I'm staying at a hotel right near Mamilla mall, which is an open-air shopping mall where Jordanian no-man's-land was before 1967. It provides a short cut from the Old City to Rehavia and thence the city centre. Mamilla (sometimes called 'mammeleh' because of the many well-heeled young matrons who frequent the many coffee shops in the warmer weather, with their babes enthroned in their Bugaboos (Boogaboos, as they say here) and other fancier European strollers) is a popular destination. In the warmer months it is packed almost around the clock. The demographic of the shoppers is roughly 60% tourists, of whom about a quarter are non Jews, and about 40% Arab Muslims. Yes, in mean old apartheid Israel, shops and restaurants are full of Jews and Arabs shopping and eating side by side. Nobody cares and everybody gets on. I will be honest and say that I haven't seem any (obvious) Arab shopkeepers or any shopgirls in hijabs but whatever. Plenty of be-hijabbed Arab girls in groups chatting and texting on their iPhones, and some with boyfriends, strolling along. Shmapartheid.
Anyway, since Mamilla is a few minutes away, it's not a big deal to brave the elements in order to find a cosy coffee shop, which is what Hubs and I did earlier today. He's jonesing for a bike ride but weather is too wet and cold so this would have to do.
Now anyone who has ever been in Israel knows that the Israelis are not service-oriented. They don't get it. Like the El Al flight attendant who offered a passenger dinner; when he asked her what was the choice, she answered 'Yes or No!'. Well hardeharhar, but things have improved some.
The shop is sort of annexed to a Steimatzky bookstore. We entered and browsed the shop and bought some books (for our grandson of course) and then nodded to the cafe guard who let us into the cafe. There was a waitress engrossed in something on the computer so we waited politely, like good Anglos, until the guard told us to just go in and sit down anywhere. The waitress then looked up and waved us to a table and we almost went to sit there until we noted that that whole section of the cafe had a few cms of water on the floor. These cafes in Mamilla have sort of tent annexes and the stone floors are contiguous with the actual pedestrian mall. And part of the tent had failed in the heavy rain. So we sat in a different- dry- part. There was heating and it was all warm and cosy so we took off our coats and scarves and hats and gloves and sat down. We ordered lunch. I wanted a cold drink. It took a while to come so we snagged a waitress and she all but rolled her eyes at us and counselled patience. It came. We ate. Then we ordered coffee and cake. Husband: Large latte, skim milk, VERY HOT. What sort of cake? Waitress: hot apple pie and ice cream, cheesecake etc etc. H: Does the apple pie have raisins in it? Me:(helpful) Tzimookim? Chashuv meod shezeh bli Tzimookim! (I was quite proud that I remembered the Hebrew word for raisins, you see.) It is vital that there are no raisins in the pie!
For my Other has this thing about raisins which I just don't get, but it is what it is. When he finds a raisin in anything you would think he had found a fly.
The waitress assured us, no raisins, just apples. So we ordered it to share and upon forking opening the fragrant steaming delectable pie, there it was. A plump golden raisin, nestled amongst the apple bits. Call back waitress. Point accusing fork at raisin. Waitress takes away plate and then returns with same plate and reassurances that chef said it was not a raisin but an apple piece which resembled a raisin. Camouflage. So we took it back and of course, on further exposure of pie contents, there were more raisins. We exchanged looks. What I would really have liked to do is call back the waitress and say in a no-nonsense sort of tone something like 'Anachnu lo freierim! Ken yesh Tzimookim!' We aren't suckers! there are indeed raisins here! But we, Anglos forever, just shrugged and shared the scoop of ice cream. Suddenly all the waitstaff kind of disappeared. Or maybe we became invisible. We were chatting about stuff and didn't really care anymore, but were interested in how this would end. We agreed we would pay for it anyway and leave a tip and not be 'principled' about it. When our waitress eventually returned she looked a bit sadly at the dissected pie with the exposed 6 raisins. I softly murmured 'ken haya tzimookim' and she nodded. 'No charge, sorry.' And offered another type of cake. But we were over it now and smiled our thanks and left a tip. Then I noticed that coffeehound spouse had left half his coffee. 'It wasn't hot'. Of course he had said nothing.
So they're getting there! Maybe next visit they won't argue about camouflaged raisins. And the coffee will be hot as requested.
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