I remember the first time I had Arabic Cuisine, it was few years back when the first Gulf War was about to break out and the senior Bush was the resident in the White house. Fearing that Saddam’s scud missile might land on their head or that the war might spill out to the borders of Saudi Arabia, a considerable number of foreign workers left the Kingdom. This created a shortage of workers in various areas of the Saudi economy. . Through some twist of fate, I ended up accepting a job offer to work in a petrochemical plant in Eastern Saudi Arabia. And yes, I did had my share of people telling me, “Are you crazy!!!” when they heard that I would just be 250 miles south of Iraq..
Second week into the job, my Saudi co-worker, Tawfeeq, invited a bunch of us at work for dinner in his place. I was hesitant at first because, (1) I kind of noticed Saudis prefer to eat with their hand, so I am concerned cutlery are not available (2) I am left handed even when I eat, and I was told culturally the left hand is for “dirty” use only and should not be used for eating (or when you offer a handshake etc) (3) Third I actually saw someone brought in an Arabic dish at work called lamb kabsa, and the lamb thigh bone looked like a small baby’s skull..
At any rate, Tawfeeq re-assured me that (1) They have cutlery and I can eat using them (2) With modern plumbing already common in the Kingdom, Saudis are more forgiving now when they see someone eat with their left hand (3) Get past the baby skull image and just try it
Besides, I figured the people who invented coffee and algebra can’t go wrong food-wise.
Tawfeeq place was not overtly big and
the decor was quite a fusion of traditional Arabic and Western furnishings. True to what I was expecting, Tawfeeq served lamb kabsa, but his wife did a good job on the presentation. No baby skull looking bone sticking out, just good and appetizing food at the table. First taste of it and I realized what my taste buds have been missing out all those years. Suffice to say that after that first encounter with lamb kabsa, In my four years work stint in Saudi Arabia, my palate would be treated to more of that Arabic cuisine
Back in Canada, a group of us have been going to Habibi’s Kebab since 1997.
When you entered you were greeted by a blast of warm air from the kiln where flat bread was baking. There were about six tables, and a staff of three who would more than willing to belabor to explain what the menu items were. Presiding over this joint is an Iraqi named Rashid, who smiled at our unending demands for nan and papad, hummus and motabal, borani, palak paneer ,chili pakora, kebab and curry.
On special occasions we even have the lamb.
I remember the first time I was in Habibi’s. I mentioned to Rashid that I worked in the Middle East in the early 90s and in all my years there, I never have tried out Arabic coffee.
“Ah, coffee,” Rashid then adds. “Our coffee is the best coffee in the world,” then he went into a reverie about the coffee that grew on the land where the Tigris met the Euphrates, and was nothing less than the distillation of centuries of Mesopotamian culture, etc. etc.
“And do you serve this marvelous brew?” I was getting intrigued.
“No, we only have Nescafe,” he’d say, leaving me to drown my visions of the Hanging Gardens of Babylon in cups of instant coffee.
I remember a dinner we had in 2000, shortly after the US presidential elections. Our motley crew of diners now included Keith, an American teaching in a private school here in Vancouver. After the complicated process of ordering—which we usually resolved by having Tina order for everyone—Rashid asked us who had won the election.
“The counting isn’t finished yet ,” Keith said, “but it appears George Bush would win.”
Rashid uttered a short prayer to Allah, then went into his kitchen.
That was the last time I dined at Habibi’s, not that I had any intention of avoiding the place. Keith moved to Washington, D.C., Tina got a job in Toronto, Ruth is wherever she is. In the last couple of years my Middle Eastern food requirements have been met by a Persian shwarma place three buildings away from where I work.
Last week my business partner, John and I wanted a good dinner far from the the usual Chinese/Japanese/Greek choices. I am not quite sure, probably since another US election has just been finished, I suggested Habibi’s. Although for 4 years that I have not gone there I am not quite sure if it is still in business. As we drove there my taste bud cannot wait to savor lamb kabsa again, but as we get closer I noticed something that made my blood freeze.
“There’s no light at Habibi’s,” John said.
“Is it. . .is it. . .closed?” I squeaked.
“Nnnnoooooo!” I screamed, dashing to the restaurant. True enough, the place was dark and abandoned-looking. Were I not a devotee we would’ve moved on, but I needed proof that this horror was real. There was a sign on the door. Nervously I approached it, dreading what I might read.
“Habibi’s has moved to the second floor.”
Our sighs of relief caused bits of refuse on the pavement to swirl like leaves in the wind. A white plastic bag danced in the breeze, but unlike the scene in American Beauty it was just ugly.
We ascended the stairs to a fairly ornate doorway and found ourselves in a vast dining room. It bore little resemblance to the old place; this was almost swanky. There was a tall wine rack near the door. I thought we’d entered the wrong restaurant, so I asked the man behind the counter if this was Habibi’s. It was. Rashid himself appeared to greet us.
“Wow,” I said. “When did you move?”
“Over a year ago,” he informed us sternly. “You have not been here for a long time!” He led us to a window table as I sputtered apologies. Then I spotted my friend Ruth who, that same day, had been seized by a compulsion to dine at Habibi’s. She too had panicked at seeing the old unlit place.
“What do you recommend?” I asked Rashid. “Stuffed chicken,” he said quickly. “Grilled with saffron and mushrooms. Shrimp tandoori. And I will give you saffron fish.”
The waiters emerged from the kitchen bearing steaming dishes of fluffy rice, chicken on skewers, and fat orange shrimp neatly lined up on a plate. There was fish with a buttery yellow sauce, and a bowl of crushed tomatoes. Rashid put rice on our plates, added tomatoes, and mixed it up. Then he poured some of the buttery sauce from the fish onto the rice. “Take one,” he said, pointing to the shrimp. Obediently we bit into the shrimp. “Now the rice,” he said.
My taste buds sent coded messages to my brain which translated into “Fabulous.”
“It is good?” said Rashid
We were reduced to nodding.
“I brought you this because you always order the same things,” he said.
“It’s Tina’s fault!” I exclaimed. “She forced us to order the healthy stuff!”
At the end of our meal the waiter served coffee. No longer Nescafe instant, but normally brewed variety. “We will serve Turkish and Arabic coffee and baklava soon,” Rashid informed us..
In a month or so, the place downstairs will reopen as a café serving Persian desserts and delicacies.
From watching the news, we tend to associate the Middle East with strife and terrorism. When I go to dine at Habibi’s I am always reminded that the Middle East is one of the cradles of civilization.
Picture of the Day
Japanese electronics giant Pioneer Corporation created 25-gigabyte storage disc made from corn. Salsa sold separately. (Discovery.com)
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