Eat Meat

Is the name of the place I just went for dinner. Picture, if you will, an enormous meat salad (not to be confused with a healthy salad) piled high with Israeli pleasures. First, crisp romaine lettuce, fresh tomatoes, and chopped red onion. THEN thinly sliced roast beef (not like the roast beef you're thinking of, because under normal circumstances I'm anti-RB), cooked right in front of you with grilled onions and jalapeños. Once this steaming goodness is in the salad, they add a magical mixture of mustard, mayonnaise and chimichurri. And finally, for only 5 shekels more, a fried egg on top!!! WAHHH!!! Did I mention this salad comes with hot garlic bread and extra dipping sauce on the side!!?!?!?!?!?!

...Diet starts tomorrow!

So that's what's new in the meat world. At least the edible kind. The edible kind that you buy at restaurants and comes from a cow. As far as the other kind of meat, things are kacha-kacha (that's Hebrew for so-so. With Hebrew skills like this you'd think I'd be fending them off with a stick. Or my Ulpan notebook. Not so.)

Boyfriend #1, Misha, took me to a wedding, introduced me to all his friends, and together we chose the names for our first two children. Misha dropped me a week after the wedding. He told me that he had to be honest with me, he had gotten back with his ex-girlfriend. Surely, he felt, I would want to know the truth more than anything. When I relayed this story to my mom, she responded with this tale about one of her many Peruvian lovers circa 1970, "Teodoro broke up with me by saying he was dying from a rare blood-born disease only to move in next door three years later. Imagine my surprise! The important thing, sweetie, is that Misha doesn't want to be with you. Who knows what the Truth is?!" Thanks, mom.

Things with boyfriend #2, Reuven, lasted slightly longer than the stint with Misha. Four times longer, actually--four dates instead of one. I was pretty into Reuven. He's Irish (redhead, DUH) and Jewish (who knew those existed?) on the Israeli national rugby team. Hot accent, big muscles. Everything was going great (though clearly not as great as I thought) until I walked into our shared favorite bar and he was sharing it with another girl. She was pretty and skinny and blond. They were drinking wine. Their legs were touching. I walked home, cried for a minute (or ten) on my balcony, and smoked two cigarettes. Then I got over it. Did I mention he dropped out of school at the age of fifteen? Yeah.

So maybe my soulmate isn't in Israel, but a lot of other amazing people are. And amazing foods. I thought I loved food before I came to Israel. I thought I knew good food. I knew nothing. Every day I discover something new. Tonight I discovered the beauty of the fried egg steak salad. Yesterday we ate moussaka in the Yemenite neighborhood of Tel Aviv. Last week I tried sabich for the first time--an Iraqi specialty. Warm pita stuffed with hummus, eggplant, a hard-boiled egg, and a million other goodies.

Diet starts tomorrow...

The Israeli Way

Damn I'm bad at posting in Israel. There's too much beach to be laid on, hummus to be eaten, and vodka to be drank! Still, enough food and men are being consumed that both should be reported.

First of all, Friday night dinners here provide the most wonderful excuse for cooking and eating elaborate meals. You're given the whole day off for the explicit purpose of cooking dinner. Seriously! So, I take it upon myself to make the most of these Friday night dinners (whether that means making it myself, making it with friends, or having it made for me by a hot Israeli friend of a friend after driving me around town on his motorcycle. Either one works.)

Sometimes we're traditional about Friday night dinners, sometimes we're not. In Jerusalem we marinated chicken in pesto and threw it in with pasta, served it with whole wheat Challah, hummus, and cucumber/tomato salad. Last week, I made rice and beans. I sauteed tons of onion and garlic in olive oil before cooking them up with black beans, then tossing all that with brown rice. Tonight I ate the leftovers with labeneh, a traditional Israeli sour cream/cheese/tzaziki sauce that might be my new favorite condiment.

So my shorts are fitting a little bit tighter. The men here don't seem to care. Though, they don't seem too keen on anything past the first (and in one case, second) date. Is it really like my mom says, that all Israeli men are chauvinistic assholes? Or does she just say that so I don't fall in love and stay here forever? Maybe a little bit of both. I do find that the men here have short attention spans. Or is it just the Israeli way--never know what's going to happen tomorrow, can't commit to too much today? Maybe a little bit of both.

Regardless, I've got a good rhythm going. They have microwave popcorn here. Why would I ever have to leave?