Edible Travels
Mamoun's Falafel, New Haven CT
Eating is an experience. We go to restaurants to be wrapped up in a world outside our kitchens, to be transported by our senses, to relish in the splendor of a feast and an excursion. Moments matter just as much when it comes to food, and when we talk about the awesome places we eat, the best restaurants come with a story that is more than just a description of the food. Enter the adventure eater. Not to be confused with the brave few who will try anything once, these are the explorers who return home with accounts attached to eateries not often heard of. These kindred spirits can be found just about anywhere, not only at that-place-you-probably-haven’t-heard-of-so-I-won’t-even-really-tell-you-about-it. Though food is the end goal, what makes me want to follow them is the potential for my own enticing anecdote. The stories may as well be their own meal.
I wound up at Mamoun’s at the hands of some of these folk, and upon arrival I was enamored by the Mediterranean charm of this cozy space. We pulled into the parking lot behind this small building that could be quite easily overlooked from the street. The interior brought about memories of the movie Aladdin — colored glass accents and wooden furniture, dim lighting, semi-tightly packed with tables and people – it felt like a home tucked in somewhere along the bazaar. The walls are decked with tapestries and odd curios that speak to eclectic home decor, pre-Urban Outfitters catalog.
With veterans of their fare by my side, I ordered a lamb steak sandwich, hoping it would live up to my friends' recommendation (which was to order anything, because the menu will never disappoint). As we wait for our food I am regaled with tales of first dates with beekeepers and summer mini-road trips, culminating in the memory of a sixty dollar cab ride across town at 2 in the morning just to gorge on a falafel platter. Not many reviews could be more glowing.
The timely arrival of my meal brought to mouth the happiness pita pocket of charcoal-salty meat offset by ripened tomato bits and dripping tahini sauce that took my taste buds off of their own magic carpet ride. If you aren't running through napkins like a sprinter across the finish line, you may not be eating here right. The undeniably pleasant staff continued to check on our pleasure status throughout the experience, which remained at a high as I plowed through the meal in a blaze of flavor glory.
With veterans of their fare by my side, I ordered a lamb steak sandwich, hoping it would live up to my friends' recommendation (which was to order anything, because the menu will never disappoint). As we wait for our food I am regaled with tales of first dates with beekeepers and summer mini-road trips, culminating in the memory of a sixty dollar cab ride across town at 2 in the morning just to gorge on a falafel platter. Not many reviews could be more glowing.
The timely arrival of my meal brought to mouth the happiness pita pocket of charcoal-salty meat offset by ripened tomato bits and dripping tahini sauce that took my taste buds off of their own magic carpet ride. If you aren't running through napkins like a sprinter across the finish line, you may not be eating here right. The undeniably pleasant staff continued to check on our pleasure status throughout the experience, which remained at a high as I plowed through the meal in a blaze of flavor glory.
And then there was dessert.
“I would commit unspeakable acts that will desecrate my family name for that baklava” is the opinion of one of my fellow travelers, so again, I must have it. There is a paradox of light and heavy that fills this dessert. The stack of wafer-thin dough is layered with sweet filling and a honey glaze that dances across my tongue like fireflies in the night, like embers from a campfire flame. And yet, I am so full my body could not physically hold another, as much as my euphoria-soaked brain craved it.
I walked away from this magical little place inspired and satisfied, having been well fed and now being able to join the collective of humans who can only talk about Mamoun’s in the context of the last time they went to Mamoun’s. Driving away — arm out of the window, breeze sweeping across my face like a scene from a movie — I was fueled with the sudden and immediate need to create more of my own eating adventures.
“I would commit unspeakable acts that will desecrate my family name for that baklava” is the opinion of one of my fellow travelers, so again, I must have it. There is a paradox of light and heavy that fills this dessert. The stack of wafer-thin dough is layered with sweet filling and a honey glaze that dances across my tongue like fireflies in the night, like embers from a campfire flame. And yet, I am so full my body could not physically hold another, as much as my euphoria-soaked brain craved it.
I walked away from this magical little place inspired and satisfied, having been well fed and now being able to join the collective of humans who can only talk about Mamoun’s in the context of the last time they went to Mamoun’s. Driving away — arm out of the window, breeze sweeping across my face like a scene from a movie — I was fueled with the sudden and immediate need to create more of my own eating adventures.
Jasmine Penny