CITY Issue 58 - (Page 44) CITY LIFE / THE AMUSED BOUCHE BY EVA HABERG EATING (IN) STYLE Finagling for falafel in Jerusalem I ’m in the rab quarter of the Jerusalem ma ket with my f iend David. We’ve been walking fo about minutes, fi st to t y to get into the Dome of the Rock (built on the spot whe e Muhammad was supposed to have ascended into heaven) and then to fi nd this hummus place that’s supposed to be the best in all of Is ael. David stops eve y few stalls and asks the owne s fo the name of the place, saying what sounds to me like, “ bu Suga y?” They point down a long, cobblestone path, lined on each side with shops displaying eve ything f om floo -length jackets to a py amid const ucted enti ely out of zata . Eve y few stalls, we ask: “ bu Suga y?” nd eve y few stalls me chants point with an open palm: that way. We keep walking th ough the laby inth, and fi nally this last “ bu Suga y?” p ompts someone to point back in the di ection we came f om. We had missed the ent ance, but now we’ e the e. bu Suga y. We sit down at a table in the back. We o de hummus – no fowl, but pine nuts, falafel, and tomato salad. This place hits eve ything on my list — hole in the wall, slightly di ty, known only to locals — and I’m out of my mind with excitement. The hummus comes. It is amazing, of cou se. C eamy, but not in that c eepy supe ma ket way; c unchy with pine nuts, but not too c unchy. The falafel, too, is c isp-f ied and pa sley-pe fect. This feels no mal to me, sitting in this th owntogethe ma ket stall of a estau ant, but as I’m figu ing out how to finagle the final falafel f om David, I emembe the fi st time I visited Is ael, fou yea s ago, and how I despe ately t ied to fi nagle my way out of a t ip to Je usalem’s othe “best” falafel place. I was convinced I didn’t like falafel. I hadn’t eve t ied it, but I hated the wo d — so full of f’s, and d y WE ARE WHAT WE EAT. BUT WE ARE ALSO HOW WE EAT. 44 CITY TY ///// / / / / / / / / / / sounding — and didn’t know what was in it, and didn’t want to. But I t ied one out of politeness to my hosts, and immediately o de ed seven. It’s d illed into us again and again — f om childhood into these pe ilous times today — that we a e what we eat. But we a e also ho we eat. The e a e little moments in my life that explain eve ything about my pe sonality th ough what, and how, I eat. I c ave the authentic, the t ue, the eal. I love expensive estau ants just as much as oadside stands, and I’m always sea ching fo the sec et — that ke nel of new identity that I can, by eating, take in and add to my po ous self. In the same way that I’m bulldozingly nosy about eve yone’s pe sonal business because I’m sea ching fo some so t of answe o code — and okay, I’m just nosy — I’m like a bloodhound fo a estau ant’s best dish: undaunted, excited, p obably a bit ove enthusiastic. e yea s of c ippling shyness that p evented me f om o de ing with any eal confidence — I c inge at all the bo ing chicken dishes I o de ed out of panic — I’m compensating now, eminding myself to dive in, to fi nd the best. I eat as a way of becoming who I want to be. nd the pe son I want to be is open to new expe iences, willing to t y new things, unaf aid of change. If fo a moment I pause befo e jumping into the wa m, gooey, out-of-this-wo ld veal-head te ine f om Momofuku Ssäm Ba , all it takes is emembe ing that gi l who didn’t want to t y falafel, even the best in the count y, simply because she hadn’t eve t ied it befo e. nd I’m doing it to communicate something. “Look,” I’m saying as I smea the gelatinous head fat on my b ead, “I am the kind of pe son who is not af aid.” It’s about d essing myself in a suit o a d ess I can unde stand, about having an identity I can always tu n to. Most of the time I’m p etty evenkeeled. But when I’m not, I know I can count on myself to take at least one bite of a sweetb ead, o taste some ma ket stall hummus, and I know that I won’t lose myself. ILLUSTRATION BY MATT ROTA
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