Monday, May 26, 2008

Food, a Road Trip and Friends

I was thinking about writing something, but I cant remember what I was thinking of writing. I was positive it had something to do with food, a road trip and friends, so here goes.

I woke up, confused, not sure where I was. Staggering out of the car into the freezing cold, I noticed we were in a gas station. I looked at my watch and realized I had been sleeping for at least the past eight hours, and really needed to pee. Once I had answered the call of nature, I headed back to the car and slept until I was awoken by the smell of fresh deep fried chicken. That was a very strange trip to Washington DC and Silverspring, Maryland. It was made stranger still by the many police stops while driving back to Canada, it seems that I was in the back sleeping each time and my friend was driving, apparently just a bit too fast. But this story was not about any of those things, in fact, it’s the story of a completely different road trip.

In this completely different story, I was with a bunch of friends in New York on a road trip. One of my friends, being very into food and teenage hi-jinx, stopped into a popular restaurant and ordered us all food. While we were waiting, he dumped the toppings and condiments intended for several hundred into his cooler and we spent the next four days eating relish and pickled onions.

It does not seem like that’s what I was thinking of either. I guess I can try one last time to jog my old tired memory into the right story.

There was this one time I was fishing with a friend in the boat a couple of kilometers downriver from the small Northern town my family was living in at the time. After an hour or so of trolling for bites, the engine suddenly spluttered and stopped. We tried pumping the gas, kicking the engine, praying for a miracle, but nothing worked and we were stuck, floating in the middle of a small lake. My friend suddenly went into panic mode and started talking about living of the land, Tom Hanks in Castaway, cannibalism, and would anyone ever rescue us. I pointed out we could row back, or for that matter, get out and walk along the shore for twenty minutes to get home. I think that just made him panic more. I gave the engine one last kick and tried to start it, and shockingly it sprang to life and we were saved. Heading back to the town we were just on time for dinner and I was not even a bit hungry.

Sunday, May 11, 2008

From New York to Tzfat

While in Tzfat last week I was walking though the artist’s colony, basically a narrow alleyway of galleries, shops and weary Israelis selling the tourists bracelets. As I was walking, I passed the store of a guy dressed in traditional Yemenite clothing and making lachoch, a type of pancake with tomatoes, peppers and hot sauce sprinkled on top. It was not the sight of food which made me hungry, but the incredible aroma wafting down the street. It smelled like a bit of heaven fallen into a pan. Even though I had eaten twenty minutes before, I had to stop in for some of what he was selling. The man was cheerfully greeting passing customers and offering them some traditional Yemenite food. I ordered a pancake with all the trimmings (easy on the hot sauce) and a delicious cup of iced lemon-mint drink.

While I was sitting in the store relaxing on the low sofas, I started to find out a bit more about the proprietor. He did not always live in Tzfat, or for that matter dress like he just walked out of Yemen. He grew up in Rishon L’Tzion and had a very normal and traditional Israeli life. Following the army, he got married and together with his wife decided to seek out the Israeli dream, life in America. He lived in New York for nearly a decade selling art and being moderately successful, living a comfortable lifestyle. I could not understand how someone who leaves Israel for the States and makes things work could ever possibly end up selling pancakes while wearing a robe and a funny hat in Tzfat. He told me that he has a friend who was tired of the lifestyle in Israel. He was sick of driving a beat up old car, having second hand things and yearned for the good life in the States. He set off to make his fortune in the US and for a while, things worked out great. He had a pretty good job, bought a relatively nice car, and he was satisfied with what he had. Over time, the guy began to notice that even though his car and home were a lot nicer than what he had in Israel, it still didn’t compare to what other people had in the States. While he had achieved a level of material success, he missed his friends and family back home in Israel, and eventually made the move back. When he returned, he saw that his friends beat up cars were now second hand as opposed to third or fourth, their houses were a bit bigger and overall people were happier with what they have. The guy then bought a fourth hand car and rented a small apartment and started over again. I guess the moral of the story is you can make money anywhere, and live anywhere, but the most important thing is to be happy with what you have. My Yemenite host continued to tell me that everyone in Israel might not be able to afford steaks, but pretty much everyone can afford a piece of chicken. In the States you might be able to afford more steak, but will probably have less friends dropping by for the BBQ.

I was struck by how happy this guy was. Its refreshing to see him, just doing his thing, living his life, and having the right goals. It was really nice to meet someone who finally found the thing they really wanted to be doing, and for the right reasons. He was not living in Tzfat for the money or the prestige, but found a place he is happy in, and doing a job which would seem crazy to most, but makes him, and his customers, happy. He told me he was not really sure about moving to Tzfat and selling pancakes when he was living in New York, but decided to humor his wife and try it for a year. That was ten years ago, and he is still doing what makes him happy today.