Food of the chosen

"Israelis like to eat," explained the office manager, as she ended the brief tour of our small office in its kitchen -- a glass-enclosed room in the center of the floor, in plain view of all the surrounding offices. The room was had three fridges, full of drinks, yogurts, cheeses, and yes, hummus. The countertops were laden with fruits and that dynamic Israeli duo: tomatos and cucumbers. Set near the coffee machine was a bowl of fresh mint leaves, ready to be combined with black tea and sugar. As we made small talk, a man walked in, introduced himself, and grabbed a cucumber to go.

I arrived in Tel Aviv this morning, although it feels like an eternity ago. With nary a wink of sleep, my four-and-a-half hour flight landed at Tel Aviv's shiny-yet-somehow-tinny Ben Gurion airport. I was met by Yossi, who is to be my driver for the next three months. Yossi is a middle-aged child of Egyptian-Jewish immigrants. Perhaps for the occasion of our first meeting, he wore a sleeveless t-shirt which showcased his magnificently hairy arms.

I must say, it is great to be here, fulfilling a long-held ambition to do a consulting project here in Israel. The sun, after a month in London, is dazzling, and the food -- that of my mother, is both delicious and nurturing. I also love being surrounded my Israelis at all hours, and being able to impose upon them my rendition of their language (already improving, even after only a day).

Those of you who know me will not at all be surprised to know that I insisted that my colleague and I have a shwarma for dinner tonight, even though it involved walking about for half an hour looking for one.



I had a long conversation with Yossi on the way back from the office, who described to me the locations of the best Shwarma in Israel, as well as the best hummus, for good measure. I intend to investigate.