The whole Mediterranean, the sculpture, the palms, the gold beads, the bearded heroes, the wine, the ideas, the ships, the moonlight, the winged gorgons, the bronzed men, the philosophers; all of it seems to rise in the sour pungent taste of black olives between the teeth. A taste older than meat. Older than wine. A taste as old as cold water.
Lawrence Durrell
Hisham Khalifeh has owned the Middle East Bakery & Grocery on Foster Avenue in Chicago for over 30 years. He is Palestinian and grew up in Ramallah, the most important city on the West Bank. The marvelous foods of the Levant cast a long shadow over the store’s selections and style. I’ve been his customer since my arrival in Chicago in 1988. When my husband and I opened our catering business in 1989, Hisham was one of our first wholesale vendors, the shop where we bought coarse and fine bulgur, 25-pound sacks of basmati rice, 1-liter tins of Lebanese or Turkish olive oil, the best dried dates, figs, and pistachios, along with hand-crafted Middle Eastern spice mixes.
I haven’t run a professional kitchen in quite a few years, and have returned to my status as retail customer. Nonetheless, when I’m in the store, we always talk food, and, for old time’s sake, we talk a little business. This story begins with my last visit to the store. As usual, Hisham and I greet each other rather formally. But after that, I see his eyes are filled with tears. He reported that for the first time in 35 years, the Middle East Bakery would be selling olive oil from his family’s land in Palestine. The oil has arrived; it’s in the city! It needs only to be packaged for retail sales and it will soon be on the shelves.
I love the staff and owners of Middle East Bakery. They have done a beautiful job of updating the space and remain so true to their roots.