” says my friend and de facto guide to all things Israeli, Gabi Landau, wearing an exasperated ‘there-we-go-again’ expression that’s probably the same I plaster on my face every time I’m asked about ‘Indian cuisine’ — another misnomer, as it were — on my travels. We’re sitting at a modest little mom-n-pop style restaurant in Jerusalem, tucking into a bowl of magenta-coloured marak kubbeh adom soup, a doppelgänger of the Russian beetroot and sour cream-anointed borscht, as a plate of Hungarian beef goulash waits to be mopped up with the spongy, egg-enriched challah bread, an edible vestige of sorts brought to Israel by the Ashkenazi Jews from Central and Eastern Europe.
And just like our rickety, formica-topped table groaning under the weight of our lunch, tables across Israel can be found laden with a multitude of dishes that do well to reference the relatively young nation’s richly-layered, immigrant-influenced cuisine. A cuisine that is as varied and dynamic as it is surprising and often confounding. A cuisine that literally shudders at the thought of being compartmentalised into one single constricting genre.
Take, for example, the holy trinity of Israel’s most favourite fast foods aka falafel, chicken schnitzel and shakshuka that are all immigrant-cuisine-based iterations of the original versions.
A Syrian and Egyptian invention, falafel today is the most popular snack in all of Israel brought in by the Mizrahi Jews, while the chicken schnitzel was a perfect stand-in for the traditional Austrian veal and beef versions due to the lack of grazing space needed for large ruminants in the new state. On the other hand, the spicy egg, tomato and bell pepper-redolent breakfast staple of shakshuka which means ‘a mixture’ in Libyan Arabic owes its genesis to the Tunisian Jews and other Maghrebi Jews, thousands of whom immigrated to Israel during the 1950s from North Africa.
My journey up north to Daliyat el-Carmel, a village located in the Carmel region, just south of the beautiful city of Haifa, introduced me to the wonders of Druze hospitality. A unique religious minority of Arab descent, ethnic Druzes have a cuisine that is famous for its pita bread wraps, pickles and baklava pastries that are now Israel’s favourite dessert, best teamed with potent shots of black coffee.
Nevatim in southern Israel offers up more proof of this culinary cross-pollination, with a decidedly desi twist! Today, this moshav (a type of cooperative agricultural community) is famous for its fluffy dosha and chamandi, a chutney-like sour and spicy sauce made of ground almonds, coconut milk, curry leaves, and mustard seeds, thanks to the influx of the Cochin Jews who had emigrated from Kochi to Israel, again in the 1950s. In fact, Matamey Cochin or ‘Cochin delicacies’ is one such business that is run by a group of eight local Nevatim women of Indian origin who host Cochin-style meals in their homes for those desirous of a taste of other specialities like hubba which are semolina dumplings filled with minced chicken, onions, cabbage, celery, and coriander and Cochin papadams that are generally eaten before the Tisha B’Av fast.
But although a major chunk of Israeli food influences is relatively new, to discount its ancient and Biblical underpinnings would be sacrilegious on many levels. Most of all, its religious significance, in keeping with the rather strict principles of Kosher, which, among other restrictive practices, prohibits the mixing of dairy and meat. And this means one thing: seafood is king! Reigning supreme is one dish that I encountered almost everywhere in Israel — St. Peter’s fish that’s known by its more common name of musht. This dish of Nile tilapia, marinated in lemon juice, olive oil and garlic then grilled and served with roasted potatoes and a parsley sauce, owes its existence to the Bible, in Matthew 17:24-27, where Jesus had Peter go to the Sea of Galilee, cast a fish hook, take the first fish coming up, and pay the temple tax with the coin found in its mouth.
Speaking of the temple, the jam-filled, deep-fried Chanukah doughnut or sufganiyah is eaten at Hanukkah in honour of the miracle of the temple oil wherein a one-day supply of oil miraculously lasted for eight days lighting up the nine-branched menorah. And one of the spring festival of Passover’s most significant dishes is the matzo, an unleavened flatbread made from flour and water. But one needn’t wait for Passover to try a version of it.
The Yiddish dish of matzo ball soup — Israel’s very own comfort food — that I tried at a hole-in-the-wall in Tel Aviv’s bustling Carmel Market that abounds with cheese, baklava and olive stalls, was a symphony of plump matzo balls, root vegetables and toothsome bits of chicken simmering in a restorative broth that worked its magic on my blocked nose, affording me all the olfactory pleasures that a food market brings on!
(This article first appeared in the 22nd January 2017 issue of The Hindu newspaper, India. http://www.thehindu.com/life-and-style/food/Milk-and-honey-land/article17073511.ece)
By Raul Dias
There is no such thing as Israeli cuisine!” says my friend and de facto guide to all things Israeli, Gabi Landau, wearing an exasperated ‘there-we-go-again’ expression that’s probably the same I plaster on my face every time I’m asked about ‘Indian cuisine’ — another misnomer, as it were — on my travels. We’re sitting at a modest little mom-n-pop style restaurant in Jerusalem, tucking into a bowl of magenta-coloured marak kubbeh adom soup, a doppelgänger of the Russian beetroot and sour cream-anointed borscht, as a plate of Hungarian beef goulash waits to be mopped up with the spongy, egg-enriched challah bread, an edible vestige of sorts brought to Israel by the Ashkenazi Jews from Central and Eastern Europe.
And just like our rickety, formica-topped table groaning under the weight of our lunch, tables across Israel can be found laden with a multitude of dishes that do well to reference the relatively young nation’s richly-layered, immigrant-influenced cuisine. A cuisine that is as varied and dynamic as it is surprising and often confounding. A cuisine that literally shudders at the thought of being compartmentalised into one single constricting genre.
Take, for example, the holy trinity of Israel’s most favourite fast foods aka falafel, chicken schnitzel and shakshuka that are all immigrant-cuisine-based iterations of the original versions.
A Syrian and Egyptian invention, falafel today is the most popular snack in all of Israel brought in by the Mizrahi Jews, while the chicken schnitzel was a perfect stand-in for the traditional Austrian veal and beef versions due to the lack of grazing space needed for large ruminants in the new state. On the other hand, the spicy egg, tomato and bell pepper-redolent breakfast staple of shakshuka which means ‘a mixture’ in Libyan Arabic owes its genesis to the Tunisian Jews and other Maghrebi Jews, thousands of whom immigrated to Israel during the 1950s from North Africa.
My journey up north to Daliyat el-Carmel, a village located in the Carmel region, just south of the beautiful city of Haifa, introduced me to the wonders of Druze hospitality. A unique religious minority of Arab descent, ethnic Druzes have a cuisine that is famous for its pita bread wraps, pickles and baklava pastries that are now Israel’s favourite dessert, best teamed with potent shots of black coffee.
Nevatim in southern Israel offers up more proof of this culinary cross-pollination, with a decidedly desi twist! Today, this moshav (a type of cooperative agricultural community) is famous for its fluffy dosha and chamandi, a chutney-like sour and spicy sauce made of ground almonds, coconut milk, curry leaves, and mustard seeds, thanks to the influx of the Cochin Jews who had emigrated from Kochi to Israel, again in the 1950s. In fact, Matamey Cochin or ‘Cochin delicacies’ is one such business that is run by a group of eight local Nevatim women of Indian origin who host Cochin-style meals in their homes for those desirous of a taste of other specialities like hubba which are semolina dumplings filled with minced chicken, onions, cabbage, celery, and coriander and Cochin papadams that are generally eaten before the Tisha B’Av fast.
But although a major chunk of Israeli food influences is relatively new, to discount its ancient and Biblical underpinnings would be sacrilegious on many levels. Most of all, its religious significance, in keeping with the rather strict principles of Kosher, which, among other restrictive practices, prohibits the mixing of dairy and meat. And this means one thing: seafood is king! Reigning supreme is one dish that I encountered almost everywhere in Israel — St. Peter’s fish that’s known by its more common name of musht. This dish of Nile tilapia, marinated in lemon juice, olive oil and garlic then grilled and served with roasted potatoes and a parsley sauce, owes its existence to the Bible, in Matthew 17:24-27, where Jesus had Peter go to the Sea of Galilee, cast a fish hook, take the first fish coming up, and pay the temple tax with the coin found in its mouth.
Speaking of the temple, the jam-filled, deep-fried Chanukah doughnut or sufganiyah is eaten at Hanukkah in honour of the miracle of the temple oil wherein a one-day supply of oil miraculously lasted for eight days lighting up the nine-branched menorah. And one of the spring festival of Passover’s most significant dishes is the matzo, an unleavened flatbread made from flour and water. But one needn’t wait for Passover to try a version of it.
The Yiddish dish of matzo ball soup — Israel’s very own comfort food — that I tried at a hole-in-the-wall in Tel Aviv’s bustling Carmel Market that abounds with cheese, baklava and olive stalls, was a symphony of plump matzo balls, root vegetables and toothsome bits of chicken simmering in a restorative broth that worked its magic on my blocked nose, affording me all the olfactory pleasures that a food market brings on!
(This article first appeared in the 22nd January 2017 issue of The Hindu newspaper, India. http://www.thehindu.com/life-and-style/food/Milk-and-honey-land/article17073511.ece)
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