Tiberias: A Tale of Two Suppers
The city of Tiberias, the city of water. Nestled between sandy valleys and bordered on the one side by the Kinneret Sea, the air here ought to be refreshing. Mercilessly, it is not. But the city offers other vices not to be found elsewhere. Tonight, we will be indulging ourselves in a high-end seafood restaurant.
When we arrive after waiting a good long while and the pledge of a pretty penny, our food is served. A tuna steak is placed in front of me. A small portion, I’d say. At least compared to a main dish that’d be served in most other places. In all honesty, the whole situation at this place we went to – there’s nothing to write home about. My father and I, equally displeased, hypothetically remarked how ‘a shwarma for fifteen shek would hit the spot’.
Now, in my mind, and I think my Father felt the same way, we didn’t actually intend to go and buy shwarmas after we had just spent a nice amount of money on all of those ‘exquisite’ dishes. But we were all taking a stroll up and down the busy street of the city and there it was: a shwarma joint. My Father said, “Hey Mendel, let’s go get a shwarma”. I shrugged my shoulders and grinned. “Why not?”
And so, we walked inside. A bearded man wearing black pants and a white shirt, stood behind the counter. Now, I don’t like to put in too much in my shwarma. It gets too packed and it can fall apart. Also, it can taste like you’re eating a chicken salad wrap or something. Which isn’t bad – at all; it’s just that sometimes, you know, you want to get that taste of chicken.
So, I ordered what I usually do: sautéed onions and some eggplant. And the pita I got smeared with samba. Handed to me thusly, I take hold of the hot package. The pita looks fresh; it has that airy, fluffy look like it just came out of the oven an hour ago. Everything is packed in their so comfortably; like a warm, fuzzy sleeping bag made of bread. The chicken is golden with spice, and pink with ripeness. The black and not-so-white eggplant is nestled right in with the brown and slightly transparent caramelized onion.
Steam wafts up to my nose carrying in it the smell of baked bread and chicken, strongly accented by the Middle Eastern scent of the shwarma spices. The onion adds in a sweet tinge. The pita was rugged and soft in my hands. The extra flour that had been put on it so it wouldn’t be so sticky makes it like that.
Alright, time to dig in. I take my first bite. The first thing which I felt was the warm-hot contrast of the pita and the actual shwarma. Along with that, was the soft-chewy contrast of the two. Both very comforting to the mouth and the soul. To taste that which I had been smelling so strongly before: the shwarma – was extremely gratifying.The eggplant and onions complimentary texture gave just the right moistness to counter the dry chiken and spice. And the samba, like a beautiful background, lifted the whole picture up by a thousand points. Its tangy, zesty, sweet and staggeringly Middle Eastern. I feel like I’m literally tasting a culture.
In the end I had two dinners that night in Tiberias. I’m glad I ate that shwarma then, even though I had just eaten. It was a tremendously satisfying one. Out of the two dinners, the winner is clear.
munchwords 