So overall
Israel has been pretty epic, and a great learning experience. I mean, last night I ran and then did a short
work out on the beach. And it’s January…
I’m sure my friends from California or Florida might not think that that’s all
that special, but I was an East Coast kid, and Lake Effect snow was as common
an occurrence in my childhood winters as breathing was. This weekend, I floated in the Dead Sea (I
promise I’m getting to that story soon too), and overall, even though I’ve been
some other places around the world, this is the first time I’ve really felt
like I’m at the core of it. I’m not
surrounded by hoards of Americans (which isn’t necessarily a bad thing, but I
think changes the experience you have wherever you go because you learn to lean
on other people who grew up the way you did).
I just wake up in the morning, and head outside, pass by the lemon tree
in the garden (literally had no idea that was there until one fell off the tree
during a rainstorm the other week), and walk to the train station, stopping to
grab rugelach, other pastries and fresh squeezed orange juice as
necessary. I ride the train with all the
soldiers and other Israelis heading to work.
If I don’t speak, I wonder if they can tell that I’m not one of
them. By the way I walk? The way I dress? The way I look? Apparently, they’re very good at that.
But, now
I’m going to talk about the things I don’t like (don’t worry, this isn’t going
to be a long, dragged out list of complaints or anything. In fact, I’m primarily talking food here, and
I apologize in advance if I offend anyone with my sheer dislike for certain
Israeli delicacies.)
But before we get into the food, I was a little frustrated the other day because all the lunch orders came into the company and were waiting downstairs to be claimed, and I was sure I had found my lunch (I mean, of dozens of choices, how many people order a quinoa salad?), but when I asked someone to translate the Hebrew name on it, they assured me it didn’t belong to me. Half an hour later, I ventured back downstairs in search of my lunch, and my supervisor looked at it, and told me it was mine. Because I order in English and the food ordering system is in Hebrew, my name comes up backwards, so it would be Abell Sarah, and when the restaurant tried to translate my last name (what they apparently thought was my first) into Hebrew, they mixed up the b with a d and I believe, lost an l, so it was “Adel”, thus it seemed like there was no way it could be mine, especially since I didn’t know enough Hebrew letters to decipher it (the written and typed letters are different as well). So at first, I was hungry and my food was missing and I was annoyed but it was kind of hard to stay frustrated when I realized what had happened (I find it funny; I’ve seen it happen before. If you search the hours of museums in Israel on Google, it will tell you that they’re open from 5PM to 9AM). Then, my salad was really delicious, and worth the wait, so I don’t know if that counts as something I don’t like but it was a challenge, observation and learning experience and while it was a minor frustration, it was also a very interesting miscommunication and representation of the language barrier as well. Believe it or not, Google translate can’t solve everything J
But before we get into the food, I was a little frustrated the other day because all the lunch orders came into the company and were waiting downstairs to be claimed, and I was sure I had found my lunch (I mean, of dozens of choices, how many people order a quinoa salad?), but when I asked someone to translate the Hebrew name on it, they assured me it didn’t belong to me. Half an hour later, I ventured back downstairs in search of my lunch, and my supervisor looked at it, and told me it was mine. Because I order in English and the food ordering system is in Hebrew, my name comes up backwards, so it would be Abell Sarah, and when the restaurant tried to translate my last name (what they apparently thought was my first) into Hebrew, they mixed up the b with a d and I believe, lost an l, so it was “Adel”, thus it seemed like there was no way it could be mine, especially since I didn’t know enough Hebrew letters to decipher it (the written and typed letters are different as well). So at first, I was hungry and my food was missing and I was annoyed but it was kind of hard to stay frustrated when I realized what had happened (I find it funny; I’ve seen it happen before. If you search the hours of museums in Israel on Google, it will tell you that they’re open from 5PM to 9AM). Then, my salad was really delicious, and worth the wait, so I don’t know if that counts as something I don’t like but it was a challenge, observation and learning experience and while it was a minor frustration, it was also a very interesting miscommunication and representation of the language barrier as well. Believe it or not, Google translate can’t solve everything J
But, okay, so
now it’s time to be blunt. I’m about to
tell you about an experience I had last weekend which I’m currently trying to
have my tastebuds forget. I’m talking
about Sahlab. I absolutely detest this
revolting concoction, and I am fully aware that I’m opening myself up to an
onslaught of angry comments from all Sahlab lovers everywhere.
I’m trying
to be open to new experiences (that’s why I tried carrot juice—not too bad, but
as Isa’s daughter, Tami, pointed out to me, I kind of miss the carroty crunch—and
Lemonana—which is basically crushed ice, mint and lemonade and it is so
delicious that I could drink it all day for the rest of my life—and it’s why I
try tahini all the time because even though I loathe certain types of it, it’s
all made differently). But, the truth
is, I can’t love everything.
Crepes are
solid, the frozen yogurt is so so (probably not as sweet as in the States/
Wooberry anyone?), hummus is and will always be held very near and dear to my
heart, the fruit smoothie I had last week was slightly disappointing but I’ll
give it another shot with a new flavor soon, Falafel has its moments, Tabouleh
is delicious and I’m all for Challah (shout out to my friends who baked it with
me before I left to come here; I still need that recipe).
But,
Sahlab? I can’t frame it in a good way from
any angle I look at it. I was provided
with a cup of a white frothy pudding like substance and was immediately eager
to begin the experience, but one spoonful in, and I wished I had just ordered
Lemonana. I guess you’re supposed to mix
the cinnamon, coconut and peanuts from the top into it, but I don’t enjoy any
of those substances enough to disguise the appalling taste I was
experiencing.
I don’t
even know how to explain it. I guess
it’s Turkish and/or Arab and is popular in Israel. It’s either made with milk or water, in
conjunction with Salep flour, rice flour, potato starch, sugar (clearly not
enough) and maybe orchid of some sort (because I guess, Sahlab means orchid or is a type of one), but that recipe might be completely different than the one I “enjoyed”
last weekend; it looked like pudding and maybe that was the problem; my
tastebuds were expecting American made vanilla pudding and then received an
unwelcome surprise that I can’t even put into words.
So I am
sorry. I apologize profusely to Sahlab
lovers everywhere, but hopefully we can find something else in common, because
it will never be this. But, I tried; I
gave it a shot, and I can’t do it. I
choked down about a fifth of a cup of it with the aid of some very tasty
cookies and water. And then I gave
up. I don’t know if it was too sweet
(because supposedly it is sweet) or what, but if you’ve never had it and would
like to come to Israel to try it out, let me know; I’ll take you to a café and
order Lemonana while you have an experience you’ll never forget, for better or for
worse.
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