The Bite Test: Friday at Carmel Market
“The food in Israel is the best in the world,” I say, without hesitation.
“You’re welcome to argue with me,” I add with a smile, “but you’ll be wrong.”
This is not an academic claim.
It’s a bite claim.
I’ve traveled quite a bit. Europe, America, Asia, Africa.
I’ve eaten incredible local food, perfectly fine food, and plenty of “why is this even a thing.”
But a food scene like the one in Israel? I haven’t seen anywhere else.
Sure, we didn’t invent fish and chips.
Not tacos.
Not hummus either. (Don’t get me started)
But we do have four advantages that explain why things work differently here:
A gathering of cultures – flavors, traditions, and histories sharing a single spoon.
Ingredients – what grows here grows under a sun that knows what it’s doing. And what doesn’t, we import with intent.
Openness – Israelis will try anything. If it’s strange, they’ll try it twice.
Creative audacity – who puts halva in a croissant? Who adds curry to hummus? Who decides a taco should be the length of a broomstick?
Last Friday, I went to the Carmel Market (Shuk HaCarmel) to test my theory using the most serious research method I know: tasting.
Carmel market is Tel Aviv’s loud, crowded, beloved open-air market, where fruit towers compete with frying oil, and every aisle is a negotiation between tradition and whatever’s trending this week.
It's an old market, with raw meat on the counter and memories clinging to the walls.
And it is also a new one. Hipsters, graffiti, music, and food constantly reinventing itself.
First stop: Fish and chips, first thing in the morning
Yes, it’s not “Israeli.”
But the fish is local, the batter impossibly crisp, everything comes out hot and fresh, with lemon that immediately clears your head.
And yes, it’s gluten free.
When we asked if it was safe for people with celiac, the vendor gave the most market-appropriate answer imaginable:
“If I were a doctor, I wouldn’t be selling food from a stall…”
A note from a celiac mom: it’s always worth asking about cross-contamination.
Second stop: Rolled malawach and pure joy
The next stall proves something I love about Israel.
If someone tells you about a spot where businesses opened and closed constantly, “This place is cursed,” you don’t panic. You open a business and prove them wrong.
A big sign promises “good food and joy,” and it delivers.
He hands over rolled malawach (a Yemenite flaky pan-fried pastry, somewhere between a flatbread and a croissant’s messier cousin), stuffed with egg and crushed tomato.
“It's not fired in oil! Can you believe it?” he says.
Those who want zhug (a fiery Yemenite green chili sauce with herbs and garlic) get it.
Those who don’t want it… get a taste anyway.
And in the background? Music, of course.
Eat. Dance. It’s included.
Third stop: A smoothie and a grandmother’s remedy that burns
Across the way, we asked for smoothies and received a shot of “home medicine” while we waited: ginger, lemon, turmeric.
Strong. Not particularly tasty. Burns just enough to remind you you’re alive.
She’s been here for years. There aren’t many veteran women in the market, and she’s one of them.
And if you want a real market story: she used to have a trash bin everyone used. One day, while she was not feeling well, she asked for help removing the trash. They refused.
There has been no trash bin since.
The market remembers.
Fourth stop: Hummus, but four kinds
To keep going, you need hummus.
At Moshe and Doron’s, you don’t get one hummus. You get four. Why be moderate?
Hummus with curry and hummus sticks (yes, really) was the standout.
For the committed, the “spoon” is a slice of onion, but a normal spoon is allowed. Of course, pita bread is involved.
The most surprising was hummus with mushrooms and lentils, cooked for hours until it nearly masquerades as ground meat, not allowed to be sold in this specific kosher spot.
Here’s a small Israeli magic trick: dietary restrictions become creativity, and vegan hummus disappears in seconds.
Fifth stop: Fréna, pulled meat, and a very Israeli moment
There was still room, so we went for fresh fréna (a North African-style bread, baked hot and fast, chewy inside with a toasted crust), topped with pulled meat.
And right then, a soldier passed by, weapon slung, backpack stuffed with Friday laundry.
He was just looking for something good to eat.
The people around immediately started arguing over who would pay for his meal.
He looked embarrassed. He refused. Then he smiled.
That’s Israel for you.
The end: Ice cream, and a challenge
We finished with berry and pistachio ice cream topped with caramelized pistachio pieces.
I didn’t photograph it. I was too busy licking.
So now you tell me:
Who’s still brave enough to argue that Israel isn’t the tastiest place on earth?
