[LCM Articles] Mezze is just for starters (The Guardian)

[Loai Naamani]

Mezze is just for starters
A lifelong lover of Arabic food, chef Allegra McEvedy has travelled the
Middle East seeking authentic recipes and ingredients. And then she
discovered Lebanon

http://www.guardian.co.uk/travel/2009/feb/28/lebanon-mezze-food-travel?page=
all
 
Allegra McEvedy
The Guardian, Saturday 28 February 2009


Bread baskets ... food vendors on Avenue de Paris, Lebanon. Photograph:
Peter Rayner/Axiom

There is a warning the Foreign Office has not included in its advice on
travel to Lebanon: don't expect to get anywhere fast if you have even a
passing interest in food. I hit the streets of Beirut on a crisp, sunny
January morning, knowing exactly where I was heading. But in less than a
minute, the smell of baking had lured me off my route. Following my nose
down a side alley I ended up at Ichkhanian in Beyham Street, a bakery with
an unassuming shop front, behind which was the most cavernous wood-fired
oven I've ever seen.


Pastries filled with spinach and lamb. Photograph: Allegry McEvedy

Three men worked seamlessly to knead, roll and bake the flatbreads, for
which, I later found out, they are famous. The unleavened, ultra-thin
pizza-ish discs, known as lahm bi'ajeen, are topped in a couple of different
ways. I opted for minced lamb and pinenuts, which had been baked crisp, then
hit with a squeeze of lemon and a shake of paprika. Things could not have
got off to a better start.

Despite being British to the core, I've always felt that the Arabic world
was my spiritual foodie home. Mezze is probably my favourite way of eating:
I love having little bits of this and that, mixing it up, clearing your
palate with some pickles, then diving in for another little trundle round
the beautiful bowls. Over the years my passion for mezze has taken me to
Israel, Turkey and Morocco in search of new recipes and ingredients, but it
was in Lebanon, widely believed to be the country that invented mezze and
the jewel in the Middle Eastern culinary crown, that I felt I would find
authenticity.

My guide was Kamal Mouzawak, a dedicated foodie who used to sit on the board
of the Slow Food Foundation for Biodiveristy in Bra, Italy. He became
disillusioned with the politics of the movement, and decided he could
achieve more by working at a grassroots level in his own country. And he was
right. Since leaving, he has instigated project after project designed to
preserve, promote and celebrate traditional Lebanese cuisine. Initiatives
include the Kitchen Workshop in Beirut, a culinary institute that offers
cookery seminars and classes, and the first insiders' guide to his country,
featuring essays on architecture, music and cinema by key Lebanese figures,
as well as more practical information on places to stay and eat. His current
mission is to document ancient and little-known recipes, which he plans to
publish in a cookery book. He is also the man behind Souk el Tayeb,
Lebanon's first farmers' market, which aims to "safeguard and promote the
knowledge about food traditions and heritage".

In some ways Souk el Tayeb is not unlike our farmers' markets. Go there on a
Saturday morning or Wednesday evening and you will find middle-class locals
browsing stalls brimming with healthy, shiny vegetables. For me it was a
great place to sample some local dishes, such as kibbeh, a street snack and
veritable national dish, made of finely ground lamb or goat meat mixed with
soaked fine bulgar (cracked wheat) and then deep fried (although sometimes
the meat is raw). There were also little pastries filled with spinach or
lamb, and in the corner I found Mona and Nellie, preparing man'ousheh,
delicious wraps made from a dough of barley, wholewheat and corn, cooked
above coals on a big metal dome and then filled with local goodies such as
soft and salty cheese, olives, tomatoes, huge rocket leaves and za'atar (a
mix of herbs, sesame seeds and salt). Mona was 27 before she learned to
read, and it is only through her stall at Souk el Tayeb that she is now able
to support her family.

Kamal wanted to take me to his home town, but not before lunch. Halabi (04
523 555), on the outskirts of the city, proved to be the ultimate education
in mezze. Among the 26 dishes put in front of us were a divine oven-baked
potato mash, mixed with olive oil and roast garlic; an incredible muhummarra
(crushed walnuts, spices and chilli mixed with olive oil to a pesto-like
consistency); boiled brains with lemon; and some stunning local spinach-like
greens, steamed, then sprinkled with lots of deep-fried shallots. Laughing
kids were running around while the men (and me) puffed on hubbly-bubblys as
the meal stretched on for hours.

We eventually rolled out of Beirut at about 4pm. Our first stop was Byblos,
thought to be the birthplace of modern writing, and the site of some
excellent Roman remains and a beautifully preserved 11th-century church and
castle. After sauntering around the ruins, we watched the sunset from the
Byblos Fishing Club, overlooking the ancient harbour, and I had one of those
moments of extreme bliss brought on by a campari soda and the best fattoush
salad I've ever eaten.

After that perfect sundowner, we headed 20km further up the coast to the
fishing town of Batroun, where we were spending the night at Kamal's house.
He took me to his favourite local, Chez Maguy (Makaad el Mir, Batroun, 03
439 147), a classic beachfront restaurant, complete with outside wooden
tables, well-seasoned by sun and wind, and a menu based on what the fishing
boats had brought in earlier. This included an enormous platter of little
grilled crabs, with a delicious garlic mayo dip, some of the most tender
calamari I've ever eaten, and a small army of succulent, grilled prawns. A
digestive walk along by the famous Phoenician wall and a toe in the sea
completed our evening.

The next morning we drove to Tripoli, famous for furniture and sweet
pastries. I can't think of anywhere better to indulge in the latter than
Hallab & Sons, a seven-floor temple to sweetness run by the
fourth-generation Samer Hallab. It's worth trying to get the full tour, but
failing that a coffee and a little sugar rush in the café on the ground
floor will more than satisfy. They produce about 65 kinds of sweets and
pastries, all handmade - be sure not to miss out on the halawet el jiben,
their particular specialty, a kind of sweet, cheesy cream in the most
incredible stretched pastry.

Having consumed several thousand calories in the last hour, I was keen to
work some of them off, so I stormed through Tripoli's ancient souk, past
piles of dates and vine leaves, chunks of tripe, rows of trainers, live
chickens, pyramids of nuts, dried fruit, herbs, books, chadors and half cows
on hooks. Jostled along by the throng, the tea boys touting their wares,
ready to refresh the sellers with little glasses and a steaming pot on a
tray, I felt like I was part of a magical, untouristy side of everyday life.

Having soaked up the market's sights and smells, I attacked the citadel with
a zeal that might have impressed even the crusaders who built it nearly
1,000 years ago. It's a magnificent fortress built on the highest peak in
Tripoli, almost totally deserted apart from a group of Lebanese soldiers,
and offering breathtaking views of the city.

Amazingly I was peckish again, so I set off in search of Danoun (+06 422
978/423 978), a no-frills, booze-free restaurant, and reputedly the best
place in the city for pulses. The ful (dried broad beans), hummus and fatteh
(chickpeas cooked in yogurt with bits of fried bread) were the best I had on
this trip.

Kamal and I headed back to Beirut with the snow-peaked mountains on our left
and the Mediterranean on our right, back to the Hotel Albergo, which has a
stunning rooftop pool and a terrace bar with a panoramic view across the
city from the sea to the mountains, and an Italian restaurant, Al Dente,
should you fancy a break from local cuisine.

Early next morning, Kamal picked me up for our last jaunt: a visit to the
lush Bekaa Valley, the country's bread basket and a great wine-producing
area. It was about 7am as we crossed the first range of mountains with blue
skies above and Syria in the distance, and saw the famous valley in front of
us, overflowing with thick morning mist. As the ground warmed up, the mist
thinned, and by the time we reached the ruins of Baalbek, the air was clear
and crisp, broken only by the sound of several thousand voices all shouting
in unison, "Hizbollah! Hizbollah!" We had come on the remembrance day of one
of Mohammed's martyred followers.

The roads were closed, so we walked directly through the rally, where we
were searched by multiple security women who could not have been nicer or
more apologetic for inconveniencing us. "No problem," we said, smiling and
heading at a firm pace for what promised to be one of the best set of ruins
I'd ever seen. Baalbek is quite simply breathtaking: its size (there is a
colonnade of the six biggest columns in the world), beauty, the state of the
ruins (amazingly complete given their age) and the location (seated between
mountain ranges) make this an awe-inspiring place - it's not surprising that
they used to think it was built by giants.

After such exertion and excitement a restorative G&T was in order at the
legendary Palmyra Hotel (+961 8 370011) overlooking the ruins, where de
Gaulle, TE Lawrence and Jean Cocteau all sheltered from the scorching sun.
>From there we drove to the Massaya vineyard (massaya.com), set up by
brothers Sami and Ramzi Ghosn. Britain and Ireland are already their second
biggest export market after California. We walked through a hall of enormous
vats, each labelled with its own little chalk-board: the Tate takes the rosé
as one of its house wines and you can buy it in Harvey Nicks too. Massaya
also makes arak, the traditional aniseed drink similar to raki.

We enjoyed a couple of their reds (Classic 2007 and also the Gold Label
2005) at the wonderful little onsite cafe and lapped up a stunning local
soup called keshk - cabbage, onions, spuds, preserved lamb and home-dried
milk - followed by pumpkin kibbeh.

As the clouds burst for the first time, we made our way back to Beirut for
our last supper, at a wonderful Armenian restaurant called Onno (+03 801
476). This small family restaurant does the sort of food I enjoy best:
simple, confident, beautifully cooked. I tried the delicious and beautiful
mante - a giant pie made of tiny, individual lamb parcels which are simmered
in sheep's yoghurt just before being served. I munched and crunched on
sparrows (traditional in these parts) cooked in pomegranate molasses and
tried gall bladder with chilli (liver-ish), as well as more regular
delicacies such as pastrami with fried quail's eggs, and a lamb dish with
dried cherries and cashews that I don't think I'll ever forget. But then
that also goes for the whole trip.

€ Allegra McEvedy is co-founder of fast-food health chain Leon. Her Colour
Cookbook is published by Kyle Cathie Ltd at £19.99. To order a copy for
£18.99 with free UK p&p go to guardian.co.uk/bookshop or call 0870 836 0875.

http://www.guardian.co.uk/travel/2009/feb/28/lebanon-mezze-food-travel?page=
all
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