Arabian delights

digital delights: Nina Kouchacji, manager of Marrakesh,welcomes newcomers to Moroccan cuisine, which is often eaten with one's hands.

Photo By: Jon Rossi

The Arab world, from Morocco to Afghanistan, is well-represented on the Philly restaurant scene.

by Brian Howard and Matthew Hotz

In her first cookbook, 1975’s An Invitation to Indian Cooking, Indian food doyenne Madhur Jaffrey bemoans the dearth of quality Indian restaurants in America. She describes the then-prevalent repertoire of bland curries that passed for Indian fare, and she blames sailors and military men who’d come from the East and opened less-than-fine eateries as a means of survival. What was missing, she explained, was an appreciation for the many flavors of India -- a centuries-old cultural crossroads -- with cuisines that vary wildly from north to south, east to west of the subcontinent.

While many Americans now know the difference between a curry (a catchall term for a sauce dish) and curry powder (a hodgepodge mixture of Indian spices prepared for a departing Brit by his cook, and which isn't really part of traditional Indian cuisine), Middle Eastern food still suffers a bit of an identity crisis. Not necessarily because the quality of food is substandard (though you can certainly find your share of bad hummus), but because of Americans' blanket image of the Mids as a big ol' land of sand, religious extremism and tahina.

One of us, Brian, jetted off to Cairo, Egypt, earlier in the year armed with a trunk-load of idiotic preconceptions. Would they snack on bugs? (No, Egyptians love potato chips made to taste like kebab and, interestingly, turkey.) Would they eat with just their right hands because their left hands are used for execrable purposes? (No, they use both hands. Toilet paper was introduced to the Middle East some time ago. They often use forks, too.) Would he be up to his eyeballs in falafel? (Sort of: In Egypt it's called tamaya and is made with fava beans, not chickpeas.)

What he, and by extension we, found is that everything we thought we knew about Middle Eastern food, just like everything we thought we knew about the Middle East, is at most half-true. With just enough knowledge of actual Middle Eastern food to be considered dangerous (seriously, Brian is the random check on, like, every flight he takes -- and he's Italian for chrissake), we set out on a strange culinary journey from Kabul to Marrakesh, without leaving the Philly metro area.

Since the largish area commonly referred to as the Middle East stretches from Morocco on the west coast of northern Africa into Afghanistan in Central Asia, pinning down a "Middle Eastern" cuisine is a fool's errand. Perhaps "Arabic food" best describes what we were after.

Lebanon and On

Food that most closely resembles the American ideal of Mideast grub is of the Lebanese variety, and locally there are affordable options aplenty. Best to start at Bitar's (947 Federal St., 215-755-1121; and 222 S. 40th St., 215-382-3000), which bills its menu as Eastern Mediterranean cuisine and is the local mecca for hummus, tabbouleh and baba ghanoush. There is definite Greek crossover: Grape leaves are a staple, as is the gyro, available in Middle Eastern, Greek and Mediterranean varieties. They've also adapted well to their American surroundings with the Angelo Cataldi Chicken Sandwich (a grilled chicken sandwich with marinated cheese and roasted pepper spread, named after the WIP morning host) and the by-request-only bitza, a whole pita topped with feta, tomatoes and parsley. The 10th and Federal location also features a tiny grocery wing where, once you feel courageous enough, you can buy ingredients to mix up your own grub.

Sabbaba (13th and Pine, 215-735-8111) is the budget outpost across from Dirty Frank's and The Last Drop. Adored by the UArts crowd, Sabbaba categorizes itself as Lebanese and Mediterranean, featuring falafel and baklava. Most of the time, the folks at Sabbaba will let you try their baklava on the house. They're proud of it, as they should be -- their version is crispy on top, moist with honey on the bottom and about the best you can get in the city. Interestingly, the place reminded Brian most of his time abroad, with offerings of Egyptian lentil soup, shawarma and the carbohydrate explosion known in Cairo as kosherie (two pastas, rice, lentils and chickpeas topped with tomato and hot pepper sauces). Once they let us smoke the tasty tobacco concoction shishah from their water pipe, but we don't think that's standard practice.

Get Your Afghan On

Walking into the first Afghan restaurant on our list, we felt more than a little awkward. After all, soldiers from our country have been rummaging through their country for months. The overabundance of American flags both inside and outside the quaint Ariana (134 Chestnut St., 215-922-1535) helped break some of the tension.

Since Afghanistan lies on the eastern-most edge of what could be reasonably considered the Middle East, its cuisine has much in common with eastern neighbors Pakistan and India. Rice and curries are prominent, and a favorite appetizer is the sambosa, suspiciously similar to the Indian samosa. (A sambosa is a pastry filled with potatoes, chickpeas and a choice of meat, scallion or onion; a samosa is largely the same tasty beast.) Chalow dishes, featuring meats, vegetables and mild, complexly spiced sauces, resemble traditional Indian curry dishes. The Indian influence is also evident in the doogh, a yogurt-based drink that can be served sweet or salty and tastes like nothing familiar to the American palate. Influences from Western neighbors are also prevalent. You can get more or less anything on a kebab, even fish, despite the fact that Afghanistan is completely landlocked. Desserts feature honey and nuts, not unlike Greek and Lebanese fare (and some finer cereals).

Down the street (is Old City becoming Little Afghanistan or what?) at the restaurant Kabul (106 Chestnut St., 215-922-3676), the fare is similar. OK, the menu choices are nearly identical. But the ambience here is more intimate, featuring a large floor-sitting pit in the back. We tried the wonderfully complicated norange palaw, a lamb dish covered with saffron rice, orange peels, rosewater, pistachios, almonds and cardamom. It was savory and sweet, like a lover's breath. The stewlike chalow facilliya, a green bean entree cooked with tomatoes, onions and unnamed spices, was also satisfying, although a little less, volume-wise, than we expected. Both restaurants feature baklava and a cornstarch pudding called firnee, for which there should always be room.

A Show of Hands

On the western end of our Arabic food spectrum is Morocco. The folks at Fez (620 S. Second St., 215-925-5367) don't expect their American patrons to know too much about Moroccan cuisine. Servers explain each course (eight in all), as well as the traditions, like the pre- and post-meal hand washing. You wash your hands at the table because you'll be eating with them, stupid. (The Moroccan tradition of fine carpeting is also staunchly upheld, as fine examples line the floor, walls, ceiling and front window.)

Our server sprung our first surprise: The first course would be a tomato and lentil soup. Eat soup? With our hands? OK, you get utensils for soup and couscous, everything else is done by hand, including the dismantling of two whole chickens (which icked out some of our dining party). Other courses include salad, chicken pastry, kebab, fruit and baklava. Go on the right night and you might catch a belly dancer, who will invariably try to coerce the shyest member of your dining party to join her (also count on the chumps at the next table to take pictures of this).

Around the corner at the BYO Marrakesh (517 S. Leithgow St., 215-925-5929), you’ll find similar charm. Plan for a few hours to consume the copious amounts of food, and for the love of God don’t eat for at least five hours before you go. And since you’ll be sitting on the floor, be sure to have a contingency plan for, y’know, getting up again once your gut is sufficiently stuffed.




	search citypaper.net