Review: Zahav

For the second time this summer, I was rendered speechless by a chickpea. The first, at a restaurant called Cal Pep in Barcelona, was fairly unsurprising. In that city, culinary miracles are perhaps more commonplace than they are anywhere else in the world. But this second one—well, let’s just say that it took me by surprise.

 

After all, for most of us in this town, the chickpea is more often than not relegated to its most familiar role as the base for hummus. And while there are some—though not nearly enough—delicious renditions of this Middle Eastern staple throughout the city these days, precious few actually make you sit up straighter and reassess what you thought you knew about that underperforming legume.

 

Then again, Zahav is chock-full of these kinds of surprises. The one that made me snap to attention was the hummus-masbacha, a decidedly creamy take on the classic, this one studded with warm chickpeas, its texture akin to whipped goat cheese in its not-as-paradoxical-as-it-sounds dense fluffiness. Solomonov uses the term “eggy” to describe it, and he’s absolutely right: The combination of high-quality, baking-soda-soaked chickpeas; the unhulled, organic tahini; and the ratio of the two in the final product result in a hummus of gorgeous decadence. And the homemade laffa was perfectly portioned and infinitely more interesting than the standard—and often rather boring—bagged pita that accompanies dishes like this.

 

A follow-up conversation with Solomonov explained everything. His passion for the food and culture of Israel is infectious, and his attention to detail staggering. “This type of food has been overlooked,” Solomonov said. “And our exposure to it is [mostly] businessmen who want to open restaurants,” as opposed to chefs who want to express a cuisine.

 

That cuisine, in fact, is far less homogenous than most people expect. The food of Israel, after all, has been influenced, over the past few thousand years, by countless cultures, from Jewish to Eastern European to Arab to Moroccan and everything in between. So it only stands to reason that, when done properly, and with thought and a sense of the implications of framing a dish as from one influencing culture and not another, it should be far more interesting than the commonly accepted, generic “Middle Eastern food” stereotype.

 

On the more adventurous end of the spectrum was the kibbe naya, a plate of ground lamb shoulder lifted by the perfume of all spice, scallion, mint, homemade harissa, lemon and a bit of olive oil, all of it emulsified by adding an ice cube while it’s being mixed up. In both conception and execution, this is exactly the kind of unexpectedly challenging dish that endeared chef Solomonov to so many of the city’s most ardent restaurant-lovers when he helmed Marigold Kitchen.

 

So while raw meat of any kind may unfortunately give more people the food-willies than it excites, it’s worth working past that squeamishness and tucking into a plate. This is one of those rare dishes that not only changes the way you look at an ingredient and a preparation, but provides an insane amount of pleasure to boot.

 

More subtle but just as stunning was the Balkan-style mackerel, a classic salt-cured, scallion-brightened beauty with the appearance of sashimi and an unexpected crunch from chopped walnuts breaking up the otherwise silky textures that predominated. Moroccan cigars, a dish that for too many of us is associated with flaccid, dull-flavored and underfried meat rolls encased in oil-drenched shells, found its redemption here, atoning for the sins of countless lesser preparations with élan.

 

The ground beef itself was sweet with the aroma of clove, and the sunset-toned harissa every bit as spicy-tangy as it often is not. Only a slightly lighter hand with the paprika dusting would have improved it; some bites suffered from an overly insistent blanket of heat and smokiness.

 

Galil, an oblong plate of fried, grill-finished baby eggplants, was the only dish I didn’t fall in love with. The wonderful charring of the skin—pitched perfectly against the succulence of the soft center—was overwhelmed by a too-heavy application of tahini sauce, the sesame notes obscuring the more delicate aspects of the ostensible focus of the dish.

 

But that was just one glitch in an otherwise staggeringly delicious procession of food. Even desserts, which in the vast majority of restaurants with Middle Eastern pedigrees consist of baklava and one or two other over-honey-sweetened concoctions, sang with a sense of clarity and purpose here.

 

Warm chocolate cake—no longer on the menu—was given a context make-over with nothing more than the simple addition of deep, dense sesame ice cream and the bracing tang of pomegranate molasses; fans of Solomonov’s dessert-course homage to peanut butter and jelly from his days at Marigold will recognize the same sense of playfulness here.

 

In the “old school,” konafi—crunchy shredded phyllo dough that Solomonov used to such spectacular effect in a chocolaty dessert in University City this past autumn—crowned a fresh, milky disc of mozzarella-textured “sweet cheese” that itself was bathing in a delicate rose water – cardamom syrup. Middle Eastern? Unarguably. Run-of-the-mill? Not even close.

 

For a lower-cal liquid dessert, you’d have a hard time improving on the “milk and honey,” a cocktail made with dark rum, fig syrup and homemade almond milk. Just drink it quickly. Texturally, it’s nothing short of velvet before the ice starts to melt and changes the consistency of the almond milk. In fact, bracket the meal with it: It’s that good.

 

Only the service needs fine-tuning. Indeed, so soon after having opened, Zahav’s kitchen is running as well as restaurants that have been open for years. But all that fabulous food is done no favors by service that, while well-informed and helpful, failed to provide much sense of rhythm. After the perfectly paced arrival of the hot and cold mezzes (small plates), too-long stretches of time separated the delivery of the subsequent courses. Coffee didn’t make it on time, either.

 

Service glitches aside, Zahav is one of this year’s most exciting new restaurants. In fact, it’s one of the most interesting, enjoyable food experiences in the city right now, period. That hummus, and those warm, comforting chickpeas, it turned out, were accurate indications of what would follow.

 

This Society Hill gem, with its excellent, thought-provoking food, stellar cocktails, and evocative décor – Jerusalem-stone tans and an unmistakable Middle Eastern design flair never cross the line to kitsch, but instead provide a subtle sense of framing for the meal – finally marks the arrival of a restaurant that shows Israeli cuisine the respect it deserves. It was more than worth the wait.

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