Farewell through the smoke screen: at the age of 99, Mishu, the king of kebabs, passed away
Micho, the Romanian kebab king of Jaffa, passed away last night.
Nir Kipnis said goodbye in an obituary shrouded in grill smoke
Nir Kipnis
09/20/2022
Tuesday, September 20, 2022, 3:00 p.m. Updated: 3:02 p.m.
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There are culinary stations that the foodies of old, in the era before social networks and videotaped recipes, would pass on by word of mouth.
Everyone knew about Dobi and Sima's shifodia in Givat Olga, about "Hasilonim" (or "Gambari" as the Arabs called them) that are served at Jacko's in downtown Haifa or at Idi's in Ashdod.
About "Herzl Discount", the mythical interior parts restaurant in Kiryat Malachi (which didn't even have a name and was named after the nearby bank branch), about the Kostiza of the beer spring in Haifa or about the wonderful beer taps of Mati and Elimelech on the outskirts of the Aliya market.
Micho's Kebab Kingdom on Raziel St. in Jaffa, between Itzik Gadol and the Clock Square, was one of those places that, when you set your foot on its steps, you felt - if you need an image that fits the spirit of those days - like a child who found the entrance to the electric cave of the Hasamba group.
And perhaps putting your foot on the threshold is a suitable prelude to the smoke-shrouded obituary for Misho, who left his training a few years after the place named after him closed.
There were two chairs at the entrance of the restaurant, between them a mop and behind them someone we called "Ms. Micho", without a first name - who shouted the attention of everyone who came early and arrived, let's say at 11:59, to the fact that the handwritten sign at the entrance clearly states that the place Open only on Tuesdays - Thursdays between 12:00 and 15:00 - and woe betide those who think that this is a petrashka language and want to spoil the line.
Before you could even sit down, a basket of sliced white bread was already placed on the table with sauerkraut on the side.
The rest had to be ordered.
There were several dishes at the place, but everyone came for the kebab: at first you ordered a dish, then another - and if you drank enough "Spritz", you also ordered the third.
The spritz consisted of Carmel Hook wine, with a metal screw cap (long before this was trendy among winemakers) and soda that was served to the table in a Sipolux, Siphon in Hebrew - remember this device with the handle on the side, that, under the pressure of the gases, soda flowed into the glasses?
Everyone came for the kebab (photo: screenshot, Facebook)
On my first visit to Kebab Temple, I was, I think, the only diner under the age of 60 and probably the only one who didn't speak Romanian.
Despite this, it was impossible not to connect with the atmosphere, the aristocracy of Bucharest immigrants alongside porters from the flea market who came to enjoy the best kebab in the city, a kebab that according to Romanian tradition contained a lot of baking soda, one of his would accidentally fall on the floor, would jump up to the ceiling by himself...
and still - It was a juicy and tasty kebab on a level that brought tears to the diner's eyes, even before the smoke that constantly rose from the grill in the kitchen reached them, the one that Micho beat with the vigor of a boy, even when he was already well into his eighth decade.
No matter what you ate, the meal always ended up on the bill with the lady at the cash register, who pulled out a pencil and compiled it on a small piece of paper according to the truth report that each diner submitted to her.
If you liked her, you received a spicy green eucalyptus candy, designed to convey the smell of the crushed garlic that accompanied each dish.
In vain: the mouthwash left by the diners smelled so garlicky that the dish was also nicknamed "contraceptive".
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Micho the kebab king (photo: screenshot, Facebook)
Micho, who from now on will only wave above the big barbecue in the sky, was not a cook, certainly not a chef.
The concept of "culinary" was foreign to him - and it is doubtful that he even knew what a "grill man" was.
He simply made, grilled and served the best Romanian kebab that could be found in Israel and he did it for years, with days and hours of activity that got smaller and smaller with age - until they stopped altogether.
The longing for Mishu is therefore not a longing for his kebab, certainly not for the garlic-filled hiccups that came after him, but a longing for the days when even the best among professionals did not aspire to explosive titles or pretended to win titles, but simply aspired (besides a lot of smoke) to do the only thing they do on The best side.
And yet, even though he didn't ask for it, we will give him the title he was entitled to in the law and say goodbye in the sentence: Peace be upon you, from Jesus the king of the kebab.
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