I’m a first-generation Arab student. Given that many of us are here, I was excited to head to Stevens during my freshman year. Had a hard time meeting them, though (they’re all studying practical subjects: finance, engineering, and computer science. I study philosophy, so obviously, we did NOT cross paths). I met a few along the way, though, and it certainly helped Stevens feel more at home.
Intrigued by the famed “Halal Stall,” a beacon of hope promising falafel, shawarma, and hummus, I was ready for a taste of home that wouldn’t involve driving to Paterson. To clear up any freshman confusion, the Halal Stall was supposedly a culinary oasis catering to our flavor needs (or at least I made it out to be that way, which is entirely my fault).
It sucked. You could call it a hate crime (I am being dramatic). This discovery was almost as alarming as my encounter with chocolate hummus. Nonetheless, I just had to let them know when a survey came out about Stevens dining. And I did. Here’s some of the essay I wrote:
“…I am not sure why these absurd concoctions are being portrayed as healthy alternatives (because they are simply not). Also, why are we using Greek bread when we are serving shawarma and falafel? We’re also serving zucchini noodles with these protein options? If you want a healthier alternative base, just use bulgur. There is not a single Middle Eastern restaurant that would put feta cheese, red onions, cucumbers, tomatoes, and diced jalapenos in these dishes…. If the chicken was properly seasoned there would be no need for all these extra toppings, or for the meals to be drenched in sauce. I’m not sure who is in charge of the restaurant, but PLEASE get an Arab in there. I promise it would be a hit if it was done properly.”
Now it’s gone. And I’m the reason why. I’m kidding, but thankfully, no freshman will ever have to settle on zucchini noodles with shawarma for their late-night munchies.
Luckily for me, I found (another) beacon of hope. If you’re ever walking down Washington, try out Ali Baba. A bit of mint chai and hummus always hits the spot. Or Mamoun’s Falafel; they always play George Wassouf in there, which sets the vibe.
While the quest for a safe haven might be excruciatingly long, I found that individual encounters were far more impactful. Ethnic and religious differences aside for a
moment, there’s something magical about bonding with people who share the same struggle. The truth is, speaking my mother tongue with a stranger was more therapeutic than a yummy shawarma will ever be (unless it’s from Beirut).
