I like to cook. I like Falafel. I like to cook (actually to prepare and fry) Falafel at home. This fascination grew mostly out of frustration: most of the people that sell Falafel in Berlin should stand trial in front of the Hague international court in the tribunal dealing with crimes against culinarity.

I am very particular when it comes to cooking. When I was into my Asian phase, I talked to my daughter only in Mandarin and I was  reading only “The Art of War”, and when  I was into my Russian cooking phase we were dividing the Borsch equally between us, and then everyone of us would storm the other’s plate and grab whatever they could.

So when I started with Falafel I made sure to have the freshest herbs and made sure that someone will send me the special Tahini from Nablus. I bought the special iron net that i can dip in the deep oil, and now I was only looking for that special gadget that one use in order to make Falafel balls. But that, I said to myself, couldn’t be that hard to get.

First I went to the department store where they have 12,428 gadgets, half of them are different variations of bottle openers. I asked a couple of saleswomen but they just said that I should look in the gadget department, that if it’s there then they have it, which is a great concept to teach in marketing and customer service 101. Then I went to WMF, and after explaining to the lady what is it that I want, she showed me some cocktail mixers and suggested (whispering) that I might want to try the Arabic stores. I asked and she said that she had no idea where the Arab stores are.

Finally I went to a kitchen store with the catchy name “Cook Mal” and asked for the gadget. “What is exactly Falafel?” asked the young saleswoman.

I think that the beauty of an immigration country like America is that it asks you to be American but forbids you from losing your authentic identity. There is an  understaning and appreciation of the past, of how each culture helped to build this great country. You can see the different influences in America in food and clothes, in language and culture. I think that if some saleswoman in America would ask me “what is Falafel” while working in kitchen and cooking store she would be out of job, guilty of ignorance.

I think that the German way is different. It will welcome you only if you will become a German, behave like a German, talk like a German, and leave your past with the officers at the customs. It is a separated integration. It is quite frustrating. I was expecting that Multikulti would be a little bit more than a doener place crowded with drunken people at two in the morning.