BALAGAN IN THE BUBBLE The Gourmetization Foodscape as a Means for Constructing a National Identity Yaël van der Schelde 10242988 [email protected] Amsterdam - 15th June 2018 MSc Cultural and Social Anthropology Department GSSS University of Amsterdam Word count: 27.719 Supervisor: Dr. Y. van Ede Second and third readers: Dr. B. Kalir and Dr. R. Ibáñez Martín Plagiarism Declaration I have read and understood the University of Amsterdam plagiarism policy. I declare that this assignment is entirely my own work, all sources have been properly acknowledged, and that I have not previously submitted this work, or any version of it, for assessment in any other paper. Yaël van der Schelde 15/06/2018 2 Acknowledgements Yolanda - Your immense passion has been contagious. I could not wish for a wiser, more inspiring supervisor. Because of you I will now confidently call myself an anthropologist. My family - You have always taught me to stay true to what I want and who I am. I am intensely grateful for the strong connection we have. Without you, and our best family dinners, I would never be where I am right now. Daan - You have lifted me up when I was feeling down, gave me back confidence when I had lost it again. You are my force for stability. Thank you for being weird, it keeps me sane. Marie and Charlotte - Our hours in the library, countless meals and many insightful conversations have given me strength on a day to day basis to get out of bed and get behind my laptop again. And last, but certainly not least... Everyone I met and worked with in my time in Israel: my friends, roommates and interlocutors - My welcome was warmer than I could ever have hoped for. I am so thankful for you allowing me to sit at your bar for hours, ask you annoying questions, letting me into your kitchens and following you around with notebook and camera. You taught (and fed) me lessons that I will certainly cherish for the rest of my life. 3 CONTENTS INTRODUCTION 5 CHAPTER 1 20 CHAPTER 2 37 CHAPTER 3 61 CONCLUSION 82 BIBLIOGRAPHY 84 FIGURES Figure 1. Casablanca on a Friday 9 Figure 2. Map of Tel Aviv 17 Figure 3. Modern and old buildings in Tel Aviv 20 Figure 4. A spice shop on Levinsky Market 37 Figure 5. A coffee spot on Rothschild 37 Figure 6. Shabbat dinner at Nir’s grandparents 41 Figure 7. Pita with Nutella and banana 47 Figure 8. Map of Misada 52 Figure 9. Open kitchen, bar and food display in one 52 Figure 10. Free shots at the bar 59 Figure 11. Burning sage 61 Figure 12. Money on the wall 65 Figure 13. Hierarchy in the restaurant 69 Figure 14. ‘We were all once refugees’ on a wall in Tel Aviv 71 Figure 15. Young girls in army clothing 74 4 INTRODUCTION In the heat of the day Tel Aviv seems like any normal city, garish, noisy, dirty. But before the glamour of the day begins and after it has died down, the city seems to open up and has, like the light, a surprising gentle quality. This miracle occurs every day, and yet it never loses its sensational, sensuous effect. Even those who dislike Tel Aviv admit that this city has a special way of engaging all the senses: it heightens our seeing, hearing, smelling, feeling and touching, and also our imagination. In dramatic fashion it stages a riot of perception which can seem greater than the city itself. It arouses curiosity. Its impact on the senses makes one strongly suspect that the streets of this city have more to tell. (Schlör 1999: 9) The basis for this research is to be found in my childhood. As my name might suggest, I have a Jewish background - my father’s family. I have always felt a certain connection to Judaism and to Israel, although I could never really pinpoint what gave me a sense of belonging when I would visit Israel or talk about the subject. During my last visit, prior to this research, I suddenly realized that it mostly had to do with something else that was particular about my childhood. Food! My father is a passionate home cook who has never cooked anything ‘Dutch’. We never had stamppot; instead we would have a table full of small dishes; lamb kebab with yoghurt, carrots with cumin and coriander, hummus with some extra tehina and chickpeas on top, grilled eggplant, and so on. His preference for this kind of food originated from his time in a kibbutz when he was only twenty-one. During that time, he went to visit a Jewish Moroccan family for a Shabbat weekend in the desert town of Dimona. His cooking, which has been developing ever since, resulted in our house being filled with all sorts of cookbooks, and my parents being beloved hosts of dinner parties. Besides the food itself, I also recognized the way it was being consumed. Sharing tables and dishes, eating with one's hands, talking loudly and having short heated discussions - after which both parties would passionately embrace -, it would all seem foreign to my schoolmates when they would have dinner at my home. To me, however, that was exactly what gave me a sense of belonging when I visited Israel. 5 Thinking about food has much to reveal about how we understand our personal and collective identities. Seemingly simple acts of eating are flavored with complicated and sometimes contradictory cultural meanings. Philosopher Uma Narayan cited by Ilan Zvi Baron (2016: 270) As the quote of Narayan suggests, much can be said about a certain culture and personal identification when researching food and food habits. This thesis attempts to understand the restaurant scene of the center of Tel Aviv, and its actors, through the concept of a foodscape. Tel Aviv knows a particular food culture that I will define as the gourmetization foodscape, which finds its basis in the attempt to create a ‘New Israeli Cuisine’. Gourmetization is essentially defined as food that before was not classified as high culture, but now is. This term is mostly used for home cooked food and street food (Johnston and Baumann 2014). Although one could argue gourmetization in Israel also relates to burgers, pasta and sushi, I will not go into those foods, because they are not part of what is currently defined as the national cuisine - which is what I aim to analyze. Before I went to Tel Aviv this January, I already had a vivid idea in mind of what the foodscape would involve. When I got there, however, I was constantly overwhelmed by the chaos and unexpected turns. This ‘balagan’ I encountered was very characterizing for my time in Tel Aviv. It is Friday one o’clock, when I arrive at the restaurant Casablanca, where I meet my friends. The place is located on a square right across from the Great Synagogue. Since it is immensely popular and they do not take any reservations, there are people waiting for a seat everywhere on the square; even the stairs of the Synagogue are being used as waiting spot. The fact that Casablanca is so close to the synagogue strikes me as funny, because if anything, Casablanca is the opposite of religious. The owner, the famous TV chef, Ido Levy, who is well known for his outspoken style, made sure this place is very non-religious, like most of Tel Aviv. The non-kosher restaurant is also hard to be just called a restaurant, since there is always a DJ, playing records, and the high valued food is often served in paper bags or 6 cardboard plates. The high status of the chef does not make this place fancy as I know it: bread is ripped, the masabacha is wiped, everything is shared and waiters give away shots of arak, reserving one for themselves, knocking them over together with their customers. The influences of various cuisines and nationalities are very apparent at this place. On the menu there is gefilte fish, a classic Ashkenazi dish, along with many different Middle Eastern dishes, in a place with a Moroccan name, and finally, the chef himself proclaims that he makes food that can be called ‘new Israeli’. We order a dish that is especially striking to me when it comes to gourmetization. It says on the menu: ‘two slices of bread, with half an onion, tomato salsa and olive oil’, and it turns out to be just that. Two slices of bread are being served in a paper bag, together with a plate of tomato salsa and oil and on that there is crème fraîche turned over. When the waiter serves it, he takes off the container, leaving us with the whole content of the crème fraîche. It is a performance on its own. Around four o’clock ‘the party is over’ and Casablanca, like the other restaurants on the square, is closing. From this hour, the streets are emptying, the endless honking by taxis stops, public transportation takes a near 24 hour break and it is no longer possible to do grocery shopping, except for at the AMPM, a supermarket chain true to its name. By the time the clock strikes seven, and the sun is already down, every Tel Avivian seems to be inside, with family; having Shabbat dinner. The extremely secular city seems to have turned into its big traditional brother. While people are often celebrating Shabbat for traditional reasons and less so for religious ones, suddenly the Jewish character becomes clear and like so many things in Tel Aviv the situations I come across are confusing and contradicting, and often hard to categorize.