Better than at Home

Freekeh salad

Place: Ofaimme at Hansen House, Jerusalem

When: Sunday, midday

Environment: The café is located in an old leper colony compound, which has been repurposed into a multidisciplinary community center of sorts, with classes, events, eateries and gardens. The indoor area of Ofaimme is almost like a sunroom, with walls of aluminum that end halfway up and glass panels above. The glass has shapes painted on it in bold primary colors. The space sits atop a poured concrete floor. Wooden swinging barn doors close off both the bathroom and kitchen. Indoors was noisy, between the kitchen clatter, children shrieking and other diners. Outside in the garden was more serene, with a few trees offering cover, but there was still too much of a chill in the air despite the winter sun.

My Order: “Me’avrer” freekeh salad (NIS 65), citrus pastry twist (NIS 19), small cappuccino (NIS 14)

The low-down: The essence of the salad was toasted green wheat kernels (aka “freekeh”), rather than vegetables. This freekeh was not as smoky as some other freekeh I’ve had; I would have liked it smokier, but this version probably appeals to more people. The salad was fresh and tangy with chopped green herbs and lots of lemon, plus some strips of lettuce and a dollop of creamy white cheese. It might have been a bit too salty, but somehow the combination of flavors rendered me unable to stop spooning it into my mouth. It was simple and just really appealing. The salad came with sliced bread, which boasted an excellent sourdough taste, but came with no spreads. I ordered a side of butter to go with the bread, which was provided at no charge. The cappuccino was heavy on coffee flavor, light on milk – which is a good thing. That said, the foam could have been denser (it was airy) and the actual beans had a bit of a sour aftertaste (I prefer bitter). But still, not a bad cup of coffee. The twisted pastry was buttery and flaky, with a bit of a crunch on the outside, and was generously drizzled with a citrus icing. I knew that was what I had ordered, but in hindsight, a regular pastry without the icing would have been better, for my taste. It was good to have the coffee to balance the sugary icing. In the end, I had to take home more than half of the pastry for later, to mete out the sweet in smaller installments.

It may be worth mentioning that Ofaimme is a bit of a chain these days, with a handful of branches, all based on the produce they grow organically in Israel; generally, Ofaimme relies on sustainable and fair-trade products where they don’t grow it themselves.

Who else was there: A middle aged woman was sitting on her own with a computer. She had thick, curly, dark-dyed hair, and swollen lips. She wore a midnight blue button-down shirt with a lighter blue pattern on it, tucked into jeans. Her feet were in scuffed dark brown loafers, no socks. There was a steady sour look on her face, and she was nonstop with loud, explosive coughing and sniffling. Her cell phone ringer was also on quite loud, and she had no qualms about answering her phone and conducting hacking conversations, in English.

The woman should not have been out of the house. She should have been drinking tea in bed. But she had been in bed for a week already, and the deadlines at work had come and gone. When the sun emerged that day, she decided to venture out – if she stayed home, she’d stay under the covers. And she had to catch up on work. So she parked herself at a table near a plug at a nearby café. She sneezed and coughed and blew her nose and made the other patrons uncomfortable. But she was working and making progress. And she had to take into account her recent difficulties with work – she became dysfunctional when the war started and thought her bosses were out of line to expect her to work during such a time. But after a month or so of putting up with her drama, they gave her an ultimatum – function, or get lost. So she started to collect herself, review the proposals she needed to prepare, and began to work. But the war was still seeping into all of her conversations – her consternation at the government, her sympathy for the wounded and missing – and she continued to beg understanding from clients as she tried to find balance. And then a virus hit her. It all seemed pretty hopeless, she was going to get fired at this rate.

And so she ended up at a café, infecting the neighborhood while trying to save her own neck.

At another table were two little boys, about 10 years old. They ordered hot chocolate and a meal, behaving totally appropriately. Talking quietly, dipping their bread into sauce, using their silverware. One had long hair, one had an earring and paint on his face. One wore a dinosaur fleece and shorts, the other was in sweatpants and a puffy vest. Both were wearing Blundstones. They had some time to kill after school, while their mothers were still at work. Every now and then, they take the cash their moms leave them and treat themselves to a civilized meal in the afternoon, instead of the usual pita pizzas they make themselves. They feel grown-up, going out on their own like that. A little taste of independence, before their moms badger them about their homework later in the evening.