Fairly Well Rounded
Greek breakfast
Place: La Story, Jerusalem
When: Thursday, late morning
Environment: The round building housing this café is located on a corner in the residential Malcha area. There are lots of windows letting in light. An outside space extends from the doorway, too. The restaurant is no-frills, and doesn’t have a ton of character. That said, it’s airy (thanks to the ceiling fans) and not too echoey, but quite busy. During my visit, almost every table was taken, although the flow in and out kept moving. By the time I left, there were people at the door waiting for inside space to free up. Most of the tables are simple wooden squares, with wooden chairs. One or two tables are larger and have more character. The availability of street parking in the area is a real bonus. The extensive menu is reminiscent of Israeli dairy restaurants before the culinary awareness of the past decade or so really took hold; it has the expected breakfasts, salads, sandwiches, pizzas and pastas – mainly classic options, and a few more inventive ones.
My Order: Greek breakfast (NIS 90).
The low-down: The breakfast included a variety of dips and salads, eggs-to-order, cheese, stuffed grape leaves, sliced bread and focaccia, and came with a choice of hot or cold drink. I chose a large cappuccino. When it was delivered to the table (pretty fast and well before the food), I was concerned. It looked very pale and the foam didn’t have the pretty design most cafes are proficient in these days (but it looked like they tried), so I assumed it would be milky and not have much flavor. And the truth is, it was definitely milkier and less coffee-heavy than I would have liked. But it wasn’t nearly as bad as I feared. So I guess that’s a semi-plus. The breakfast itself was delivered on a long wooden plank, loaded with lots of little salads, 2 stuffed grape leaves, a vegetable salad with grated cheese, sliced bread, a long focaccia and a kashkaval boyikos (which was a dry and boring cheese-filled pocket). The eggs were delivered a few minutes later in their own dish (I took scrambled eggs with mushrooms and herbs). The eggs were pretty flavorless, but with the various cheeses on the breakfast board, and some salt and pepper, they were passable. The smoky eggplant aioli was a standout spread; it had a bit of sweetness, a bit of spice, and plenty of smoke. The cilantro pesto was also great – fresh and flavorful. The tzatziki, however, could have benefited from some more fresh flavor. The same goes for the grilled peppers – they were decidedly plain, and that was a letdown, since they were one of the draws that pulled me to the Greek breakfast over the regular one. Another draw – the grape leaves – was justified. They were served warm, and were flavorful and just tangy enough. Perhaps they could have been rolled a bit tighter, but I was cutting them apart anyway. The fresh salad was actually wonderful – unexpectedly so. It was seasoned and balanced and crisp. I enjoyed the little cubes of fried cheese as well, mainly because they were fried. I arrived very hungry, which is why I chose such a large meal option. But I should have known better: These big breakfasts are always way too much food. There was no way I could finish anything. I did, however, make a point to at least try it all. I would have loved to finish the focaccia, were my body capable of it. The waiters seemed pretty overwhelmed and could probably have used some support staff; I had to ask for water four times before it was brought to my table (a bottle of room temperature water and a cup filled with ice).
Who else was there: A father in his thirties shared a table with his three daughters of various ages, and their mom; the girls ranged in age from late teens to about nine. The dad was fair and had a shaved, bald head with sunglasses perched on top. The mom had straightened hair and heavy makeup. The girls all had long, straight, dark hair, wore no makeup, and had on solid-color tank tops befitting the hot summer season.
It was a special treat for the girls to go out with their divorced parents, in the summer, on a weekday. It was the middle daughter’s birthday and the oldest was going to be enlisting to the army soon. So it was a good opportunity for everyone to spend a little time together. The family conversed quietly, without much vigor. They mainly focused quietly on their food. But when the conversation did happen, it was full of real talk: nitty gritty advice and suggestions about the way forward for each of them in their studies, summer jobs and military. This wasn’t a celebration, but it was an occasion.
