Music may be the universal language, but food is more likely to bring people together across cultural chasms they might not otherwise bridge.
Our first and sometimes only contact with other cultures in this country often occurs over food, in restaurants and markets where immigrants bring us a taste of their homeland. Sampling the wares at such places turns the simple act of eating into a form of cultural tourism, epicurean travel without the thrill of a full body search at the airport.
Among the most recent waves of immigrants to set up shop in the Bay area are groups from the Balkans and the Middle East, that boiling cauldron of constant turmoil where the cultures of Europe, Asia and Africa collide, birthplace of some of the oldest civilizations on Earth. The history of the area is rife with invasions, occupations, rebellions, wars, shifting borders, the rise and fall of empires, and the death and rebirth of nations. It’s the spawning ground of World War I — and what we may someday call World War III.
Two markets in north Pinellas County serve as culinary portals to the Balkans and the Middle East. My guide is Peggy MacLeod, seasoned traveler, cultural bushwhacker and general bon vivant. We meet up at the Cracker Barrel on 54th Avenue and sally forth on our expedition in her wheezy old Volvo that won’t go over 35 mph.
Cedar Market and Deli at 6529 54th Ave. leans more toward Middle Eastern specialties but carries plenty of Balkan favorites as well. One of several businesses owned by Lebanese immigrant Omran Chehab, it advertises Greek, Turkish, Bulgarian and Armenian groceries. People from all of these countries and their neighbors shop at Cedar Market, says Omran’s son, Nabil Chehab, who runs the store with his wife Wajiha. But he estimates that half of their customers are American.
The store sells ornate Arabic hookahs and flavored tobacco to smoke in them; teas, spices, soaps, beans, grains, nuts, oils, candies and jars of assorted pastes; and fresh produce such as fava beans, tiny Lebanese squash and sweet, crunchy, seedless cucumbers.
Coolers are filled with cheeses made from sheep and goat milk, a variety of yogurts, kefirs and other cultured products such as labneh, a tart white cheese made from yogurt that tastes like a combination of sour cream and cream cheese.
You can buy several different kinds of olives, stuffed grape leaves, and a delicious fresh tabouli made by Nabil’s mother from tomatoes, parsley, bulgur, olive oil and lemon. It’s especially good wrapped in fresh lavash, a satisfying flat bread delivered daily from Sami’s Pita Bakery at 4920 E. Busch Blvd. in Tampa. “Everybody comes in the morning, asking for it,” says Nabil.
Omran Chebab owns Sami’s, too, along with Sahara Grocery at 4914 E. Busch Blvd. and Sahara Take-out and Delivery at First Avenue S. and Sixth Street in St. Petersburg.
True to the family’s cosmopolitan multicultural entrepreneurism, Sami’s makes not only three kinds of lavash and two kinds of pita, including low-fat and whole wheat, they also make low-carb, high-fiber tortillas. “For the low-carb mania,” says Nabil with a smile. Sami’s also makes pies, chips, cookies, baklava, falafel, spanakopita and hummus, which you can buy at all of the family’s businesses and online at www.samisbakery.com.
Nabil and Wajiha work at Cedar Market seven days a week from 10 a.m. till 7 p.m. Business slows down in the summer, and the couple is hoping to close on Sundays to spend more time with their children. Daughter Hala is finishing kindergarten, and son Omran just turned four. For his birthday, they went to the beach. The high point was not a Middle Eastern treat, but a Latin one. “We got a pinata,” says Nabil. “He smashed it and all the candy came out.”
Bosnia Market at 6500 Fourth St. is, as you might expect from its name, more Balkan, with foods from Bosnia, Croatia, Bulgaria, Slovenia, Serbia, Montenegro, Romania and Macedonia. Shelves are lined with jars of pickled vegetables, noodles of various sizes and shapes, tins of paprika and other spices, boxes of herb teas, and row upon row of candies, cookies and snacks — like Kroki Kroket, a Croatian treat that looks like Cheetos but is made of peanuts instead of cheese.
Cases hold cheeses, sausages, breads and homemade phyllo pies that look something like a giant Danish. They’re filled with meats, cheese and spinach or potatoes. On the owner’s recommendation, I try the potato one. The rich, moist phyllo pastry is filled with savory diced potatoes bathed in olive oil and held together with a bit of egg. It’s delicious by itself and even better paired with another discovery: ajvar, a versatile and intensely flavorful bright orange puree of roasted paprika, garlic and olive oil. Ajvar has been a staple throughout Turkey and the Balkans for hundreds of years, and each culture in the region adds its own twist to the basic recipe. Lemon juice or vinegar might be added for a more piquant flavor and hotter peppers for more fire. Other vegetables, such as eggplant or tomatoes, might also be added. Ajvar is used as a condiment for eggs and meat, a dip for chips, a sauce for pasta, an addition to soups and stews, and as a spread for flatbreads.
Back at the Cracker Barrel, I feel like Dorothy waking up back home in Kansas. As Peggy’s Volvo chugs away, pudgy, pasty white folks rock in wooden chairs out front, digesting chicken and dumplings, mashed taters and gravy, and apple pie. Cedar Market seems like some exotic dream to me now. Was any of it real? That’s when I remember I have the proof: a jar of ajvar. Suddenly yet another use occurs to me for this nectar of the Balkans. I’m thinking it’s gonna be right tasty on a slice of Cracker Barrel’s meat loaf, with maybe a piece of lavash and goat cheese on the side.
Contributing Editor Susan F. Edwards can be reached at susan.edwards15@verizon.net.
This article appears in May 27 – Jun 2, 2004.
