Open-Air Market: The Flea Market at Yaffo

I spent this afternoon winding in and out of the Flea Market at Yaffo. Open-air markets always interest me, but this mad jumble of old junk shops, genuine antiques, garish clothes, eateries big and eateries small and sidewalk displays of every imaginable object just entrances me.

I get a particular kick out of the history attached to the place. if you have the patience to read through a report by the Israel Antiquities Authority, you will find that under the shouk are remains dating as far back as the Iron Age, going through Crusader fortifications, Early Islamic pottery, Byzantine winepresses, Ottoman irrigation, and cannon belonging to Napoleon’s army. I have taken the walking tour presented by Yona Wiseman twice, and have loved every minute. I just don’t get tired of the romantic, tawdry, odorous, noisy, colorful Shuk HaPishpishim - flea market.

The Clock Tower, set just outside the Flea Market, is a popular rendezvous. It was built in 1906 for a despotic sultan, but nowadays serves mostly as a gathering place. I met my friend Linda there, and we started our walk through the market.

We headed up the street, giving and taking sidewalk space with the varied crowd. Once in the shouk, I was amused by this old selzer-water dispenser (Gimme a two-cents plain):

And by this stack of shesh-besh (backgammon) boxes next to a stack of fez hats:

We passed an impromptu mincha (afternoon prayer) service on the street:

…and were tempted to drink a glass of freshly-squeezed pomegranate juice at this stand:

“But I must find some solid food facts about this shouk,” I told Linda, striding right past the famous Doctor Shakshoukah restaurant. Luckily I glanced up and saw the sign, or I never would have guessed that behind this shabby entrance was the place where shakshoukah, the humble egg and tomato sauce dish of the Middle East, has been elevated to an almost cult status.

It was semi-dark in there, and every table was crowded. Notice the crazy collection of old cooking pots hanging from the ceiling. Wish I could take one of them home!

I asked Bino Gabso, owner of the restaurant, for permission to take photos.

He was more than obliging. When I asked a little about him and the background of the place, he told me that although he was born here in Israel, his father came from Libya, and he founded the restaurant in 1949. Bino said that he’s worked in Dr. Shakshoukah all his life. It used to be located somewhat farther down the street, but has functioned in its present location for the past 17 years. Bino is particularly proud of the luster his resto acquired when an article mentioning it appeared in a 2007 edition of Food and Wine Magazine.

The cuisine is mostly Libyan (Tripolitan), but Bino has allowed a certain Moroccan element to creep in, as your nose will tell you when a waitress wafts a plate of spicy merguez sausages past it. A nice family allowed me to take a picture of their dinner: couscous; a dish of beef, masran (which is stuffed sheep’s intestine), and pea sauce; vegetable soup; pickles; and a fresh salad. This ensemble is called “Bizili Complet.”

There is a room outside, with a sukkah. You sit down together with the rest of the hungry public at long tables.

I caught a glimpse of the kitchen:

And looking down, noticed the floor tiles, which, although I’m far from an expert, I think must be at least 100 years old.

I know, mere babies in this ancient, ancient town.

And here is the dish for which the restaurant is named: Shakshoukah. They serve it to you right in its native skillet, spitting hot.

There are many variations on shakshoukah. At Dr. S.’s, you can order  it with sausage or eggplant.

I’ve always made it just by poaching eggs in leftover spaghetti sauce. Add plenty of grated cheese, and there’s a hot breakfast or light, late dinner. But Bino has allowed one of his shakshoukah recipes to go online, so I translated it for you.

Dr. Shakshoukah’s Shakshoukah

Ingredients:

4 Tblsp. oil (use olive oil, there’s nothing better)

2-3 small, hot, green peppers (Use 1 sweet bell pepper if you don’t want it hot.)

4 eggs

4 peeled cloves of garlic

4-5 small, ripe tomatoes

Salt to taste

1 Tblsp. paprika, either hot or sweet, or half and half

Method:

1. Heat the oil in a skillet, over a high flame.

2. Coarsely chop the tomatoes, green peppers, and garlic, and throw them into the skillet.

3. Lower the flame somewhat, and continue frying the vegetables till the tomatoes soften. Stir once in a while and throw a little salt in.

4. Continue cooking, stirring occasionally, for about 7 minutes.

5. Add the paprika and continue stirring.

6. Keep cooking another 2 minutes and then break the eggs into the skillet.

7. With a spoon, push the yolks into the red sauce; don’t break them. When they yolks are set and the whites are cooked through, serve the shakshoukah.

Bino recommends serving plenty of sliced white bread with the dish, as an aid to devouring the sauce. I recommend pita instead.

*

The Flea Market and its eateries starting closing down around us as we continued walking. I wandered into a ful and choumous place, looking for an evil can of Coke to drink, and the owner warned me that there was no more food. We were allowed to sit and drink our Coke. But it was a sign that it was time to move on.

I wonder what it’s like in the Yaffo Flea Market at night. I read that there are drug and crime problems there. Maybe shifty-looking characters lurk in the corners and alleys when the crowds are gone. Maybe all kinds of illicit exchanges take place in the dark; maybe some hearts gladden and maybe some hearts break.

But I like to think that in the junk shops, piles of dusty photographs quiver and move, and the people in them break their stiff poses to step out, and that wooden statues, ceramic figurines, and wire mannekins also come to life. They would socialize, laugh creakily over the ridiculous things they’d watched shoppers do, maybe console each other. Would the ancient typewriters start clacking, would the shot glasses and tea cups on the shelves tip towards each other in silent salute? Would all the hopes and memories of the people who once owned these things fly around the ceiling, looking in vain to embody themselves again?

I wonder.