Israel Likes Potatoes

As much as I think I know Israel, it only takes a few hours to remind me how much I really don’t.  Sure, there’s always a Hebrew conversation that I start with a taxi driver that quickly hits the wall as I am unable to keep up with almost any response to my opening.  But there’s more than the slipped up Hebrew.  On this trip, for example, I already have a new sense of the potato in Israeli dining.  Sure, the potato seems insignificant compared to the question of deporting illegal African residents from Tel Aviv or the impact of the Egyptian election on Camp David.  But it was over the potato – twice in twenty four hours – that Israelis and I had the most interesting exchanges.

On the menu at last night’s dinner was “Mediterranean Salad,” which was described as “Hot whole potato,” served atop chopped salad. It didn’t seem right. What was “Mediterranean” about a whole hot potato? And featured on an entrée salad? Like chicken on a Caesar? Who does that? Schooled in textual analysis, I checked the Hebrew side of the menu for a possible mistranslation and then asked our waitress. Not sure what our question was really about, Etti ultimately told us that she had never actually seen one of these salads.  Mysterious, no?  I ordered one and it was, in fact, a giant bowl of chopped Israeli salad with a big scoop of labaneh in the middle of it and a fist of steaming, peeled potato placed on top of the labaneh and sprinkled with zatar. In my family we call this kind of previously undiscovered yet delicious food combination an act of “food genius.”

This seemed to confuse the waitress even further who said flatly, “In Israel…. many people…. like potatoes.”

Maybe something was lost in translation.  Maybe she meant nothing by it.  But I sensed that, over this potato, I had come to be seen as one who knew almost nothing about Israel.  Or perhaps worse, I was an uncivilized idiot who didn’t even grasp how commonly used was this most popular spud. I tried to walk back the cat but it was done.  Etti had hit the nail on the head.  No matter how much I read, engaged Israel and lead groups of people here, nothing compares with living here to understand what this place is really like. It’s likely too late for me, but you never know. Even coming here almost yearly, it turns out there’s a lot for me yet to learn and there’s still reason to say at the seder, “Next Year in Jerusalem….  And would you please pass the potatoes.”