In Israel, Food Revolution Gauges Social Progress
By Todd Pitock
A few years ago, travelers to Israel weren't visiting for the food. In general, Israeli cuisine ranged from the pleasantly simple -- mixed Mediterranean salads, olives, falafel, and freshly baked pita bread -- to the uninspiring. For a developing country, food is functional. You eat to live, not the other way around. The roughhewn image suited Israel, a country founded by intellectuals who laid down their pens to pick up swords and ploughshares.
But if food can gauge a nation's progress, Israel, led by its au courant city, Tel Aviv, is entering a new phase of refinement and sophistication. The catalyst was a five year economic boom and a population of eager travelers who experienced the world with the relish of people who inhabit such a tiny sliver of it. An earlier generation of chefs had tried in the 1980s, but few people could afford them; fewer still were sophisticated enough about food to appreciate their efforts, and they sank with nary a trace.
Today's cadre of cooks are, in contrast, minor celebrities, trained in Paris, London, or New York, and conscious of their mission to pioneer a new Israeli cuisine. Take, for example, Ofer Gal, the thirty-one year-old chef/owner of Capot Tmarim in chic, regentrified south Tel Aviv. Catch a taxi and you don't need the address, just the name. Since opening the restaurant in 1994, Gal's basic idea has centered on using local produce, herbs, and spices innovatively - at times even radically. He has used chocolate as a spice, and concocted a soup of fresh Bulgarian cheese and watermelon. Dan Rogov, restaurant critic for the daily newspaper Haaretz, calls Gal a "revolutionary."
"Ofer has chutzpah," Rogov says. "If you don't understand food, you may hate his creations; if you do, you'll love what he does."
Notwithstanding his daring, though, Gal's kitchen is not outlandish, and he usually confines his experiments to intermezzo courses for which he doesn't charge. He uses sumac, a russet-colored spice, fennel, rose water, fresh rosemary, and a grainy, almost nutty local bean called turmos. A seabream with crispy potato scales in a saffron sauce and a saddle of lamb with dried fig sauce head a recent menu, which Gal changes regularly.
The new Israeli cuisine certainly has strong international influences. That's not necessarily a contradiction. Zionism aimed to "ingather the exiles," so the influence of immigration, along with travel, makes the tiny parse of land quite global in its outlook. Still, local ingredients inform the flavors: citrus, olive oil, sesame seeds, hyssop (an herb with a minty, faintly licorice flavor), sage, za'atar (a mix of spices), fennel, and mild, fresh goat cheese. Rosewater, figs, and dates -- biblical "honey," as in the Land of Milk and Honey, comes from dates, not bees -- figure in many desserts.
Ezra Kedem, co-owner/chef of Arcadia, a much-acclaimed Jerusalem restaurant, describes the theme in terms of colors, "a kitchen of the sun," with reds, yellows, and greens. Like a Cezanne's palette on a plate, sumac, thyme, basil, saffron, mustard greens and wild spinach feature. Cream doesn't.
"The revolution," as it's called, has many generals, like Yosi Inbar, a London-trained chef who started as a caterer to the rich. For $1600, he'd come to a couple's home and prepare dinner. He maintains that while there is not yet an Israeli cuisine, there is definitely an Israeli palate, which is for very strong flavors. At his short-lived restaurant, Sipor Yashan, the menu was spicy and tangy, with a healthy infusion of garlic.
Other star eateries include Moul Yam, the Golden Apple, and Keren. Moul Yam, which looks out on the Mediterranean in north Tel Aviv, was the first to import fresh seafood. Along with Moul, the Golden Apple was rated the country's best restaurant by Gault-Millau, the French food guide. The menu and decor at Keren, located in a restored house originally built by American Christians in the 1860s, reflect the conscious trend toward sophisticated style.
The scene is heavily concentrated in Tel Aviv, though Jerusalem has gotten some attention for Arcadia, which, tucked away in a warren of stone alleys, may have the finest setting of all. The less fancy but flavorful Eucalyptus derives its menu from foods described in the Bible or from traditional Palestinian kitchens.
At times, the revolution sounds like a civil war, and talk of food can be almost as divisive as politics. Critic Rogov, for example, scoffs at the notion of "Israeli cuisine": "You can't make a bernaise sauce with local ingredients and say it's Israeli." Kedem, New York-trained but who like Gal embraces Provencal influences, says he and Gal are equal opposites; Kedem, along with co-chef/owner Tamar Blay, works from a more consistent, thematic palette of ingredients. Yosi Inbar isn't interested in delicate food or presentation. "There is not an Israeli cuisine yet," he observes, "but there is an Israeli palate. We like our food strong."
Differences aside, many of the chefs face the same obstacles, not least Arab-Israeli politics. The halted peace talks stalled the economy and ruined the summer tourist season, triggering a crisis as shortfalls in orders knocked some suppliers out of business. For his part, Gal held his own summit of Israeli and Palestinian chefs in October.
"Everything is connected to peace," he says. "Even food. We've made progress, but nothing can be taken for granted."
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