Cairo, Egypt
Our first day was an easy day. I figured I had waited over
forty years to see the pyramids I could probably wait another day. We had an quiet
first morning, mostly lounging in our room and organising ourselves. Our sleep
had been fitful from travel, late night food, and, in my part at least, a busy
brain constantly going over the details of our upcoming days.
In the early afternoon we made our way to our rendezvous
point for our first tour. Our hotel is across the river from Tahrir Square and
The Cairo Museum. It is about a ten minute walk involving crossing a bridge.
Crosswalks, like traffic lights, are a rare whimsy on the streets of this city,
so you walk when you can. With purpose. With incredible awareness of time,
space, and your frail body.
We were to meet with our tour guides at Tahrir Square by the
Hardees fast food chain (they assured us that this was not one of our stops!)
and watched the world go buy. This afforded us our first opportunity to see the
city around us. Being very obviously tourists, we had been approached by people
since the moment we left the hotel lobby. They were not rude, or aggressive,
but they were persistent. And they were constant. I friendly comment about me
walking like an Egyptian because I crossed the street without stopping led to a
sales pitch involving an art gallery, his need to give us his card, and a
commentary about how much he loved Canadians.
But as we stood there, looking busy and making sure we kept
up our conversation, nobody approached us.
We were free to watch the bustle around us. Being one of the most
populous cities in the world, it is no surprise that the streets are busy.
Especially Tahrir Square. It was here that the riots occurred. It was here that
Christians circled the protestors to protect them. It was here that many died,
some bodies having never been identified. We have all heard the stories of the
people of Cairo live tweeting and using YouTube to record the events. We
regarded the Cairo Museum across the way and remembered how a human chain surrounded
the building to protect the artifacts from looters. The story of the revolution
is compelling and we were reminded of it on this tour as we passed the American
University in Cairo with its memorial painted on its wall.
But today it was calm. Well, calm for Cairo. Our hosts met
us and, after a brief introduction, took us on a walking tour that introduced
us to Egyptian food.
We began in a little shop, barely twenty feet squared, where
we sat at a small table halfway out onto the sidewalk. We were given little
metal cup with a cold drink with leaves floating in it. Muyyet Salata, or Salad
Water, is like a dressing and salad all in a single shot glass. Vinegar, oil,
lemon, dill, salt, pepper, garlic and chilli powder are mixed in with bits of
greens to create a concoction that is refreshing, punchy, and ending with a bit
of a kick. “This is to wake up your palate. To prepare you for your feast”
Leila, our guide, tells us. I feel the spice slide down my throat, starting to
burn a little just as it begins to dissipate. Not being one for spicy foods, I
am surprised how pleasant this is.
I suddenly worried about the water. I was warned
continuously about the state of water in Egypt and I worried I had already
screwed up. Leila smiled and assured me the water had been boiled before.
Next came Koshari. Leila pointed out the macaroni,
spaghetti, and vermicelli mixed in with lentils, rice, whole hummus, and
onions. She then poured some tomato and garlic sauces over the whole thing and
asked us to mix it. This is the national dish of Egypt. It is filling and
wholesome and every Egyptian apparently has an aunt, a mother or someone else
who makes the best version. It is the favoured comfort food when eating out
even though it can easily be made at home.
This was a great way to start the tour. The familiar
flavours mixed in a new way was interesting. Eric and I agreed that each of the
ingredients are items we enjoy at home. It reminded me of some casseroles I
have made in order to use up the small amounts of pasta left in the pantry. We
had a discussion of how pasta ended up in an Egyptian dish and our first of
many reminders of western bias came under scrutiny. We have often been told the
story of how Marco Polo brought pasta to Italy, but the focus of this tale is
to explain why noodles play such an important role in Italian cuisine. Just
because Italy discovered pasta did not mean other parts of the world were not
already using it. Marco Polo was following a trade route after all.
Our next stop was a very tiny shop that specialised in
Arabic coffee. Having had my fair share of Greek and Turkish coffee during my
years studying Classical Studies in university and travelling to Greece and
Turkey, I was surprised to find out that Arabic coffee is dramatically different.
Instead of the thick, dark mix I would expect, we were served a brew that was
almost like tea. A light colour with a matching taste that still was undeniably
coffee. We were given a tour of the making of the coffee and learned that the
beans were very lightly roasted, almost green, and ground with cardamom. We
drank it without cream or sugar, which was considered the proper way.
As we drank our brew on what looked like the sidewalk in
front of the shop, we had to keep avoiding motorcycles whose riders were using
the space to make u-turns. The
distinction between the street and the sidewalks are intangible here. Sidewalks
come to abrupt endings, people walk along the street and even within the
traffic without any stress. Drivers honk to let you know they are coming and
people make way or they do not, depending on which direction is most
acceptable.
And even when the sidewalk is most decidedly for pedestrians
you must keep your wits about you. Sometimes I found myself having to alternate
between pushing against traffic and going with the flow on a constant basis.
When walking between stops I often found myself in front of Eric and our guide
and having to stop and wait for them to pass so I could follow only to find
myself in front again.
No matter what, Cairo worked around me, at me, or despite
me. Shopkeepers never gave up trying to convince me to buy something, children
watched us with interest for a brief moment until their daily lives swept them
away, and the traffic swirled around in its noisy, busy, frantic, organic
pandemonium way. At one point, while behind Eric and our guide, a woman passed
us by going the same way while her very young son kept annoying her. So much so
that, in her frustration she yelled at the boy
and swung her large bag to smack him on the head. She was clearly a
practice shot, but the boy was swift and light and managed to avoid the impact.
I, however, did not. She clocked me right on the side of my
head. The boy, who thought this was quite funny, actually stopped at the
spectacle of me trying to keep my glasses on. This allow the mother to grab him
by the arm and pull him to her. She looked at me and apologised in English and
raised her had to me. Before I could reassure her that I was okay and no harm
done, she and the boy were gone.
Meanwhile, Eric and Leila carried on walking, unaware of the
whole episode.
Leila decided it was time to hydrate, so we stopped off at
another tiny shop that specialised in juices. We were given a variety of
samples each in their own shot glasses. It was hard to determine our favourite
between the sugar cane, the tangerine, the hibiscus, the coconut milk, and the
tamarind. Again, it was a startling array of tastes and textures. Despite this
different it was easily understood how each of these drinks would be refreshing
in the dessert heat.
Our next stop had us enter a slightly larger restaurant that
was unadorned for the most part. Leila informed us how this ended up in the
tour. “I asked one of my male friends where he liked to go to eat when his
mother was away and he said this place. I tried it for the tour and now it is
one of my favourite places to eat.” We could clearly understand why. This place
was popular for the locals because it tasted like everything was homemade. No
razzle dazzle, just food. The plates came wet. So wet she had to dry them a
little as she reassured us again about the water. The metal plates were cleaned
in hot water and steamed dry in a dishwasher, but the water assured the guest
that the plates were not dirty and fit for guests to eat off of.
Slow cooked vegetables simmered in tomato sauce and cardamom
until everything is soft served over rice and finished off with lemon and mint
is a common dish in Egypt. Exchange the tomato sauce with a garlic and
spice-based stock and use okra and you have Molkhia.
The legend behind this latter dish is as charming as the
tradition it began. A young woman, worried about being cast out of her home
impressed the king with her Molokhia and he saved her from his fate. She was so
surprised that she gasped. ( I am not doing this story justice. I suggest you
look it up for yourself. I do not think you will be disappointed.) As a result
of this legend, tradition has it that the woman, in order to make this soup
properly, must gasp as she cooks it. Leila told us that when she heard her
grandmother gasping in the kitchen she was excited because she knew they would
be having Molokhia. Also, brides to be traditionally had to make this soup for
the husband’s family successfully in order to be deemd acceptable as a wife for
their son. No pressure at all.
Aish Baladi, an Egyptian pita that has a slightly moist interior,
is amazing. This is a standard part of any dish in Egypt and is mostly used a
means to deliver the taste of the many dips you can have. Tahina, babaganoug
(yes, with a harder sound at the end rather than the softer babaganoush). It is
also quite useful with the vegetables we were having as well.
We then made our way to a restaurant that has a number of
outlets throughout Cairo due to its popularity. My understating is that we
visited the original. Located in an alleyway between two buildings, Felfela is
beautiful. With it intimate atmosphere, multi-coloured glass ceiling and
wholesome food you would be hard pressed to not be charmed. He we enjoyed a
lentil soup with a squeeze of lime and some fava-based dishes. Fava beans are
plentiful in Egypt and they are a staple. This is a good thing as it has led to
the creation of the Egyptian Falafel. This version is made with fava beans
instead of chickpeas and I am very disappointed that I have only just now had
the pleasure of tasting it. It is difficult to recreate elsewhere in the world,
but I think people should try hard. These falafels were flatter but this shape
had not been consistent elsewhere. Other fava dishes were Basara, a green paste
for dipping and Tamiyya which is made with fresh coriander. We also had
Betengen Ma’ll which is sliced eggplant deep fried and seasoned with spicy
salsa consisting of tomatos, chillis, and garlic called Da’aa.
By this time we were pretty full. But desert was our next
stop so we persevered. Basbousa and Zalabya reminded me of different variations
of Baklava with is sugar syrup and ghee. Kunafa, with its creamy centre, was
our favourite. So much so that our host graciously gave us an extra piece each.
Our final stop was a simple peppermint tea on a rooftop
patio in another part of Cairo while watching the sun set. We were full, we
were enjoying our company, and we were feeling content. The day before had been
so long, but this moment on a rooftop in Cairo not only introduced us to local
cuisine, it set a good tone for the beginning of our time here in Egypt.
Across the street lay the shell of what was once a large
cinema. Before it showed films it clearly hosted live performances. After a
recent fire, the remains of the building was being taken down to make way for a
new structure. As I looked down at the broken structure of a once-proud
building, I thought that it was an appropriate way to end our tour. This city,
with its decay and broken infrastructure, is also home to a vibrant culture
that embraces the sensual aspects of our existence. Taste, smell, texture. All
of these things that are so infused in the cuisine can be found in the
immediacy of the existence that is living in Cairo. From crossing the street to
avoiding an irate mother’s purse, you must be present. If you do not adapt, you
will fade.
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