This morning, after meeting my Arabic teacher for the first time over breakfast, she and I walked down Avenue Bourguiba toward the old city. This route takes you directly past the French embassy, centrally located and a lasting reminder of the days of French rule. Back in the late 1800s, the embassy and the catholic cathedral were built across the street from each other on the new, European style avenue stretching eastward from the old, winding, crowded Medina that was the extent of Tunis for centuries. The French quickly filled up acres of marshland with new roads arranged in a grid, and the Europeans promptly left their quarters in the old city for new digs along the colonial avenues. Today, however, the French seem very much put in their place, the embassy surrounded by thick rolls of razor wire and gobs of police and military personnel filling the streets surrounding the compound. The streets around there are crowded with shoppers, and they must be careful not to rip their plastic bags on these intimidating barricades.
As we went our separate ways, she reminded me that today was Friday and that protests in front of the embassy were quite likely after afternoon prayers - perhaps it was a good day for me to grab a nice lunch and then hang around the hotel for the rest of the day? I'm aware that most Tunisians assume me to be French, which is quite understandable here but somehow slightly offensive to a proud Yankee. The French intervention in Mali, which from what I gather is nearly universally supported in the US and Europe, has a great many detractors here who see it as yet another instance of harmful Western meddling in African affairs. The subsequent troubles in Algeria represent the complicated consequence these actions can bring about. While I honestly don't think much could have happened to me in Tunis this afternoon even in a worst-case scenario, I had done my share of touristy things over the past few days and was fine to take it easy rather than risk being yelled at by angry protesters.
So, I aimed to find a satisfying lunch that would tide me over for the rest of the day, and I looked to spend as few dinars as possible. In Tunisia, that leads you to Lablabi (لبلابي).
Lablabi is the ultimate traditional peasant food in Tunisia, and can be found all around Tunis at any restaurant or street stand displaying a pyramid of ceramic bowls. There are two sizes, although both are quite substantial. The buyer has to do most of the work, as the bowl is given to you with two big chunks of chewy bread which you must tear into tiny pieces. Once you're done, the bowl is filled to the brim. The cook then takes the bowl from you and pours on chickpeas and a healthy scoop of the broth they've been simmering in. Atop this he will put olive oil, a TON of cumin, garlic, an egg, and harissa, a chili paste that is ubiquitous in Tunisia. Additionally, you can ask for tuna, which I did. I was at a relatively classy place, so they threw in some capers as well. The bowl is given back to you, and the diner must go back to work, using two big spoons to thoroughly mix it all into a uniform looking dish. Basically, you get soggy bread with a bunch of stuff in it, but when done well it can be surprisingly good. The flavor is subtle, but the spice of the harissa and the richness of the egg and tuna make for a very satisfying, if simple, meal. I leisurely enjoyed it while the restaurant played the radio feed of a mosque service over its speakers.
The last few bites of lablabi.
The large bowl seems to contain about as much as an adult male's stomach can possibly hold, and the last few spoonfuls required summoning all my manly strength. After scraping the last of the lablabi from the bowl, I was thoroughly slaked and sated. Price of this meal, along with a coke and a likely tourist surcharge? About two and a half bucks, and I know that I could have gotten it far cheaper elsewhere in the city.
Although I was curious to see what was going on in town that afternoon, the lablabi helped convince me it would be best to relax a bit and nap off some of this starchy feast. I felt a long way from European interventions in Mali, kidnappings in Algeria, and unrest in North Africa. I'll read the paper tomorrow and see what I missed.
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