Latest features Creative cooking from the Holy Land

Date Published:

20/03/2008

The West Bank isn't everyone's first choice for fine dining. But Whetham Allpress shared a tasty meal with some refugees in Bethlehem and found a more savoury side to the troubled region

Dining on the West Bank

Bethlehem is not an area known foremost for its food. The gastronomic side of an area steeped in feasting tradition is normally overshadowed by its rich religious heritage or ongoing political conflict.

This is a tragedy. The region's cuisine has a lot to offer; amazing falafel, delicious hummus and spit-roasted spiced meats that fill the streets with enticing aromas.

So when a refugee family living in a camp in the city invited me out of my media-enclave to join them for dinner I accepted with relish.

Coffee on the West Bank

But as I made my way to my culinary appointment I had to admit I was nervous. Earlier that afternoon I had skirted around Manger Square, just beyond the Church of the Nativity and watched several thousand local men gather to mourn the assassination of four Islamic Jihad resistance fighters. This incident drew the West Bank further into conflict with Israel.

Meeting the locals

Now as the sun set I walked past the deserted Intercontinental Hotel, along a graffittied stretch of the separation wall dividing Israel from the West Bank, and into Aida camp, a concrete, multi-level neighbourhood, home to 3000 or so Palestinian refugees. Footballs tumbled past. Kids from all various angles and altitudes teased me with a predictable volley of wonky 'hi's and 'hello's. A long forgotten stranger-danger feeling crept back into my stomach. Bethlehem's shops had been closed in protest for the second day running, so I was approaching my dinner date empty-handed, adding to my insecurity.

'Murharba, murharba. Hello, hello. Come in.'

The camp's kitchen

I was greeted with warm smiles from my hostess and her younger cousin (both called Samira) and ushered in to the apartment. I’d arrived at the crucial chicken-preparation stage and the women quickly abandoned me and headed back into the tiny kitchen to finish the food. Feeling something between a guest and a health inspector, I followed them. Lemony steam billowed from a huge pot and fogged up my glasses. I felt hungry.