Kaful: Where Iran Lives On at the Top of Nahalat Binyamin

The scent arrives before you do. Turn off Allenby onto Nahalat Binyamin and within ten paces a low curl of charcoal smoke drifts across the pedestrian promenade, carrying the sweetness of seared lamb fat, the floral pinch of black lemon, and something green and bitter underneath. Follow it to a narrow room with its door propped open, a row of small tables spilling onto the street, and a counter behind which two cooks work in parallel: one pulling fresh hummus from a plastic bowl in long, elastic strokes, the other turning skewers over a charcoal bed that glows the color of a pomegranate seed. Kaful, which Tel Avivis know by its Hebrew name HaMitbach HaKaful, literally means the double kitchen. The promise is kept.

Order the hummus first. It arrives in a shallow bowl, still warm, the surface pushed into a crater that pools with tahini and good olive oil. There are several versions. Masabacha, the old Jaffa style, keeps whole chickpeas suspended in a lemony broth that you scoop with folded pita. Ful doubles the legumes, adding stewed fava beans with cumin. The one to order, though, is the lamb hummus: a tangle of braised shoulder on the chickpea puree, topped with cauliflower florets, a scatter of toasted pine nuts, fresh mint, and a final slick of tahini. The chickpea base here is made from scratch every morning, and you can taste the difference. No preservatives, no day-old compromise, just that particular creaminess you get when the beans have been cooked long enough to fall apart in your mouth but not so long that they turn to paste.