21/11/99

Moshemallow

    The man with the ponytail picking weeds in a Jerusalem field brings back memories to oldtimers. During the siege of the city, preceding the War of Independence, hungry residents found salvation from a manna-like godsend: wild-growing khubeiza, a nutritious weed that sprung up following an unexpected rainstorm. Many Jerusalemites survived on it until the siege was broken.
    If then it was a food of desperation, now it is haute cuisine. That ponytailed man is Moshe Basson, possibly the only chef on earth using hand-picked Jerusalem weeds.
    Moshe tramps through unkempt fields and overgrown gardens, "sometimes in the middle of town, sometimes in the mountains," to find humble delicacies like khubeiza, a mallow akin to spinach. He plucks sage and sumac, saffron and thyme, hissop and even dandelions. "I have secret places between buildings, even off the walls of the courthouse, where I find the herbs I cook with." His shopping done, he heads to work in Safra Square.
    Moshe, like the Eucalyptus restaurant he owns, is a throwback of sorts, a remnant of  ta'am shel pa'am, the way we were. "Cuisine of mythological Eretz Yisrael," he calls it, and that's not just referring to the menu or decor.
    Before the fast-food era, back when folks weren't so sophisticated and they talked to each other more, there were neighborhood places where you dropped by just to say hello. Moshe's eatery is a tony joint, but with old-fashioned Middle Eastern hospitality. Pop by on a hot summer day, and there's lemonade without a price-tag attached. Come by anytime, and Moshe is on hand to shmooze. He doesn't leave his restaurant in the hands of staffers, visiting occasionally to count the profits. That's not the way things used to be, or the way Moshe is.
    Not true!, you say, if you happened to be at the restaurant in mid-September. OK, Moshe was missing. He was in Sicily. But he had a good excuse.
    He was competing in the World Couscous Championships.
    "It's funny, because I don't even have couscous on the menu."
    What's really funny is that Moshe came back the World Couscous Champion.
    The way he tells it, not all the other competitors were greatly humored by this. There are countries where couscous is a matter of national pride, and Iraq, where Moshe was born, is not one of them. Worse, those particular countries must be horrified at the thought of an Israeli Jew finishing at the top of the semolina heap.
    Italy finished second in the contest, Tunisia third. The Libyans stayed home when they heard Israel was competing.
    "I made a nouvelle couscous, but very plain. Out of respect to Sicily, we used Sicilian eggplant, cut in half and made into a gondola. Inside we put softened chickpeas with a lemony spiced basil sauce, deep-fried eggplant cubes, cardamon sauce, pomegranate topping. We used Jerusalem weeds, but local weeds too."
    What Basson had planned was entirely different: a chicken and stuffed figs couscous. "But when we got there, they said we would be provided with shrimps instead." No can do, he explained, and the recipe was revamped just before showtime. Moshe can laugh now at the near disaster, but at the time, he thought his goose was cooked. "You can imagine: when I have to cook for 100 people in my restaurant I'm stressed; I'm panicked when it's 150. At the contest, they said to me, Moshe, tomorrow morning you have to cook 150 kilograms of couscous.
    "I said excuse my English, don't you mean 150 portions? They said no, 150 kilo -- 2,000 portions. I bargained them down to 1,700, but by two o'clock we still didn't have the ingredients! 'It's on the way!' they said. We kept calling, where is it? 'It's on the way!' "
    At some point, Moshe couldn't stand the heat and got out of the kitchen -- going into a field to pick weeds. 
    The snafu became forgivable when Moshe won.
    It's easy to make his gold-medal recipe: all you have to do is soffriggere l'aglio pestato nell'olio e versare il pesce, l'acqua ed il bicchiere di vino, cuocendo per 5 - 10 minuti.
    Well, that's what the published recipe says. If you gotta no problema to capiche Italiano, tap in to the contest's Internet site at www.sanvitocouscous.com/classificato.htm . From what I can tell by the photos, you need a very large plate to serve Moshe's couscous, but the three Israeli flags sunk into it are optional.
    It's not like Moshe to boast -- and indeed, there's no flashing neon "WORLD CHAMP" sign anywhere in the restaurant. There's no mention of it anywhere at all, just a hint in the twinkle of Moshe's eyes.
    However, he's not above a bit of pizzazz. Serving a party of 25 dermatology staffers from Tel Aviv's Ichilov Hospital, Moshe proclaimed the arrival of the main course with a trick he uses to command attention: he loudly clattered a metal tray, like a brassy gong, all the way from the kitchen to their table. "I get people nervous, they think something's going on in the kitchen." On his shoulder he carried a huge pot. He covered it with the tray, and with a mighty heave, flipped the whole thing over. He calls it "chicken hafuch" (upside down): the herb-infused rice and vegetables are cooked on a bed of chicken, and then served the other way around.
    While the dermatologists were tucking in (yes, they do eat the skin), they eschewed shop-talk and listened to Moshe's shpiel about all the goodness that sprouts up from their land, or wherever it's not already paved over. He passed around samples of weeds, twigs and buds, urged the diners to sniff, rub and taste them, and gave an expert account of their socio-history, from biblical citations right through to the days of the Mandate-era siege.
    He loves telling his diners about it, and lectures to student chefs on local plant life. "I'm always trying to push the idea of cooking with these ingredients of Eretz Yisrael."
    He, in turn, learns his art from the earthiest of teachers: he gets his recipes from neighborhood mamas, including his own, who helps with the cooking in his kitchen.
    Ultimately, his supreme guru is Mother Nature herself. There are vegetables too glorious to mask with excess flavor. "Sometimes," Moshe says, "the secret to a great dish is to add nothing."