The Great Hoummous Debate


Debates have an interesting role in Jewish history. As far back as the ancient Greeks, Jews have been challenged to debates to prove the validity of their beliefs. At this time of year the Latke-Hamentaschen debate, started at the University of Chicago many years ago, is a popular event wherever Jews gather to light Hanukkah candles.

There's another, far more parochial debate, that goes on in this country: Which restaurant makes the best hoummous. The debate even made it to the august pages of the WSJ not long ago. Regrettably one of the worthiest contenders was not included in the Journal's survey, and without any doubt it was the best. I determined this just a couple days ago, when we finally made it to Abu Shukri.

This is a story that goes back over 40 years. When I came to live in Jerusalem I was introduced to a hole-in-the wall hoummous joint on the Jaffa Gate plaza by one of my ulpan classmates. It was owned by the Maatouk brothers, and this little stand, selling fresh OJ, hoummous and felafel, supported 2 families. The hoummous was fabulous, made the traditional way with a mortar and pestle, drizzled with olive oil, dusted with chopped parsley and a touch of paprika for color. It was served with warm pita, accompanied by olives and colorful pickled vegetables, and instead of a cherry on top, one or two felafels. The Old City back then was a great place for young Americans to hang out, so I was there regularly and struck up something of a friendship with Daoud Maatouk, one of the brothers who owned the place.

One of the little known facts about the post-Six Day War era in Jerusalem was that the Old City, when it came under Israeli control, had to comply with municipal safety and hygiene standards. When it was ruled by Jordan, from 1948 to 1967, there were no standards. Raw sewage flowed down the streets, electric wires dangled everywhere, no refrigeration or ventilation. It was a rude awakening for a lot of people, but it cleaned up an area badly in need of a clean up, making it sanitary and safe.

One day I went to the hoummous place and Daoud was upset and worried. His place had been inspected and he was told he didn't have adequate ventilation because his ceiling was too low. Unless he could fix that he would have to relocate. The problem was, he was on the ground floor of a 3 storey building and couldn't raise the ceiling. With a primo Jaffa Gate location, this wasn't something he wanted to give up.

At the time I happened to be wired into City Hall. I said maybe I can do something to help. So I made a call, found out who Daoud needed to talk to, made an appointment, accompanied him to City Hall, and left him to see if he could work things out. Looking back, I can only imagine how much trepidation he must have had.

About a week later I went to find out what happened. He couldn't have been happier. A city engineer came to look at the space. Altho there was no way to go up, there was nothing to prevent him from going down in order to accomplish the same goal. Since he was on the ground floor he was able to dig out a lower level which gave him the required ceiling height and he could continue to operate his restaurant. Problem solved. And we became blood brothers.

Over the years whenever I visited Israel I made it a point to visit Daoud. He treated me like family, and I really felt a bond. Then one day I walked into the restaurant and instead of Daoud greeting me, I saw his photo on the wall. I was greeted by his sons Younis and Mohammed, boys I knew when they were little, who took over the restaurant after Daoud passed away. I wouldn't have recognized them, but they knew me and knew what I had done for their father. The gratitude went from generation to generation. And over the years I continued to visit whenever I was in town. Younis ran the front, making the OJ and felafel, Mohammed ran the kitchen in the basement that had been excavated so many years before. The hoummous and felafel were as good as ever; their father taught them well.

Then about 2 years ago I went to the restaurant and saw Younis' photo on the wall next to Daoud's. I was in shock. Younis was only 45; complications from surgery. Mohammed had moved to the front, making the juice and felafel. I don't know who he hired to make the hoummous, but it was still as good as ever. He seemed a little overwhelmed. He had always been the guy running the kitchen; he didn't have to deal with the public.

A little over a year ago my niece Jenny was in Israel on the Birthright program. I told her to be sure to stop in. When she returned she told me she couldn't find the place, which was hard to understand since it was the only hoummous stand in that area and pretty hard to miss. So on my next visit, in February of 2013, I went to the Old City with a good appetite and the expectation of having what I always considered to be the best hoummous in Israel.

The restaurant was gone.

In its place was a gift shop. I asked the owner what happened to the restaurant and all I got out of him was they sold the space to him. He didn't know any more than that. Couldn't tell me what happened to Mohammed. I was unimaginably upset. This was the end of a beautiful friendship, and we didn't even have a chance to say goodbye.

So what does this have to do with Abu Shukri and the great hoummous debate? I never went to Abu Shukri, even tho it was and (according to the WSJ and other experts) continues to be reputed as being one of the best hoummous places in the city. I once heard Daoud make a somewhat disparaging remark about Abu Shukri, and maybe out of a sense of loyalty to a friend, or a sense of fear that I'd like the competition more, I never went there. But on Sunday, after Sid and I went on a fantastic walking tour of the Old City, we went there for lunch. It was something I had to get out of my system after all these years.

The hoummous was only OK, the felafel mediocre, the pita cold, no olives, no neon pink pickled turnips and cauliflower, just plain pickles (from a can) and sliced tomato and onion.

So rest on your laurels, Daoud and Younis, and Mohammed wherever you are. Maatouk's hoummous is still the best.