Thursday, May 23, 2013

Parole, Parole

Not in the mood for Brazilian food, I asked the hostel owner where there was a Lebanese restaurant.  He pointed me in the direction of Pittas, not too far away.  When I found the place, I was ecstatic.  It was an Israeli falafel and shwarma shop.  I had a proper plate of falafel, with hummus, baba gannoush, matbouha, beet salad, onions covered in sumac, roasted egglants, all covered in tehina and schug.  I couldn't have been happier. Obregado to the Gods of Gastrodiplomacy

And then I heard them playing the Israeli station Galgalatz, and I was.  On came a song Parole, Parole, and I was transported back to an afternoon in Tel Aviv in the apartment of an Armenian girl once dear to me.  We laid on the couch while that song filled the sunlit apartment.

These fragments I have shored against my ruins.
-TS Elliot

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