Falafels R Us

By David Scribner

December 16, 2013

Last month, I went to Israel on what I thought was a two-week leave of absence from The Berkshire Record. I was with Americans for Peace Now, and we were learning about the potential for a two-state solution to the Palestinian conflict. The trip would also give me the opportunity to try out Israeli and Palestinian reactions to my neighbor Kurt Kruger’s notion of the Federation of Canaan whereby two independent states could coexist within one entity.

But I had another mission as well – one more local and, as it turned out, more imperative.  That was to find the perfect falafel – and if possible, its recipe. I had been encouraged in this quest by Mickey Friedman who raved about the falafels at the Farmer’s Market.

Consequently, between meetings with members of the Knesset and the Palestinian Authority, I combed the warren of emporia in the Muslim Quarter of Jerusalem’s Old City, peering into little markets along the ancient stone corridors. I traipsed into East Jerusalem, exploring food stands, and visited Ramallah where I consulted with the actress Bayan Shabib of the Ashtar Theatre of the Oppressed about where to find excellent falafels — all without coming upon the magic falafel. I even went to the Eucalyptus Restaurant near the Jaffa Gate, and pleaded with the chef for his recipe – he was renowned for having revived biblical cuisine. But the alarm he exhibited when I asked about his technique for shaping the perfect falafel made me realize that his falafel recipe – and probably others as well – were akin to state secrets, and my curiosity alone wouldn’t provide the required security clearance, even though, as a foreign visitor, I was not likely to set up a falafel franchise in Jerusalem — or the West Bank, for that matter.

But a few nights later, my last in Israel, I found what I was searching for in Tel Aviv, at Akram Hummus, an Arab-owned shop on Shenkin Street at the corner of Rothschild Boulevard. My Tel Aviv acquaintance Laika had advised that their falafels were unsurpassed.

It was a modest establishment, tucked next to a corner grocery. It had a take-out window, and an awning over tables and metal chairs set along the sidewalk.

Laika was right. The Akram Hummus falafels are delicious, simply scrumptious, light and tasty, the essence of the lean Mediterranean meal with which they were served – chickpeas and hummus, olive oil, chopped tomatoes and cucumbers, pita, yogurt, olives, tahina.

“We make the falafels with love,” explained Fotma Jabber, who owns Akram Hummus with her husband. “That’s the secret.”

Their skill at Mediterranean delicacies is no secret, however. She appears on a televised cooking show.

I told her how there couldn’t be enough delicious falafels in the world and how I’d be ever so grateful if she could give me the recipe for her superb creations. I wrote my email address on a napkin. Promising to send it to me, she tucked the paper in her pocket as she went off to tend to other customers.

So I left Israel satisfied that although the Israelis and Palestinians still had a long road to reconciliation, at least I had accomplished one part of my journey. I had no idea that falafels would soon come to my rescue.

Back in the United States, I walked back into the yellow Record building on Monday morning. Halfway inside and before I could reach my desk where I had scribbled stories for the past five years, I was intercepted by one of my employers. She was waving her arms as if I were an airliner approaching its gate, which, considering I had landed not 12 hours earlier at JFK after a 10-hour flight and was thoroughly jet-lagged, didn’t seem at first to be an unusual gesture. Directed up the long dark staircase that is never illuminated, I soon learned, in the office off the landing, the reason for the unexpected detour: “You’ve been replaced,” she and her husband declared. I tossed my key on his desk and left.

Back at the Fuel coffeehouse, I considered my options. I decided, first and foremost, that I would continue writing about public affairs, cultural trends and emerging artists, the environment and education, as well as pen commentary now and again. But how to make a living until I could put together an economically viable format for these topics that so urgently needed serious public consideration?

And so it was that I attended last week’s meeting of the Great Barrington Board of Selectmen during which Health Inspector Mark Pruhenski outlined a draft of bylaws for food trucks.

As I listened to his presentation, it struck me. Falafels. A falafel food truck.

According to Pruhenski, there are two food truck locations that would not violate the 50-foot exclusionary zone between the food truck and an existing restaurant: in front of Town Hall and in front of the Mason Library.

There were, of course, objections from restaurateurs. Marvin Lieberman, proprietor of Great Barrington Bagels, declared that “Great Barrington doesn’t need any more food.”

Select Board Chairman Sean Stanton reported that he had received an email from the owner of Subway complaining that food trucks would cut into his business. The same argument was made by Keith Weller of the Gypsy Joynt and Paul Masiero of Baba Louie’s, who both insisted that transient food trucks offered neither local taxes nor commitment to the community.

Michael Ballon of the Castle Street Cafe, to his credit, had a more conciliatory view. He told the board that “this is much ado about nothing, and nothing to get into a tizzy about. Food trucks will have a minuscule affect upon the economy.”

Defending the proposed bylaw, Selectman Dan Bailly declared that it was a free market, and in any case, many of the 71 restaurants in Great Barrington already overlap.

While this discussion was going on, I could not help musing about the potential of a falafel food truck. It could give me employment! Besides, I’m not transient. I live here. And I said to myself: I love libraries and if business were slow I could hang out in the Mason, and I could make sure Mickey Friedman keep up his stamina while he demonstrates against war each Saturday at noon in front of Town Hall.

Enthused by this prospect, I consulted with the artists John Lawson and Gabrielle Senza. Gabrielle had already broken the ice with mobile food, so to speak, by operating an ice cream truck last summer.

“Awesome,” Lawson said. “We’ll paint the truck with a Middle Eastern mural. Food trucks are huge all over the country, and I think a falafel food truck is going to be a big hit.”

Falafels R Us!

Well, not yet. I still haven’t gotten an email with the perfect falafel recipe from Tel Aviv.

Besides, next year — and perhaps the year after — the downtown is going to be torn up with downtown reconstruction.

Maybe the email will come by then.