But it's only there on Friday mornings and Itzhak, the "Hummus Guy" extraordinaire, only accepts petitioners for his fare from 10 am to 1 pm sharp. At 1:01 pm he closes up shop and whisks his truck away in order to reach his home in time to complete his own preparations for the holy Sabbath.
I've never figured out why he calls this thing "Colombo" and I've never quite dared to ask.
There isn't one guy in the religious community who doesn't know about this truck and every single one sings his praises. It's not hard to see why.
First, there's the food, dished up just at the right temperature with huge portions, made there fresh on the spot, and of outstanding quality. A Yemenite mother would smile with joy to see a son cook like that. In fact, I bet she does. I think Itzhak is probably Yemenite.
But the guy also knows things.
"Hey -- I went to the doctor but that medicine he gave me was worthless. What did you tell me to do with that rash?" A man behind me was asking Itzhak about the herbs he had told him to get last Friday, but he had dallied and deferred to allopathic methods. Now he was back to ask The Wise Man.
Itzhak was patient. He went over the advice again, sketching out what the man had to do, how he had to boil the herbs, the kind of poultice to prepare, and what he was to drink as well. He also gave him his phone number in case there was questions. No fee.
It took a few minutes to prepare my hummus because he had to take the cooked chickpeas warm from the oven and grind them fresh there on the spot. I didn't mind waiting.
He also gave me a free container of 'ful, because it was leftover and "it's a sin to waste." It's a Middle Eastern concoction of beans that is ladeled on to warm hummus with lemon and garlic. If you have never tried it, you do not know what true life is all about. Eat it with warm pita. Slowly.
Was I sure I had enough money with me? If not, he would wait till next week. And in case I was too busy with my other cooking to get there in time, I could always call and he would send it to me by delivery. He gave me a little flyer with his number and the offerings.
This week, in fact, that is exactly what happened. With only an hour to go till Itzhak would close up shop, I knew I would never make it.
I called him. "Sure, sure. No problem. But can you call me back in a few minutes? No wait -- what did you need?"
I told him.
"Okay great. Give me your address. I don't have time to take the card info now. There are people here. They need to eat. I'll take it next week. Don't worry. I'll just send the food. You'll give it to me next week or next time. It's fine. Shabbat shalom!"
He hung up. Politely.
The food arrived in record time.
Can you imagine anyone sending food without making sure you paid them in New York?
Welcome to Israel.