A city of colour
After decades of darkness, Lebanon’s capital Beirut is shining bright, writes Siobhan Downes.
The best icecream shop in the world can be found in a leafy suburb in the heart of Beirut. Yes, you read that right. Beirut, the main stage for Lebanon’s brutal civil war. Beirut, the birthplace of the modern car bomb. Beirut, the home of Hezbollah. Who would have thought such a bitter place could produce something so… sweet?
The man giving Mr Whippy a run for his money is Mitri Hanna Moussa. His icecream parlour, Al Salam (which means peace in Arabic), was opened by his late father in 1949.
Even during the war, which consumed the city from 1975 to 1990, the shop never once closed – not even when explosions were going off around it. You can still see bullet holes on the ramshackle building that houses the parlour.
Mitri is famous for his traditional Arabic icecream, a sorbet-like delicacy made using fresh ingredients. Flavours include lemon so tangy it fizzes on the tongue, apricot studded with pine nuts, and – my favourite – delicate yet exotic rosewater.
The best part? I get to sample them all.
‘‘The single scoop is not a Middle Eastern concept,’’ explains my guide, Iffat of local food tour company Taste Lebanon, as Mitri uses a thin spatula to press chunks of each flavour into a rectangular icecream cone.
Mitri’s tiny shop is too cramped to eat inside, so we sit out in the sun, happily licking the frozen treat.
For many in the west, the word ‘‘Beirut’’ still conjures images of destruction and danger. But I live in Dubai, where, with a flight time of just under four hours, Beirut is a popular destination for a hedonistic long weekend. When I tell friends of my travel plans, I am bombarded with recommendations for party spots.
In the area where I am staying, a trendy neighbourhood called Badaro, trees strewn with twinkling fairy lights line the streets. There are sushi joints and cocktail bars. There is even a microbrewery, where hipster bartenders serve up pints of a craft beer named ‘‘Tipsy Camel’’.
There are also soldiers and tanks on random street corners. I am scanned with a metal detector wand as I check into my hotel.
But it’s not long before these things start blurring into the background – and what comes into sharper focus are the efforts of Beirutis to embrace a brighter future for their city. You just have to know where to look.
A good place to start is Mar Mikhael. The bohemian suburb used to be an industrial area, until the low rent attracted the city’s creatives. Hip galleries, restaurants and bars soon started sprouting up alongside the auto repair shops and hardware stores. It’s now one of the city’s most vibrant neighbourhoods.
Street artists have played a big part in breathing life into the area. Crumbling old stairways have been transformed into rainbows, painted with vivid hues and patterns.
The installations are the work of a collective of artists called Dihzahyners (pronounced like designers), whose mission is to rejuvenate gloomy areas of the city with cheerful splashes of colour. The Mar Mikhael steps have become a landmark in their own right, beloved by tourists and locals.
Food has also helped bring people together. Mar Mikhael is home to a unique farm-to-table restaurant named Tawlet. It was established by Kamal Mouzawak, a culinary activist who also set up the first farmers’ market in Lebanon. Every day, a different cook from a different part of the country is invited to the restaurant to showcase their region’s best dishes. The whole idea is make food – not war.
For about $40, Tawlet offers an allyou-can-eat buffet lunch. The day’s dishes are written on a chalkboard.
When I visit, there’s a spread of creamy hummus and salads studded with jewel-like pomegranate seeds, spicy fried potatoes, and little meat patties called kibbeh slathered in tangy yoghurt.
I stuff myself to the verge of collapse,
but not before I manage to squeeze in a generous slice of kunafeh – a dessert made of warm, gooey cheese soaked in sweet rosewater syrup, with shredded pastry on top.
The silver lining of Lebanon’s troubled history is that it has resulted in a particularly diverse food landscape, with influences from Palestine, Syria and Armenia.
One of the best ways to dip into the melting pot is by booking a food tour with Taste Lebanon. Founded by Lebanese food blogger and cookbook author Bethany Kehdy, the company arranges culinary journeys around Lebanon, including a one-day Beirut Bites tour.
It’s on this tour that my guide, Iffat, introduces me to Mitri’s life-changing icecream. She also takes me to Beirut’s ‘‘falafel district’’, where hole-in-thewall shops selling fried chickpea balls are lined up all in a row. In one of the shops, the owner gives me a freshly fried morsel to sample. It’s crisp and fluffy and delicious. Once I’ve verbalised my approval with a series of ‘‘mmm’’ noises, he sets to work assembling me a falafel sandwich, piled with crunchy pickles and dripping with tahini sauce.
Between bites, Iffat talks me through the city’s tumultuous past. She tells me stories of grand mansions that became snipers’ nests during the war. Many of these beautiful old buildings are now decrepit, inhabited by squatters.
‘‘These buildings played an important role as witnesses to the conflict,’’ Iffat says. ‘‘But we don’t