I want to Liv in Tel Aviv
Tel Aviv is a very special place. Roaming around the streets on the first night, we were soon exposed to the incredibly unique feeling of the city. Never before have I seen such a striking combination of shabby, falling-down buildings and modern, uber-trendy hole-in-the-wall bars and restaurants bedecked with all the stark, steel fittings that we’ve come to expect from any self-respecting Hackney hotspot. Outdoor seating is a given in the vast majority of the restaurants you pass: seats are usually limited to a chef’s or bar’s countertop and the occasional table for two lining the restaurant’s corridor. The resulting effect is a constant hustle and bustle of Tel Aviv’s impeccably trendy, modern crowd (glowing, gorgeous and effortlessly fashionable are other adjectives that come to mind) as they spill out onto the streets. In their presence we soon became acutely conscious of our own pale, greying complexion courtesy of a bitter London winter.
A short walking distance from Tel Aviv’s urban centre, sprawled across various districts all seemingly as desirable as the next (Florentin reminded me so strongly of Palermo in Buenos Aires), is the hive of activity in the city: an enormous stretch of white, fine-sand beaches where Israel meets the Mediterranean sea. The walkway that lines the entire coastline resembles the typical Portuguese paving that is so iconic to Rio de Janeiro or Lisbon. The undulating black and white tiles meander along the beach, providing an uninterrupted stretch along which it seems rude not to stroll, run, skate or pause to listen to the many live musicians who perform freely in the city’s streets. Our favourite such act was a man playing a set of drums perched on the edge of the walkway with a penchant for ABBA bangers. When I think back now to this spot, I see a cloudless blue sky, turquoise water and perfect white sand.
Most importantly, Tel Aviv’s coast is an incredible sun trap and if I think hard enough I can just about feel the glorious Israeli winter sun seeping through my skin. Sigh. Closer to the old town of Jaffa, the beaches are protected and therefore totally empty – except for the sunbathers, most of them pale foreigners at this time of year – while the middle and latter sections of the beach boast bars, sunbeds and volley ball nets. On the other side of the pathway are sporadic green areas that are the playground for an uncanny number of yogis and tightrope performers. Tel Avivians are, we decided, ripped – but in a different way to your average English gym-knuckle-head. These folk possess some serious core strength and are unassumingly active. If they’re not surfing, you’ll find them running, playing frisbee on the beach or exhibiting some awe-inspiring skateboard maneouvres.
Now that I’ve set the scene, it’s time to delve into the main event. The booming culinary scene in Tel Aviv is to be expected from such a cosmopolitan capital. Yet what has remained intact is the essential Israeli character that underlines the city’s more modern cuisine. By this I mean that hummus restaurants are abundant, and tourism has had no impact on their no-frills approach. In fact, the entire city seems to shrug its shoulders at tourism. There are zero signs that tourism has forced Tel Aviv to sell out: there are no tourist traps. “Israel doesn’t do tourist traps,” informs our guide on the free Abraham Walking Tour with which we began our trip (a must, by the way). Of course it doesn’t, I thought; Israel is far too cool for the naff “I ❤ Israel” T-shirt and fridge magnet bearing throngs of shops that are the plague of every other desirable city I can think of. Much to our delight, locals are the principal clientele at the traditional food destinations, and the menu is simple. It’s hummus in various forms, with pita, and if you’re lucky you’ll get a lunch menu deal that includes falafel, side salad and some of that sweet, sweet Israeli lemonade. The perfect lunchtime setup.
Aside from the now iconic Hummus Abu Hassan, one particular hummus spot has my heart. Houmus Hason happened almost accidentally for us. We had just got back to Tel Aviv after a stay in Jerusalem and checked into our new hostel (Florentin House, a great option for affordable shared or private rooms in the quite possibly the coolest part of town) and found ourselves to be ravenously hungry. I had of course saved within the region of fifty restaurants on my Google Maps ahead of time so that no panic searching was required. One of the ones I’d found had an Israeli name and, as we soon discovered, no English writing on the entire face of the restaurant. Walking in at 3pm, a woman sits us down outside and simply tells us the set lunch menu option. It sounded fantastic. Minutes later, we’re presented with an arresting amount of food including gorgeously springy pita and a pasta bowl-sized portion of hummus. The intense rich- and creaminess of this particular hummus was, we ascertained, down to a secret ingredient: egg yolk. The yolk from boiled eggs was blitzed into the hummus mix, which was then topped with more chopped hard-boiled eggs, fragrant olive oil and cooked chickpeas that were so soft they almost had a creamy texture in their own right. It was phenomenal.
Of course, there are many trendier and far more expensive restaurants. These are the ones you’ll be recommended by people who have visited before: the big-hitting Instagram-famous spots that you, to be fair, ought to try out for yourself just to get a taste of the textbook Tel Aviv “buzz”.
I could go on, and I will in another post. Stay tuned for more Tel Aviv food fangirling.