During last year's Ramadan we decided to break fast in Amman (ie the capital of Jordan, mhmmm mhmmm). Since Muslims fast throughout the day during Ramadan, the evening meal, called Iftar, is somewhat reminiscent of a Ukrainian wedding feast, except you have to attend said wedding every night for a month, all the while steering clear of the booze and merrymaking (nevermind, how Ukrainian is a booze-less wedding? Possibly less Ukrainian than the statue of liberty). When fasting, you are not allowed to eat or drink, and if you ever see a Muslim spitting profusely during Ramadan it is also because some people believe swallowing their saliva is un-Ramadany too. In my best efforts to be a devout Muslim for a day I went without Coke for about two hours. I was also explained that eating and drinking in public would be the biggest taboo that has ever lived, but having succumbed to my lack of willpower I scavenged the streets in search of an open shop to feed my fizzy soil colored liquid addiction. Having at last found a semi-open corner store full of men catching Ramadan z's I beyond awkwardly purchased some Bebsi (the Arab Pepsi. duh). I tried to offer them an explanation--something along the lines of--I'm saving it for later, but they didn't speak any English, so I'm pretty sure they thought I was rubbing the Bebsi in their faces. I then proceeded to crawl under the seat in the car and practise gluttony on a can of Pepsi in a foetal roll on the floor.
The thought of starvation continued to haunt me throughout the day. My state fluctuated between sheer delirium and the feeling of certain death for nearly an hour when the sun started setting and the scent of cooking on the streets penetrated my senses like potent smelling salts. We chose Tannoureen for breaking fast--a Lebanese feastaurant (or fastaurant? I have a degree in wordplay. No I don't! You so bought that). My delirious state, coupled with the afternoon prayer and the gleaming of the day's last rays directly into my eye made the whole thing unbelievably surreal. We were surrounded by burka-clad ladies and beardy men excitedly lasering the dates on the table with their eyes (it's tradition to break fast with dates first. I obviously funnelled down my plate of dates, pits and all, way before the sun was down). But here is the climax of my story you have been on the edge of your seat for: when our collective prayer finally made the sun go away and its rays stopped harassing my retina, the fury of hunger was unleashed on what I can only describe as a gigantic, never-ending, mind boggling buffet of extremely unfamiliar food fit to feed an army of godzillas. Despite the hunger-fuelled stampede, there was so much food in every corner of the room that malnourished tears were short of pouring down my face in disbelief at the heavenly display.
Obviously I was too busy hoovering down unidentified grub to take pictures. Photography only infiltrated my thoughts by the time I turned into this and it was dessert time.
The thought of starvation continued to haunt me throughout the day. My state fluctuated between sheer delirium and the feeling of certain death for nearly an hour when the sun started setting and the scent of cooking on the streets penetrated my senses like potent smelling salts. We chose Tannoureen for breaking fast--a Lebanese feastaurant (or fastaurant? I have a degree in wordplay. No I don't! You so bought that). My delirious state, coupled with the afternoon prayer and the gleaming of the day's last rays directly into my eye made the whole thing unbelievably surreal. We were surrounded by burka-clad ladies and beardy men excitedly lasering the dates on the table with their eyes (it's tradition to break fast with dates first. I obviously funnelled down my plate of dates, pits and all, way before the sun was down). But here is the climax of my story you have been on the edge of your seat for: when our collective prayer finally made the sun go away and its rays stopped harassing my retina, the fury of hunger was unleashed on what I can only describe as a gigantic, never-ending, mind boggling buffet of extremely unfamiliar food fit to feed an army of godzillas. Despite the hunger-fuelled stampede, there was so much food in every corner of the room that malnourished tears were short of pouring down my face in disbelief at the heavenly display.
Obviously I was too busy hoovering down unidentified grub to take pictures. Photography only infiltrated my thoughts by the time I turned into this and it was dessert time.
Unidentified weiner-shaped meatballssticks and something in a taco roll
Goga gola
This may come as a surprise but I know what this is called: it is called Luqaimat and they are like deep-fried sugar balls. Ta da!
So I guess Iftar in Jordan is one experience I will never forget. Just imagining that people get to do this every day for a month makes me wonder why I am not Muslim yet, but then I remember about the fasting part and that answers my question. Ok baiii
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