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Beaujolais Nouveau

If it’s the third Thursday in November, that means it’s a) the Thursday before Thanksgiving and more importantly, b) the arrival of Beaujolais Nouveau, the first wine of the harvest. Drunk when the wine is still young and fresh, the million cases of Beaujolais Nouveau that are shipped from France worldwide each November has become a wine world ritual, and one that is also, of course, celebrated in Israel.

For me, it marks my friend Andrew’s annual party, which he revolves around Beaujolais Nouveau, hounding his local wine stores to be sure that he’ll have enough cases to keep his friends happy. It’s sort of like my annual Thanksgiving bash, for which I order my turkey within plenty of time to thaw it and roast it for my turkey eaters. In another sense, it’s our way of keeping track and abreast of the world out there, and not getting too lost in the ways of our adopted country.

So here’s to young red wine drinking this evening — or tomorrow and through the weekend — and we’ll talk about Thanksgiving next week.

(And a little more explaining about Beaujolais Nouveau:)

AT ONE MINUTE PAST MIDNIGHT on the third Thursday of each November, from little villages and towns like Romanèche-Thorins, over a million cases of Beaujolais Nouveau begin their journey through a sleeping France to Paris for immediate shipment to all parts of the world. Banners proclaim the good news: Le Beaujolais Nouveau est arrivé! “The New Beaujolais has arrived!” One of the most frivolous and animated rituals in the wine world has begun.

By the time it is over, over 65 million bottles, nearly half of the region’s total annual production, will be distributed and drunk around the world. It has become a worldwide race to be the first to serve to this new wine of the harvest. In doing so, it has been carried by motorcycle, balloon, truck, helicopter, Concorde jet, elephant, runners and rickshaws to get it to its final destination. It is amazing to realize that just weeks before this wine was a cluster of grapes in a growers vineyard. But by an expeditious harvest, a rapid fermentation, and a speedy bottling, all is ready at the midnight hour.

Beaujolais Nouveau began as a local phenomenon in the local bars, cafes, and bistros of Beaujolais and Lyons. Each fall the new Beaujolais would arrive with much fanfare. In pitchers filled from the growers barrels, wine was drunk by an eager population. It was wine made fast to drink while the better Beaujolais was taking a more leisurely course. Eventually, the government stepped into regulate the sale of all this quickly transported, free-flowing wine.

In 1938 regulations and restrictions were put in place to restrict the where, when, and how of all this carrying on. After the war years, in 1951, these regulations were revoked by the region’s governing body—the Union Interprofessional des Vins de Beaujolais (UIVB)—and the Beaujolais Nouveau was officially recognized. The official release date was set for November 15th. Beaujolais Nouveau was officially born. By this time, what was just a local tradition had gained so much popularity that the news of it reached Paris. The race was born. It wasn’t long thereafter that the word spilled out of France and around the world. In 1985, the date was again changed, this time to the third Thursday of November tying it to a weekend and making the celebration complete. But wherever the new Beaujolais went, importers had to agree not to sell it before midnight on the third Thursday of November.

Apart from the fanfare, what makes Beaujolais Nouveau so popular? And especially in the U.S. where consumption of red wine is less than 30%? Simply put, Beaujolais Nouveau is as about as close to white wine as a red wine can get. Due to the way it is made—the must is pressed early after only three days—the phenolic compounds, in particular the astringent tannins, normally found in red wines, isn’t there, leaving an easy to drink, fruity wine. This, coupled with the fact that it tastes best when chilled, makes for a festive wine to be gulped rather than sipped, enjoyed in high spirits rather than critiqued. As a side note, it makes a great transitional wine for anyone wanting to move from white to red wines.

Finally, the race from grape to glass may be silly, but half the fun is knowing that on the same night, in homes, cafes, restaurants, pubs, bars and bistros around the world, the same celebration is taking place. It hasn’t the pedigree to be a classic wine, but it is always good. Any other opinion you may regard as boorish and uninformed.

EVOO Israel style

It’s olive harvest time in these parts, which I was reminded of while passing [a possibly] public grove of olive trees on King David Street, in which several Arab women were picking and harvesting the crop.

Yes, charming and amusing and a reminder of the importance of olive oil, whether EVOO or other, in these parts. Now that Israel has beefed up on its boutique wineries, olive oil is the next cottage industry to hit the commercial mainstream, and enterprising olive oil producers are doing just that.

Here’s a nice little piece about four different olive farms…and if you can’t make it out to the farm — or the patch of olive trees on King David Street — just head over to liveO/Oil of Life in Mamilla or Tel Aviv, where their Negev Desert-sourced olive oil is packaged to perfection, whether as olive oil, straight; in soaps, jams (the Pear and Vanilla Jam is particularly good), or a myriad of other products.

According to the company, liveO produces five different lines of gourmet products based on their extra virgin olive oils, Picual, Souri, Barnea, Frantoio and Manzanillo. The oils are cold pressed, classified as extra virgin, and have a level of acidity not exceeding 0.5%. The gourmet line was created by Julian Attia, a French culinary advisor, inspired by the world of wines.

If you seek your own regular source of olive oil, LiveO will deliver a quantity of olive oil to your home monthly or quarterly, for a not insignificant sum. Or, you can cure olives yourself:

Olive-curing recipe:

Collect olives by hand in a clean plastic bucket to prevent bruising.
Day 1: Wash in running water. Add boiling hot water and allow to soak for 24 hours.
Day 2: Pour off cold water add more boiling water.
Day 3: Pour off cold water add more boiling water.
Day 4: Pour off cold water. Place the olives into clean jars and add a mixture of brine and white (or any other type) vinegar in the proportions of 3 to 1 by volume.

Brine = 10%w/v salt in water that is 100grams/litre of final solution

Fill jars well and add a layer of olive oil.

liveO: Mamilla Avenue, Jerusalem / 21 Rothschild Blvd., Tel Aviv

Walking with the King – Israeli style

I know that Israelity has written about it in the past, but after a visit to the Elvis Inn for a friend’s 60th birthday party, it’s impossible to resist commenting about it.

An oasis of kitsch from the King right off the Neve Ilan turnoff on the Tel Aviv-Jerusalem highway, the Elvis Inn is now an Israeli landmark that should not be missed – especially if you want to go home with an Elvis portable alarm clock or a postcard of Elvis as the baby Jesus, or a Bedouin nomad. It’s the kind of place that John Waters or David Lynch would have thought up for a scene for one of their movies.

The Elvis Inn is actually a restaurant – a garish, American-deco diner at that. You can’t miss the place, with the huge Jurassic Park-like statue of Elvis outside. But rather than serving the traditional cheeseburger and fries – after all, this is Israel – you can get your fries with pargiyot, kebab and any number of grilled Middle Eastern delicacies.

[The music is a taped loop of greatest hits by the King, which I'm sure the staff must be sick of hearing by now. The gift shop is chock full of the Elvis memerobilia described earlier, and the wall and ceilings are jam-filled with photos of 50s Elvis, pre-army Elvis, movie-star Elvis, Las Vegas Elvis, and wall murals of the King's numerous movie rolls. Then there are the statues and figurines throughout the restaurant - magnets for photographs. We went home with an Elvis Inn mug, and a few pilfered Elvis sugar packets.

A visit to the Elvis Inn shouldn't be missed - for a combination of Israeli and American pop culture excess at its most peculiar. Even better if you can make it on the annual commemoration of Elvis's death, when the cadre of Israeli Elvis impersonators converge for an evening of sneering and attempts at Israeli accented "Jailhouse Rocks."

Hummus duels at 10 paces

As anyone who’s been to Israel knows, hummus is practically the national food. You can’t walk a block or two in any city without encountering a hole in the wall serving up the creamy homemade spread, with olive oil, snobars and lemon juice, served alongside piping warm pita. And I don’t mean that grainy, coarse stuff they try to pass off in the US as hummus – this is like the cream from the Gods.

With enough hummus to go around, you would think that the question of where the chickpea-derived spread originated would be a moot point. But our neighbors to the north – Lebanon – evidently haven’t taken too kindly to hummus being touted as an Israeli creation – in fact, an Israeli brand.

Businessmen in Beirut have even begun legal action to patent the dish as inherently Lebanese. And over the weekend, chefs gathered there to mix 3,000 lbs of mashed chickpeas, 88 gallons of lemon juice and 57lb of salt to break the Guiness Book of World Records, breaking the previous record set in Israel last year.

As a side dish, the Lebanese also prepared a 7,800 lb tabbouleh salad that included 3,520 lb of parsley, 3,300 lb of tomatoes and 924 lb of onions.

“Come and fight for your bite, you know you’re right!” was the slogan for the event — referring to the not-so-friendly rivalry between Lebanon and Israel over the ownership of the food.

“Lebanon is trying to win a battle against Israel by registering this new Guinness World Record and telling the whole world that hummus is a Lebanese product, its part of our traditions,” Fady Jreissati, vice president of operations at International Fairs and Promotions group, the event’s organizer, told the Associated Press.

“If we don’t tell Israel that enough is enough, and we don’t remind the world that it’s not true that hummus is an Israeli traditional dish, they (Israelis) will keep on marketing it as their own,” he said.

C’mon guys, isn’t there enough to bicker about in our region without dragging in the one thing that we all collectively love into the morass? How about a hummus taste-off pitting the five best Israeli hummus dishes versus the five best Lebanese? I’d volunteer to be a judge for that.

The Waffle Bar

I’m a big fan of waffles. Growing up in California, I used to eat the frozen Eggo Nutri-grain variety pretty much every day for breakfast. Drenched in butter and maple syrup, they weren’t healthy but it was something to look forward to when arising early on a dark winter morning.

Years later, on a business trip to Florida, I drove what must have been 30 minutes on a bland 6-lane city highway lined by endless strip malls and fast food joints to find an International House of Pancakes. It was my Harold and Kumar White Castle moment.

So I was filled with thinly concealed squeals of delight when a waffle bar opened up just a five-minute walk from my home in southern Jerusalem. That was a couple of years ago, but it wasn’t until this week that we hadn’t had a chance to sample the wares.

Waffles have apparently hit the big time here in little Israel. Our little Waffle Bar had a long waiting list and a crowd of gussied up Jerusalemites in tight black jeans and stiletto heals milled around jostling for a table (this despite the fact that the hostess had taken everyone’s names). It was a dichotomous uber-secular crowd, seemingly out of place in the increasingly observant Baka neighborhood.

We must have waited close to 45 minutes for our table. It was after 11:00 PM when we finally sat down. The Waffle Bar’s décor is nothing fancy – more like an Israeli version of a diner than a trendy Tel Aviv hot spot. The location itself used to be an Italian restaurant which was rarely full, and before that a Friday morning prepared food take out joint.

While the menu includes a range of full meals, you come for the waffles. There’s vanilla cream, apples and blueberry, Nutella chocolate and nuts, plus many more equally decadent delicacies. My wife and I actually ordered a sweet crepe with a side of vanilla ice cream. At NIS 40, it wasn’t cheap but it was quite yummy.

As we left around midnight with our tummies sufficiently filled, we remarked how sophisticated Israel has become. A nearly hour long wait for a table might be understandable for a new sushi bar in the Big Apple, but Jerusalem?

Fortunately, across the street is Falafel Oved, considered by many (including me) to be the best establishment in town for fried chickpea balls in a soft laffa (get it with the spicy garlic sauce). It’s not waffles, but it’s quintessentially Israeli. And the line is much shorter.

Pomegranate economics

As we say goodbye to the ‘chagim’ period, the month-long span of Jewish holidays, a piece of news about pomegranates, a major fruit in the Rosh Hashana new fruit ritual. The pomegranate has also become a major component of the health food trade, given its antioxidants that lower blood pressure and reduce risk factors for heart disease. As a result, Israeli farmers have doubled the size of their pomegranate orchards over the past five years to 20,000 dunam from the previous 10,000 dunam, or 2,500 acres. Them’s a lot of pomegranate seeds. As a result, an oversupply of the red-seeded fruit has led to a 30% drop in prices over the last few weeks, and at the height of pomegranate season, according to a recent item in Ha’aretz.

That’s great for the Israeli consumer, who’s now buying pomegranates at the supermarket for NIS 10 a kilogram, down from NIS 14 at this time last year. So if you’re so inclined, and live in this pomegranate-heavy region, here’re are some recipes from Haim Cohen and Eli Landau, the current recipe-testers and writers for the Ha’aretz weekend magazine. They also offer the same advice as my sister for getting the seeds out of the pomegranate: Fill about half of a good-sized bowl with water; cut the pomegranate in half and place the cut side down in the water. Then just peel off the seeds in the water, which will prevent you, the peeler, from getting sprayed with ruby red pomegranate juice. It’s a a great ‘patent‘, as we say in these parts.

As for the recipes, this is the one I’m thinking about trying this week:

Pomegranate risotto

A slightly sour and wonderful-tasting dish.

half kg. rice for risotto

1.5 liters hot vegetable stock

1.5 cups pomegranate juice

seeds from 1 pomegranate

1 medium-sized onion, finely chopped

100 gm. butter

olive oil

4-5 tbsp. grated Parmesan

salt and pepper

In a heavy, medium-sized pot, melt 50 gr. butter with 2 tbsp. olive oil. Add the onion; saute over medium heat until it becomes transparent. Add the rice and saute for another minute or two, while stirring. Add half a cup pomegranate juice and cook until it evaporates almost completely. Add one ladle full of vegetable stock. Add salt and pepper; stir until the liquids are absorbed. Gradually add one ladle full at a time, while stirring. After about 15 minutes of cooking, when the rice is still hard, add the pomegranate seeds and continue to cook until the rice softens. The risotto should be well cooked, not al dente.

Turn off the flame and add 50 gr. butter; stir until it melts. Add the Parmesan, mix well and serve.

Ptitim

I’m having a love affair with ptitim. I’m calling it orzo, actually, the Italian name for this rice-shaped pasta, but given that I live in Israel, no one’s letting me get away with that term. You see, orzo, or ptitim, is a staple of the Israeli school lunch menu, the steady side dish to the chicken schnitzel, served with a generous dollop of ketchup. So even when I serve it up with roasted peppers and zucchini and a grating of parmesan, the kids — and, usually, the adults — say, “Oh, ptitim…” But then they eat it up.

According to Janna Gur in ‘The Book of New Israeli Food,’ this Israeli toasted pasta now comes in many shapes, including stars, loops and hearts, but originally was shaped like grains of rice. It first came on the market in the fifties and was dubbed ‘Ben-Gurion rice’ after Israel’s first prime minister, David Ben-Gurion. It seems that Ben-Gurion was the one to come up with the idea to manufacture a substitute for rice, which was in major demand but short supply during those years of rationing. Another version of that same story is that immigrants from the East dubbed the rice-shaped pasta after Ben-Gurion because they were unhappy with their rice rationing.

In any case, ptitim are now known as Israeli couscous — not Israeli orzo — and this lunchroom fave has since been rediscovered as a versatile carb that can be boiled like pasta or first fried with onions and then cooked in boiling water or stock.

Here’s how I’m cooking them:
1. Roast a few of your favorite vegetables; I like a combo of colorful peppers and zucchini. For me, roasting involves slicing up said veggies into strips, tossing them with a few tablespoons of olive oil and kosher salt, and baking at 400 degrees for 30-45 minutes.
2. In the meantime, cook your ptitim/orzo as you would pasta.
3. Toss your cooked ptitim and veggies together; grate some parmesan on top for some extra flavor.

And here’s a similar orzo recipe from writer Barbara Kingsolver, who has to come up with many ways to use up her bumper crop of zucchini, as written in ‘Animal, Vegetable, Miracle:’

Disappearing Zucchini Orzo
3/4 lb. pkg orzo pasta
1 chopped onion, garlic to taste
3 large zucchini
olive oil for saute
thyme
oregano
1/4 cup grated parmesan or any hard yellow cheese

Bring 6 cups of water or chicken stock to a boil and add pasta. Cook 8 to 12 minutes. Drain. Use a cheese grater to shred zucchini, saute briefly with chopped onion and garlic until lightly golden. Add spices to zucchini mixture, stir thoroughly, and then remove mixture from heat. Combine with cheese and cooked orzo, salt to taste, serve cool or at room temperature.

B’teavon. Enjoy your orzo.

Happy Holidays

You can tell Rosh Hashana is nearing when guards at restaurant entrances and parking lot attendants merrily say “Hag Semach” to their customers. Radio and TV talk shows also sign off with “Shana Tova”, and in the work place, the well wishing already began a couple weeks ago.

In empty lots and corners around Jerusalem, vendor are already out selling supplies for Succahs, with the holiday of Succot right around the corner. It’s another sight that might seem out of place anywhere elese, but feels perfectly natural here.

And the supermarkets, let’s not get started on that… ok we will. Israelis must think that there’s going to be a food ban after the two days of Rosh Hashana, because for the last week or so, the parking lots and aisles of all the food emporiums have been jam packed, from morning til night. If you have to do some last minute shopping on Friday morning (erev chag), it’s best to bring an army helmet and some elbow pads. We Israelis are serious about our food.

But, by late Friday afternoon, a sense of serenity will begin to spread, and by nightfall families around the country will be gathering for their Rosh Hashana dinner – part 1. Another year, harder than most, has come to an end, and Israelis will collectively be commemorating it.

All of the above are some of the endearing aspects of holiday time in Israel, and a timely reminder of why we live here, moving to the rhythm of the Jewish holiday cycle. May we all move together toward a better year ahead. Shana Tova!

The Milkman

I’ve written before about Eilam Omer and his extensive grocery delivery service, but now he’s added a hilarious offer to his list of fresh bread, cheese, produce, meat, fish and staples purveyors.

Each morning, as the daily newspaper plops in front of your door, add fresh chocolate milk and rolls to your morning deliveries. If you live in Herzliya, Ra’anana, Hod Hasharon, Shoham, Mevasseret Zion, Jerusalem or Efrat, you — and your kids — can have milk-in-a-bag delivered right to your door every morning. The Milkman, as this latest vendor is called, delivers the Milk Man bag to each customer’s door by 6:00 am, well before school starts.

You can choose from 12 different types of rolls, including the classic all-white roll that is most often paired with a bag of chocolate milk, as well as a challah roll, ciabatta, baguette and several others. As for the chocolate milk, choose your favorite brand, Yotvata or Tara, and flavor, because there’s also banana milk available on the market.

Of course there’s nothing quite like chocolate milk in a bag, a takeoff of the original milk in a bag concept. I can’t say that chocolate milk in a bag is an Israel-only concept, but the pairing of a roll with chocolate milk for the walk to school — or drive to work – is a brilliant one. Combining the comforting carb of the roll with the cool freshness of the sweet chocolate milk is the ultimate way to begin one’s morning. It’s such an Israeli fave that ’shoko b’sakit’, as it’s called in Hebrew, has its own Facebook page, Wikipedia entry and blog entries.

Milkman isn’t the first Israeli entrepreneur to benefit from the Israeli obsession with dairy products. Two Tiberias yeshiva students last year devised the Kankomat, an improved version of the milk container that it comes complete with its own knife.

As for Milkman, all new customers receive a Milkman tee-shirt, which is always a bonus.

Yoram, more wine please…

I don’t often get to spend work afternoons sitting at a poolside table laden with freshly grilled meats and vintage Yarden wine. But I can thank Madonna for making it happen – at least her connection to Kabbalah.

On the day after the superstar’s second sold out show in Tel Aviv last week, I was offered a chance to interview Karen Berg, the Los Angeles-based co-founder of the Kabbalah Center, and the person most identified hooking Madonna up with the ancient Jewish mysticsm.

At first, the meeting was supposed to take place at the Kabbalah Center in downtown Tel Aviv, but the night before, one of Berg’s assistants called and asked if I would be willing to drive a little farther north to a private villa in a small, exclusive community north of Netanya, where Berg would be spending the afternoon. Sure, I answered, with visions of entering the home and finding Madonna reclining on a chaise lounge poolside, chatting with Justin Timberlake.

Well, it wasn’t quite that heady. But the house was magnificent, there was a beautiful pool, and there were people lounging around outside. It turns out the home belonged to a young couple who were students at the Tel Aviv center, and had invited a few people to lunch, with Berg as the guest of honor.

As I was sitting in the gigantic living room interviewing Berg, a hired chef in a white apron and chef’s hat was stoking the grill and flipping thick steaks and skewered chicken (all kosher of course). Guests began arriving including Madonna’s longtime Kabbalah teacher Eitan Yardeni, Berg’s son Michael, and a young couple who greeted Berg – and then she whispered to me ‘That’s Gwyneth Paltrow’s sister.’

As I was getting ready to leave and the guests were sitting down for lunch, the husband host came up to me and said, ‘won’t you join us?’

It would have been rude to refuse, so for an hour, I ate, drank, and talked about Israeli politics, the differences between raising children in Israel and the US, Madonna’s after-party the night before (attended by Natalie Portman, Sasha Baron Cohen and Bar Refaeli), and, it turned out, very little Kabbalah. One of the Kabbalah Center people whispered in my ear that the rule was that everything said was off the record, and I nodded affirmatively, because I was too busy eating to think about taking notes or remembering anything for later,

I could have stayed for hours, but I remembered I had a job, profusely thanked my hosts, and started the long drive back to Jerusalem. Thanks Madonna, I owe you one.

 

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