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It may be migration, it may be consumerism, it may even be cultural appropriation, but it is certain that shawarma has evolved into quite a global dish today. With such a wide reach, it is inevitable that it takes on various names and forms, depending on where and when it is.
The shawarma I grew up eating in Saudi Arabia was never larger than my palm, or let’s say 15 centimetres in length. It was always wrapped in papers, beef flavour came in bread loaf with tahini sauce, and chicken flavour came in small pita bread with garlic sauce. The go to place in Jeddah, where I grew up, was Shakir Al-jazeera. Even to this day, no trip to Saudi Arabia is complete without a take out meal from Shakir Al-jazeera at my aunt’s house. This formed my perception of a standard shawarma.
That perception was soon challenged when I moved to Taiwan. It seems to me that any culture-specific food would be challenged in Taiwan, otherwise known as localisation, but this is how Taiwanese people familiarise themselves with foreign food. While Taiwanese vendors in night markets familiarise shawarma to the locals with cheese slices, seaweed powder, wasabi sauce and buns instead of pita bread, I find myself struggling to grapple onto the last few remaining strands of childhood memory through the vague taste and rituals of eating shawarma.
My last two trips to Saudi Arabia were both on tourist visa, as the country finally opened up its doors and implemented various reforms that were thought to progress the nation. The first meal I had at my uncle’s house was a feast of shawarma that came through delivery. I thought I would finally be able to renew my fond memories of food, people and everything else.
The delivery came in various paper and plastic boxes, there was no shawarma wrapped in paper, some had slices of cheese and cut into pieces, there were also some doner kebab as one would find in Germany, and a couple orders of kapsalon as one would find in the Netherlands. But where are my shawarmas, the ones that are simply known as shawarma, without all the fancy packaging and unfamiliar names, the ones that had some chicken in a pita bread, along with two pieces of pickcled cucumber, giant scoop of garlic sauce and two piece of fries all wrapped in two sheets of paper. Yes, there are still some franchises here and there that sell them, but I needed to bid farewell to the days where simple shawarmas were easily available around the corner. Perhaps not having shawarma as a mundane yet familiar part of everyday life, is one of the prices to pay for the transition of a nation to the so-called modernity.
My move to the Netherlands was not as alienating as I expected, I credit that to Al-balon, a Syrian restaurant, and some shops around it in the Turkish area of Eindhoven. The sense of familiarity through my interactions with them has brought me a sense of peace, making this strange place easier to call home. I eventually introduced Al-balon to my classmates, and it now serves as an unofficial celebratory place where we would go after finals or when we need some emotional uplifting.
The maintenance and the creation of familiarity were simultaneously achieved through shawarma. It did not just connect me with the Syrian crew at Al-balon, it also allowed me create a stronger bond with my classmates, while fortifying the mental bridge that linked me to a familiar past in Saudi Arabia.
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