United in the Joy of Ice Cream

August 6, 2010 | Location: Syria | Leave a Comment 

Shoppers from all over the Muslim world converge on Souq al-Hamidiyya, in the Syrian capital of Damascus. The shopping street runs from the medieval ramparts of the Old City to the west, all the way under the ruined arch of the temple of Jupiter, to the Umayyad Mosque plaza, 400 meters inwards.

As you walk from the ramparts, tourist souvenirs slowly give way to tacky sexy lingerie. But as you approach the magnificent Umayyad Mosque, the belly-dancing outfits fade away, and  prayer beads and embroidered Qu’rans take their place.

And in the middle of the tin-domed promenade, an unlikely shop attracts record crowds: Bakdash, reknown throughout the Middle East for its amazing arabic ice cream.

Believe the hype: this is, hands down, the best ice cream in the world.

Ten Centuries of Ice Cream

It’s no happenstance that Syrians hold the key to magnificent ice cream. The origins of the dessert can be traced back to the Persian Empire, and the Arabs were the first ones to incorporate milk products into the Persian recipe. As early as the 10th century, ice cream was eaten widely in the city of Damascus, as well as in Baghdad to the east.

The variation known as ‘Arabic ice cream’ differs from Western confections; in addition to fresh cream, the confection contains mastic, a resin native to the region; and sahlab, an extract from the orchid plant.

The traditional method of preparing Arabic ice cream involves churning it with long, heavy paddles, by beating down on them with force.

Once the ice cream has been throroughly beaten into a thick, elastic concoction, one step remains: rolling the ice cream in a mixture of crushed cashew and pistacchio nuts.

Minarets and Ice Cream Cones

The resulting ice cream is the kind you end up obsessing about. I sure do, long after I’ve left Syria. It’s slightly sweet, elastic yet utterly soft. You pick up a spoonful, and the ice melts in your mouth into the complex flavors of fresh cream, mixed with pistacchio and cashew.

Bakdash’s ice cream is one of the dozens of wonders hiding within the maze-like streets of Damascus’s old city, filled with tiny alleys, friendly vendors, coffee and narghile shops, bakeries, and elegant courtyards. It’s a joyful counterpoint to the somber magnificence of its mosques and Medieval stone ramparts.

When you sit at Bakdash’s long common table, you rub shoulders with Arabs and Muslims from all over the world, from young Lebanese fashionistas, to burqa-clad Iranian grandmothers on pilgrimage.

Wherever they are from, whatever brings them to Damascus, they all soon dip their spoons in the icy confection, and when the taste of pistacchio and cream touches their tongue, they all nod in silence.

For the next five minutes, children on a hot damascene day, we are all united in the joy of ice cream.

Where to Go

Bakdash lies on the wide promenade called Souq al-Hamadiyya, which stretches westward from the Umayyad Mosque plaza. Start from the main entrance of the mosque (the one on the west side), and walk west, under the Arch of Jupiter, and through the market. You’ll find Bakdash to your left.

Ice cream at Bakdash comes in either plain or fruit flavor, and both are highly recommended. A bowl of fabulous ice cream will set you back 50 SYP, or roughly $1 USD.

Home and Heart

May 28, 2010 | Location: Turkey | 5 Comments 

It was Byzantium when the Greeks founded the city in 667 BC. It later became Constantinople, poised at the edge of the Roman Empire, overlooking the Asian shore. Its fall in 1453 at the hands of the Ottoman Empire signaled the end of the Middle Ages, and the city remained firmly in their hands until, nearly five hundred years later, the Arab Revolt destroyed the Ottoman rule from within.

With such history, you wouldn’t be faulted to expect a somber, beautiful city, drenched in history and drama; visit only its historical quarter of Sultanahmet, and that is exactly what you’ll get. But sprawled across on the other side of the Golden Horn lies a more modern, fast-beating heart of Istanbul: one filled with a Balkan energy and friendliness, where good food goes down better with aniseed spirit, and where young Turks live busy, cheerful lives.

This is where Helene and I spent the most of our three weeks in Istanbul: not in the tourist district that lingers in the shadow of the Blue Mosque, but near the vibrant terraces, restaurants and markets of Beyoğlu; thanks to Caroline, a friend from our Shanghai days, who welcomed us into her apartment as if we were family.

Istanbul Days

As we settled into our temporary home in Istanbul, Helene found herself yearning for the simple pleasures of home cooking. And so, every Sunday for the next three weeks, we visited the Beyoğlu market, a sprawling farmers’ market, sprinkled with clothes and home accessories, that stretches all the way down one of Istanbul’s many hills. Here, we haggled over fruits and vegetables, and sampled fresh olives. We bought varieties of cheese, wielding the few mispronounced Turkish words we had managed to grasp.

Even the lure of cafés began to dull as we settled into our rhythm. Soon, I was practicing with Caroline’s Turkish coffeemaker, and working hard to improve my coffee’s foam as Helene drank all the cups I could muster.

Long walks along Istanbul’s main commercial street of Istiklal Caddesi provided us with pleasant afternoons. Istiklal, stretching from Taksim Square to Tünel, is nearly always impossibly crowded, and its side-streets offer dozens of terraces and cafés to while away the hours.

One of our favorite stops was the famous Inci, alleged birthplace of the profiterole, where the chocolate-drenched pastry melts in your mouth.

Istanbul Nights

Istiklal Caddesi might be busy during the day; but when evening comes around, the wide pedestrian street takes on its true purpose, and it soon fills up so completely that you have to shoulder your way past its twisting alleys, filled with diners and revelers.

Our favorite evening stop was Üstad: a locanta, or traditional Turkish restaurant. “Chez Jean-Jacques” is how Caroline called it, due to the maître-d’s resemblance to French singer Jean-Jacques Goldman. “Je suis Jean-Jacques,” he said to introduce himself. And later: “Your second home in Istanbul is here.” From the nose up, he did indeed make a solid Goldman impression, but his warm hospitality and humor were all Turkish.

In Turkey as in most of the Middle East, mezze, appetizer-sized dishes, occupy a central position in the meal. They go together fabulously with rakı (aniseed spirit), so much so that they often become the de-facto meal on a night of drinks. Rakı is drunk diluted with water, and even then it packs a solid punch; fortunately, the savant blend of spices of the mezze, as well as the delicious fresh bread, make it go down easy.

As in many places in Istanbul, Üstad’s service was exemplary, both friendly and efficient, and willing to throw in the occasional gratuity to truly make you feel welcome. “This is the country of service,” Caroline told us. And indeed, the Turks could teach the French a lesson or two about professional courtesy and hospitality.

Istanbul Modern

A lot of travelers visit Istanbul to explore its past; but although the previous centuries have dotted the city with architectural marvels, its present is worth a visit all by itself.

Of all the cities we visited in our world trip so far, Istanbul is the city that made us feel the most at home, whether we were deciding on that week’s supply of olives, or stumbling home after a night on the town. We could imagine ourselves living here, at least for a while, discovering one more café, walking down another sidestreet in search of the perfect döner.

Home, after eight months on the road, turns into an elusive concept; but Istanbul has captured our hearts. And as the saying goes, that’s all the home you need.

Special Thanks

A big thank you to Caroline, who welcomed us into her Beyoğlu apartment for a staggering three weeks, from which we could convince ourselves we were not tourists but residents, at least for a little while.

Thank you also to Romain and Ece, friends of a friend, who showed us a very Turkish welcome and shared with us their passion for local Turkish products.

Where to Go

Istanbul is a fabulous city to explore as a local and not a tourist; if you do not have the benefit of a friend in the city, consider Couchsurfing, as Istanbul features an enthusiastic, friendly, and very active community of couchsurfers. Otherwise, there are numerous hostels near Istiklal, away from the usual tourist ghetto of Sultanahmet. Check out Neverland Hostel, down the hill from the boulevard but in a very interesting neighborhood nonetheless.

Inci can be found on Istiklal Caddesi, past Galatasaray Lisesi towards Taksim. Look for it on the left side of the boulevard as you walk towards Taksim Square; you’ll spot the crowded doorway soon enough.

Üstad lies on the northern side of Istiklal, on Kameriye Sokak. If you meet Jean-Jacques, tell him Daniel and Helene say hello!

Coming Soon: Turkey, Syria, Lebanon

May 22, 2010 | Location: The World | Leave a Comment 

Greetings from Beirut, Lebanon!

There has been no shortage of great meals and encounters in the last few weeks – quite the contrary. Helene and I have been traveling and enjoying life, and I’m afraid the blog has taken the sidelines.

But don’t despair: further adventures of the Backpack Foodie in Turkey, Syria and Lebanon are coming soon!

Interview with Eurasianet’s Kebabistan

May 6, 2010 | Location: Turkey | Leave a Comment 

I had the immense pleasure of meeting fellow food blogger Ygal Schleifer in Istanbul last week, and we quickly discovered a common passion for simple, local food. Ygal introduced me to the Turkish kaymak, or clotted cream, which we enjoyed on the sidewalk in Istanbul’s Beşiktaş.

Check out the interview with Eurasianet’s Kebabistan that resulted from our meeting!

Shisha at the Souq

April 24, 2010 | Location: Qatar | 3 Comments 

You’ll find Souq Waqif at the end of the Corniche in the Gulf city of Doha, Qatar. At the edge of the souq, the ultra-sleek skyscrapers of downtown Doha – none of them older than five years – disappear beyond a maze of shops, restaurants, cafés and stalls.

The souq quickly became our favorite hanging out spot during our five-day stay in the State of Qatar. As always, I follow the locals’ lead: I order a bittersweet and dynamite-strong Turkish coffee, and a grape-flavored shisha. The tobacco for the waterpipe soaks in fresh fruit juice, and a café employee sets glowing pieces of wood charcoal on top of the pipe to get the smoke going.

As I chase the sweet bite of the coffee with a whiff of grape smoke, I lean back and watch the Arab world go by.

White and Black

Souq Waqif offers a unique chance to watch Qatari men and women take a stroll and enjoy life. Although the souq attracts its fair share of tourists, it’s nevertheless a favorite hangout spot for the affluent Qatari, who make up a mere 20% of the local population.

Not that they’re hard to spot: all of them, regardless of gender, wear their traditional garbs with ferocious pride. Most of the men wear the thawb, a long white robe, and a white cotton headpiece called the ghuthra, which they keep in place with an igal, a circle of black rope. These traditional clothes are tailor-made, and kept impossibly white and clean; expensive cufflinks adorn the wearer’s wrists.

As for the women, they walk around in the scorching sun wearing the black, loose-fitting abaya dress, with their hair under a veil. Many Qatari women, young and old, choose to wear the niqab as well, a veil that covers all the face except the eyes. Even stranger are the rigid masks some older women elect to wear: with a metallic frame, they would look at home in some inspired funeral masquerade ball.

The Qatari, all in white and black, move through a sea of people from all over the Arab world and beyond, flocking to Qatar looking for work. Qatari teenage girls mingle with fashion-conscious Americans, Arab businessmen, and Nepali service workers.

Sometimes, you catch a glimpse of a Sudanese woman cutting through a group of black-clad Qatari, and the impossible colors of her hijab breaks through the dark like a flare of color in the night.

Beyond the Veil

It takes a few hours dragging on the grape accents of a shisha to begin to understand the deception that has been wrought on us in the West. I quickly learn to appreciate how complex the Gulf culture gets, and how ignorant I am of its intricacies.

The niqab, or face veil, provides the most startling example. It’s perceived status of religious oppression is so reviled in the West, that Belgium and France seek to ban the niqab from all public places. Back in my Canadian province of Quebec, the niqab has triggered deep-seated passions, fueled by media eager to fan any flame that might light a fire under their sales figures.

Yet the women here are anything but oppressed by their traditional dress. They walk around the souq, their abayas intricate and beautiful in their dark swirls, their eyes shaded by delicate make-up, a Louis Vutton handbag dangling from their arm. The abaya and niqab, more cultural than religious, empower them, affirm their Muslim identity, and mark them as true Qatari, set above the immigrants that toil to serve them. As the ladies trace a line through the shops of the souq, old men push their purchases in a wheelbarrow, ensuring that the women never raise a finger. The choice to wear the niqab belongs to a woman, and is decided between a girl and her mother alone.

Islam itself, so close to its land of birth, presents a quiet, respectful face, worlds away from the violence and misery that saturate Western media. From my vantage point in the souq, I observed a peaceful, multicultural world, where Saudis in black burka stroll alongside Lebanese women in tight jeans.

It’s not a perfect world, but through oil money, Qatar has opened up to the world on its own cultural terms.

The Call to Prayer

As the sun begins to set on Qatar, the heartbreaking beauty of the muezzin‘s call to prayer fills the warmth of the approaching evening. The songs echo throughout the city, from every minaret under the Qatari sky.

I came to Qatar with no preconceptions, and will leave with puzzles. It’s painfully obvious that the story of these pearl divers turned oil magnates has yet to be told without prejudice in my own homeland.

But I am a mere tourist, a bum hanging out in the souq. What do I know?

I have seen through the grape smoke of a shisha, and beyond the superficial lies told to antagonize a rich, complex and fascinating culture. And as the charcoal embers die down atop my shisha, what I really know is that I want to learn more.

Special Thanks

I wish to thank Tracy, our new friend in Doha, for making our stay in Qatar not only possible, but informative and enjoyable. Tracy’s observations on Gulf culture, based on her ten years of living in the region, has provided a much-needed insight, and helped open my eyes to this rich, fascinating culture.

See you in North Africa, Tracy!