Tonight, Elke and I dined at a great little Israeli restaurant in Isla Mujeres, appropriately named "Como-No" (Why Not?). It was part of a side trip during my "annual" family vacation in Cancun (which I attend about once every five years) and came after a long day at a seedy beach with every immediate relative I have. We had "Comono hummous," which was hummous topped with very good falafel and slices of hard-boiled egg, and "Arabic salad" which was a salad of tomato, cucumber, and onion in a yoghurt-based dressing.
The place was very casual and very hip. It wasn't an Israeli restaurant, per se, so much as it was a place owned by a guy from Tel Aviv that served what appeared to be all of his favorite food. Before we talked with the owner, there was no real indication that it was an Israeli-owned restaurant except that the menu was rather odd for a tiny Mexican island and the people that worked there all spoke English. The menu had guacamole, but it was predominantly Middle-Eastern dishes like hummous and kebabs, with a few Spanish tapas thrown in for good measure. I determined that the owner must be Israeli because the menu also, curiously, has schnitzel, which I have come to learn is a "traditional Israeli dish" (at least for my friend Karen!). My suspicion was bolstered when the owner nodded knowingly to a customer that strolled in wearing what looked like a Mexican-themed, knit yarmulke and when Elke noticed a colorful, framed print of a menorah (which was directly behind me, so I initially didn't see it). It was confirmed when we met the owner shortly thereafter.
He was a nice guy, with a blonde, pregnant wife who was also from Israel (I don't recall the city, but Elke would). The place was a lot of fun, and tonight had a couple of Spanish-speaking guitar players as the entertainment. They too were great -- sort-of Jack Johnson types, only Mexican -- and we ended up staying for a full set. This was, of course, just long enough for us to miss the correct ferry back to the hotel zone, meaning we got on the wrong one and ended up in Cuidad Cancun. Fortunately for us, I have learned that nearly every stupid thing you do in Mexico is easily remedied with a few pesos. It this case, they went to a nice cab driver who entertained us with rather loud videos of deliciously bad American pop during the nearly 30-minute trip home from this remote port.
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