The Quest for Cheeze and Culture.
Cheeze (as they spell it on the streets of Tzfat in the motherland) has never been my delicacy of choice. A few bites of the salty curds and my stomach beings to churn and grumble warning me to take heed. And to spare myself and those around me I usually take to those glaring signs and quickly move on to another equally salty knosh. Yet as the saying goes “When in Rome“…I threw my gastronomic problems to the wind and went in search of the famous Tzfat Cheese Factory. I recruited two accomplices to travel with me, my cheese loving sister, Zoe, and new found friend, Jason. We wandered the cobblestone streets lined with old buildings covered in the symbolic blue color of this ancient city. The enlightened, higher energy that this cool blue represents filled the air, and the wind washed it over us as it tussled our hair. A sharp left and a few paces to make the next right, down a flight of uneven stairs, through a small alley and around an unassuming corner we stumbled upon a small entrance with the smell of pungent cheese wafting out to hit us in the nose, and we simultaneously breathed in what we had so enthusiastically been looking for.
The three of us hesitantly stepped into the open door and turned to find a man stooped over a table of cheeses. He turned towards us as he heard the creek of our creeping footsteps and his weathered tan skin and long beard was that of a man who we later found out was a seventh generation cheese and halva artisan. Our comical attempts to use the few Hebrew words we knew and the universal language of hand gestures won this sweet man over and he opened his craft to us. He proceeded to chip a away at his wheels of cheese offering us nibbles of soft zefat, goat cheese, cashcavel, and more. Salty, smooth, bland and spongy swirled over our taste buds and the corners of our mouths turned upwards in satisfying smiles.
Completely overwhelmed by our choices but knowing nothing could be wrong we sat down to a lunch of labaneth cheese spread on thin lafah and sprinkled with spices and olive oil. We finished our delectable lunch with a shot of Turkish coffee and handmade almond halva, both were perfect in every way (sigh).
Our time was up at this glorious hidden gem and as we pushed in our chairs and headed for the door I couldn’t help but think how lucky I felt to have stumbled upon such an authentic look into Tzfat culture. We expressed our immense “toda” and threw around our recently learned word of the day “Sababa” and in true tourist fashion, asked for a photo. “Of course!” he said, as he threw up his arms and we gathered around his cauldron of fresh milk. As the camera shutter closed, he slipped in “one, two, three, cheeze!”
-Ariel Lembeck: Thursday 21 October 2010.
