Everyone has their holy sandwich. Your sandwich, will always be better than everyone else. There is also always a place where you have left and will always want to go back to for the chance to hold your holy sandwich close to you heart once again. And of course, very, very close to your watering mouth. This is the sandwich that you will go to, to rekindle your years spent apart before you even visit your parents whom you haven't seen for three years. For me, this sandwich belongs to Zanzibar.
Zanzibar is a Moroccan cafe in the sometimes bustling front street of Kingscliff. It's been around for maybe ten years by now and has held a very, very fresh and consistent standard of food. There is one menu, which is a massive blackboard to the right as you walk in. Zanzibar is not a greasy spoon, nor is it a hangout for chain smoking nincompoops. It has a bright and cozy North African spin on the place with drabs of school kids swooning around at any time of day.
One or both the owners, husband and wife, plus their two teenage boys, will usually be there, cooking those tasty lamb kebabs or casually sweeping and chatting with faithful locals. This is the place you can decide on what you want, if you're so lucky as to be able to do that, than walk three doors down to the pub, pick out a bottle of wine or a couple of beers, than walk back on up and just perch yourself down 'til heaven is served to you in the form of food. It's really that easy.
Just look at that. I'm a whole hemisphere away and it's really not fair that I can't take a bite. Here's what we're looking at. From the bottom up, than inside out.
Big handfuls of fresh tabouli
Slices of local avocado
Crisp, crunchy snow peas, thinly sliced
A thin piece of chicken, grilled and succulent
Pesto. It's really not worthy of calling it pesto unless it's made by two hands
and finally
Turkish bread. Soft and beautifully perfect.
There you have it, alive with personality.
There is a saying when it comes to this humble little cafe; Tuesday is the worst day of the week..because Zanzibar is closed. The people have spoken and they speak only of truth. They are also closed Monday nights, leaving a hungry presence sneaking out their from their locked up doors.
So I now dedicate this post to everyone who has said goodbye to a sandwich they have once called their own, who have had to rely on memory and many trial and error attempts at creating a replica for something that was once always so near and unchanged.
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