There are two things I shared with Moshiko during the four years I befriended him:  Finding the ideal mate, and eating.

I will talk in details about the first issue in my next section.  The second one was not even a passion, just a matter of looking for the best.  Moshé was a small eater and was thin as a reed; ditto for me.

He went in search of the best restaurants, and cased the joint before taking me there.  There are three that I remember after all those years.

That restaurant had the best falafel and tehina* in all of Tel-Aviv.  He was well-known, and the place was usually packed.  I can make tehina in my own kitchen, but it never equalled the tehina of that establishment.  I asked the owner for his proportions (how much of this and how much of that?), his response was:  “Ata retsini?”  (Are you serious?)

[* Tehina (a paste made from ground, hulled sesame seeds) is the ingredient that gives hummus its consistency.  It can be prepared by itself (it doesn’t need chick peas) as a dip by adding spices, lemon, and water until it attain the required consistency.  Properly balancing this mix is no easy task.]

For the best kebab in those days, you went to an Arab restaurant in Yaffo.  This restaurant had the best kofta kebab I have ever tasted.  What spices he put in his minced meat, I cannot imagine.  The owner was an Arab from Jerusalem.  His other dishes such as foul, molokhea, and chackchouka were unmatched in all of Yaffo.  I didn’t ask for his secrets, for the truth was that even with detailed recipes, I could have never duplicated his dishes.

The last place was a gem.  We kept the secret to ourselves.  A Romanian friend had told Moshé about this restaurant.  It was really nothing more than a hole-in-the-wall.  It was owned and operated by this Romanian lady; and she did everything.  She cooked, served, and cleaned.  On any given day, she had one special.  But the two of us were not there for that; we had come for her karnatzel and potatoes-in-the-oven.  Only poetry can do justice to this food, but alas, I am no poet.  All I can tell is that only one restaurant (in Montreal) served me a better karnatzel; her potatoes though retain the top prize!

Moshé’s marriage did not have any impact on our friendship.  Clara insisted that I visit them, and I was often able to enjoy their hospitality.

I was still able to spend hours with Moshiko and talk about subjects of common interest.  Clara never joined us; she was giving us our own space; and the gesture was greatly appreciated.

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