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Mawadda Cafe

4433 S. Graham St.
Seattle, WA 98118
206/760-0911

Payment: Cash, Visa and MasterCard accepted.

Hours:
11:30 a.m. to 9:30 p.m. daily.
 

May 2008

by A.V. Crofts

© Copyright 2008 ColorsNW Magazine

Kabob Kingdom

Mediterranean and Middle Eastern Dishes in Hillman City

“I’ll pay you a thousand dollars if you can find falafel as good as mine!”

Rami Al-Jebori was entertaining me in the kitchen of Mawadda Cafe as he hand-pressed an order of four falafel patties and carefully slid them one by one into a deep frying pan of hot oil. The blackened pan was battered beyond recognition from years of falafel-frying duty, but Al-Jebori treated it with totemic respect. With a prizefighter face and starched white chef’s jacket, Al-Jebori approaches his cooking with a steady confidence that lends itself to such outlandish propositions. However, it’s a bet that Al-Jebori will certainly win, since ultimately he’ll be the judge, not you.

Al-Jebori’s bravado is both strategic and survivalist. After more than 20 years of cooking under other people’s direction, he struck out on his own last August with Mawadda, a small storefront at the hub of Seattle’s Hillman City neighborhood in South Seattle. “I’m going to build a customer base on the strength of my personality and the quality of my food,” he says. As personable as he is driven, Al-Jebori’s mission is to turn first-time visitors into repeat customers. The thrill of ownership is tempered by the fear of failure, but Al-Jebori has no regrets. “You have to put in more effort and more hours, but when you get tired, you realize it’s worth it because it’s for your own benefit,” he says, “That’s the beautiful feeling, I have freedom.”

The eldest of 10 children, Iraqi-born Al-Jebori was raised in the Muslim holy city of Najaf. He left Iraq in 1985 in his early twenties, during the Iran-Iraq War, having buried his father, a political casualty of Saddam Hussein’s government, one week before fleeing his homeland. “My father was 18 when I was born, we were so close.” Today, he and his siblings are scattered across three continents, with his youngest brother’s whereabouts unknown since March 2006, when he was kidnapped in Iraq. He had gone there from Syria to retrieve the necessary documents to secure his visa to the United States. Despite this deeply personal tragedy associated with the U.S. involvement in Iraq, Al-Jebori can be inscrutable on the topic. “I don’t have an answer,” he tells customers who ask for his opinion, “I think the war is something that’s political and bigger than me.”

Al-Jebori first settled in Chicago in 1986, eventually making his way west to Seattle. “I spent all my life in the U.S. working in restaurants,” he says. “I got my first job as a dishwasher. I had a notebook with me at all times. I would finish washing my dishes as fast as I could so I could go talk to the chefs.” Al-Jebori could now fill a small library with his notebook and cookbook collection. As a former engineer, Al-Jebori brings an academic methodology to his recipes. “I didn’t just watch. I read a lot. I’m still reading. I am so passionate about Indian and Mediterranean spices.” One of his meat marinades at Mawadda combines a staggering 24 spices.

Al-Jebori sums up his approach to cooking in a simple statement: “Show me; don’t tell me.” The same could be said for how he conducts an interview. It was a Sunday when I visited Mawadda, and I arrived to find Al-Jebori outside cleaning the cafe windows with the same measured investment of energy that he applies to his craft. No sooner had we sat down to speak than a customer arrived, so we moved the interview to the cozy kitchen and I had the benefit of watching him prepare dishes, banter with diners and field multiple calls from his wife, reminding him to eat. (Her appeals failed.) “When my wife came here from Iraq, she didn’t know how to fry an egg!” he said. (“Why should she need to?” a customer shot back.) In the case of Mawadda, describing the menu is best done via its preparation.

Chai ($1) is available at all times at Mawadda in a self-serve carafe. Al-Jebori has refined his spice mixture to the point that he keeps it in two separate containers in opposite corners of the kitchen to prevent anyone walking off with his recipe.

Having enjoyed many a cup of chai at Mawadda, I can see the reason for what some might call his paranoia. (One dining companion of mine gushed, “This is the best chai I’ve ever had in my life!”) Mawadda’s chai has a taste that stuns the competition. It’s complex, rich with milk and steeped with care.

The brewing process starts with a metal teapot that looks the same vintage as the falafel pan and is afforded similar reverence. Al-Jebori fills the pot with cold water (“Hot water is no good, it must be cold.”) and sets it to boil. Five teabags, a cup of sugar, generous handfuls of the secret spice mixture and a can of evaporated milk later, it’s time to pour the brew into the rinsed carafe, carefully straining the spice mixture. Mawadda’s chai is a little miracle in a cup. For those in search of something cold, I’d skip the standard sodas ($1) and opt for either the mango or guava juice boxes ($1), both equally refreshing.

Al-Jebori may have started his restaurant career in this country, but his first introduction to the technique behind superior kabobs – arguably the heavyweight dish of Mawadda – came on the streets of Baghdad, where he completed his engineering degree and spent many a night visiting with a friend who ran a local cafe. “I like to talk to everybody. I learned their secrets.”

To make his Meso Kabob ($8.99), Al-Jebori starts with a blend of beef and lamp ground with onions, parsley and his trademark pinch of spice. Wielding a “shish” – or spear – that if waved the wrong way would appear menacing, he wets his hands and presses the meat around the skewer, careful to spread it evenly. A quick couple minutes over the grill and then he flips it, to create an evenly cooked outer layer. He pulls one off the flame and shows it to me after about five minutes: It’s fully cooked on the exterior but the interior remains pink. “Now, I’ll show you one of the secrets – ‘horizontal heat.’ ”

Placing the kabob back on the grill, where flames lick up to the fatty drippings, Al-Jebori takes a well-worn rectangle of cardboard from under the stove and fans briskly at the grill, flattening the heat and allowing the kabobs to cook through. As he works the skewers, he heats a pan of aromatic rice pilaf, tosses thick pita bread in a panini grill to warm and sets out plates with a fresh side salad (which can be purchased separately for $1.99, or, if you ask nicely, could be swapped for grilled tomatoes) dressed with an ambrosial homemade pomegranate dressing that I’ve been known to take shots of straight up, no chaser. A small cup of hummus and one of creamy garlic sauce round out the presentation. (The garlic sauce recipe was originally a creation he dreamed up for his daughter – he is the father of three – as an alternative to ketchup. She liked it so much he decided to add it to the menu at Mawadda. It’s outstanding.)

The kabobs are pulled off their swords onto the bed of rice, sprinkled with a savory dark red powder made from wild sumac berries, joined by the quartered pita, salad and sauces. Believe me, for all you carnivores out there, it tastes as good as it sounds.

For those who crave variety, the Sultani ($11.99) combines the meso kabob, lamb kabob and chicken kabobs, the final two both grilled in generous chunks and not ground. It’s served with the same trappings as all the main platters.

For the Shawarma ($8.99 for lamb, $7.99 for chicken), Al-Jebori cooks marinated meat on a flat grill surface and cuts in fresh onion for a Persian stir-fry of sorts. I sampled the chicken Shawarma, rich with hints of cumin, turmeric and chili flakes. For those who enjoy the pungent notes of tahini, the Kufta-Tahini ($8.99) grills up a ground beef and lamb patty and sits it on a generous ladle of tahini sauce. I found the strength of the tahini competed too much with the absolutely delicious meat, but for tahini fans, this dish has your name on it. For a quick bite, the shawarma, kufta, or falafel can be rolled up in a filling pita sandwich ($4.99-$5.99).

Al-Jebori makes no compromises on fresh ingredients. “Everything I make is from scratch.” Many of Mawadda’s appetizers are vegetarian, and combine well for satisfying entrée platters (vegetarian platters are each $7.99 and are served with garlic sauce and pita bread). Juicy stuffed grape leaves, creamy hummus (“I make it daily!”), crispy baked triangular phyllo pockets of spanakopita filled with feta and spinach, and of course Al-Jebori’s famed falafel, are each more memorable than the last.

The falafel also shine in the Falafel Salad ($6.99) where a falafel quartet sit atop romaine, olives, cucumbers, onions and tomatoes, graced with falafel’s trusty partner, tahini sauce and a few crumbles of feta cheese.

Mawadda’s Sambosas ($1.50 each) are a Middle Eastern version of samosas and Al-Jebori has vegetarian, beef, or chicken at the ready. I preferred the tender ground beef to the shredded chicken, and I noticed a lull in the conversation when my vegetarian dining companion gobbled up hers, which contained peas, carrots and potatoes. Finally, while I’ve not had the full entrée, I have sampled Al-Jebori’s marinara sauce, so while people might scratch their head about Italian dishes on the menu (Mawadda’s many Somali customers are grateful), given that Al-Jebori spent many a night concocting sauces for Italian restaurants over his career as a chef, he’s got some talent when it comes to a red sauce.

Al-Jebori takes as much care with his desserts as he does with his main courses.

Mawadda’s flaky Baklava ($1.50) was enough to make me close my eyes in solemn praise, with pistachios and honey intermingling under a thick gooey crust of baked phyllo dough. The Busma ($1.50) reminds me of a light shortbread with honey and pistachios and is presented cut in a square in a small serving bowl. Al-Jebori insisted we sample it as it was intended: with our hands. You don’t have to ask me twice.

Finally, the Burma ($1.50) is a sliced section of thin strands of toasted phyllo dough with pistachios and honey in the center, a wonderful alternative for baklava fans who are looking for an alternative presentation. And while they’re not on the menu, Mawadda sells packaged date cookies (along with a handful of other nonperishable foodstuffs) imported from Saudi Arabia for $5, and they are melt-in-your mouth good.

I asked Al-Jebori about the origins of his café’s name. “Mawadda means love,” he says. “I believe it’s a beautiful name for a place like this. I just feel like my customers are my guests. It’s not like a bigger restaurant where all they care about is making money.” Clearly, Al-Jebori treats each dish is a labor of love, and it shows in both the presentation and the taste.

Before I leave I ask Al-Jebori about what makes his falafel so addictive, fishing for a recipe. Not a chance, he says.

“This is something no one knows – just God and me.”