When Instagram exposed me to a phyllo-wrapped Middle Eastern rice dish known as ouzi, I had no choice but to make a beeline to the source — Beirut Bakery & Deli on South Orange Blossom Trail. The modest Lebanese establishment near Whisper Lakes displays great excess in its offerings, luring peckish patrons to its glass case stacked with fatayer (small savory pies and turnovers), baklava of local and Levantine origin, and containers of maamoul mad bil ashta, a sweet and creamy semolina-topped dessert akin to kunefe but with a bottom layer of pistachios. The bill of fare brims with sammies, manakish (flatbreads) and various mezze.
On a first visit, the dining pal and I scarfed down sfiha ($1.99), a diamond of dough folded with spiced and seasoned minced beef, and quite indecorously ravished beef- and walnut-filled kibbeh ($4.99), dipping the little footballs of meat into smooth hummus before popping them into our mouths. We tore into inflated lavash, the steam burning our fingers, and scooped muhammara, the most alluring of red pepper dips — at once smoky, spicy, tangy and sweet, thanks to a swirl of pomegranate molasses. That light syrup pools atop baba ghanouj as well, lending complexity to the universally beloved eggplant mash. Flatbreads topped with herbaceous za’atar ($2.99) and Baharat-spiced mince ($5.99) only furthered the indulgence, along with tabbouleh ($7.99) neither annoyingly mouth-puckering nor overzealously parsleyed.
But beyond these impeccably crafted distractions was the sought-after ouzi ($12.99). Cutting open the round pastry released sweet-scented plumes of vapor up our nostrils and revealed a filling of seasoned rice, toasted almonds, peas and plush chunks of lamb. The meal helped fill the void left after my fave Lebanese restaurant, Maraya, closed last summer after 15 years.
“You know,” said Riad Elkhatib, Beirut’s generous owner, “we have another restaurant in Oviedo that has a full grill. Over there we have kebabs and shawarma.” [record scratch]
Needless to say, the pal and I made plans to go the following day. When we arrived at the Alafaya Trail locale, Elkhatib’s partner, Farouk El-Hassan, greeted us like long-lost brothers.
We entrusted our order to the affable gent and he delivered (literally and figuratively), first with a cheese and za’atar “calzone” ($5.99). Its exterior was covered in za’atar; the interior, stuffed with feta-like akkawai cheese. The calzone itself was soft, not doughy in the least — milk powder being the supposed secret to its pillowy texture. Yes, we came for the grilled kebabs and spit-roasted meat, but we couldn’t help but eat it all. We almost did the same with tahini-topped falafel, each a magically crispy fritter if ever there were one — or seven, if you order the platter with rice ($9.99). Evidently, scores of UCF students show up for the falafel sandwich wrapped in Armenian lavash ($7.99). I would too.
That thin, crisp flatbread enveloped our chicken shawarma sandwich stuffed with French fries, garlic sauce and Lebanese pickles ($10.99). The beef shawarma ($11.99), like the chicken shawarma, is also house-made, but rolled with onions, tomato, parsley, sumac, pickles and tahini. That didn’t stop us from dipping it, as well as the not-fatty-in-the-least lamb kebab sandwich ($12.99), into a zippy Tunisian harissa. And grilled kafta ($17.99), with its two cylinders of seasoned beef-lamb mix served over fragrant yellow rice, EVOO-slicked hummus and tabbouleh, is kebab-ing of the highest order.
El-Hassan graciously offered us rice pudding flavored with rose and orange blossom water, lemon and mastic. It was creamy, and surprisingly refreshing, but the rice grains were intact, which I liked. The kunefe ($9.99) is procured from Lebon Sweets in Dearborn, Michigan. “They make the best,” El-Hassan says. This version, called kunefe na’meh, has a top layer of smooth semolina and a bottom layer of akkawai cheese. It’s not as sweet or syrupy as kunefeh khishneh, whose top layer is made of crunchy shredded phyllo, or kataifi.
The kunefe spawned a debate among the gathered patrons about the treat’s regional differences — Palestinian, Jordanian, Turkish, Lebanese — and which version is better. The bickering died down after everyone takes a bite, and the silence was golden.
Peace in the Middle East.
Beirut Grill and Deli
Beirut Bakery and Deli
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This article appears in Fall Concerts Guide.