The Palomar is the first international foray from the people behind Jerusalemās hottest restaurant, Machneyuda. Yossi Elad (Papi), Uri Navon and Asaf Granit have come over to open a restaurant serving food from modern-day Jerusalem, with a menu that takes influences from southern Spain, Italy, north Africa and the Levant.
Striking royal blue frontage and a pink neon sign in handwritten font greet you on entry. The main area is long and narrow with the kitchen running the full length of the bar, and enough space behind the 16 stools for no further breadth than that of a single-file throng.
Iāve heard some lamenting over this design; busy evenings see those waiting for the coveted (and non-reservable) bar seating doing so in that lane directly behind diners, which must result in inevitable elbow-bashing and frustrated waiters.
But I hear they do the sensible thing of taking your number and calling once a space becomes free, so thereās no need for your clan to hang around like penned-in cattle. Alternatively, you can retire to the wood-panelled dining area at the rear - with space and reservations and tables - but I suspect thatās a lot less fun.
There was a salmon tartare starter special with the soft crunch of pine nuts, parsley, pomegranate, yoghurt, and fried aubergine lightly cured with paprika, the latter a recipe from Tomerās mother. All components great in their own right, and together a plate of unbridled joy. The āJerusalem wayā of polenta is apparently a smooth cheesy mass with truffle oil, mushrooms and Parmesan which is as good a way as any (Ā£5).
As was the zippy little taster of polpo Ć la Papi, disclosing the secrets of yielding octopus seasoned with the saltiness from mulukhiyah leaves, in cahoots with nutty chickpeas, spinach, yogurt and a touch of chilli (Ā£8.50). Be sure to order the spring salad of shaved fennel, asparagus, kohlrabi, sunflower and poppy seeds with a tangy feta vinaigrette, because itās very good (Ā£7).
A neat quenelle of hand chopped beef fillet from the raw section, bound by bulgur, tahini, herbs and pine nuts, was doused at the table by a lime green union of olive oil and lemon juice resulting in a sea of nectar surrounding the tartare island (Ā£8.50). It was very good, but something similar from Arabica Bar & Kitchen is yet to be matched.
Then there was the ox-tail special with preserved lemons, challah breadcrumbs and cool bits of bull vertabrae I paraded in front of my dining partnerās face. Presenting it in a deep bowl with steep sides made it a little tricky to eat, and the meat could have been flaking more, but the dregs were great excavated by some freshly broken challah bread.
The deconstructed kebab - with minced meat, yoghurt and tahini - was a fine dismantle. The āfour toppingsā involve peppery watercress pesto, cured lemons, kalamata olive tapenade and harissa. Unveiling layers of flavour that jostle each other for centre stage, but united, put on a great show (Ā£9.50).
We relinquished decision-making to Tomer for dessert. āOne Basboussa!ā he cried, to the instant feedback of āYes chef!ā from the kitchen infantry. Shortly after, a warm semolina cake with whipped yogurt, orange syrup, ground walnut brittle and a sensationally sour tuile was served and consequently cleared within neighbouring minutes (Ā£6).
The Palomar uses ingredients I naturally gravitate towards thanks to, I suspect, the Levantine blood that partly occupies my veins. Give me meat with yoghurt and lemon, lashings of great olive oil, the bejewelment of pomegranate seeds, mushed up aubergine and tahini - or any variation around these stellar things - and Iām there and most likely, enjoying it.
I like that conversation is interjected by the battle cries of āOne shakshukit, two tortellini, one hamusta, one malabiā and āYes chef!ā every few minutes. I like that waiters come around from behind and the side to top up water and clear plates with a sleight of hand thatās barely noticed. I like that one chef wears a flat cap, and that the reaction I got from our waiter when going for the specials was the verbal equivalent of wetting one's pants with excitement. I like the copious amounts of gorgeous olive oil used in most dishes, and the hearty bread to mop it all up.
āIs this a family-run business?ā I enquire, as our meal draws to a close.
āNo, itās not,ā Papi responds, a knowing look shot over to Tomer. āWeāre more than family. Just not by blood.ā
L'chaim to that.
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