This is a story of food and death. Don’t worry. One did not cause the other. In this case, they combined as a reminder of how food can comfort, even in the darkest times — and also that La Mediterranee’s hummus is the GOAT.
In 2019, after a promising week in the hospital, I got the devastating news that I had to take my vibrant 87-year-old mother, Faith, off life support after complications from what was supposed to be an easy surgery. As you’d imagine, it was an unbearable blow.
With no family other than my teenage daughter and no idea what else to do, I texted the news to her friends — almost none of whom I knew. They asked to join me in the ICU.
We surrounded her bed and did the only thing that made sense at the time: we began to sing. She kept breathing, so we kept singing. It was the ultimate concert for one.
As her friends arrived in our hospital room, I was surprised to see they were all cool, talented young singers and musicians you’ve probably heard of if you live in the Bay Area. I should have known. During her 60-plus years in San Francisco, my mom was a well-known cabaret singer and vocal coach who helped shape the sound of the city for more than half a century. Of course she had cool friends.
Doctors warned us she would last mere minutes without ventilator support, so we surrounded her bed and did the only thing that made sense at the time: we began to sing.
She kept breathing, so we kept singing. It was the ultimate concert for one.
Never one to miss a good show, my mom took her last peaceful breath after 13 hours of live song and music. It was the most beautiful usherance out of this world I could have imagined for her.
That experience made everyone in the room instant family. To honor our bond, we created a club of “Faithfuls.” We meet regularly to share a potluck meal, catch up, and reminisce about my mom.
At our very first meeting, I was distracted with grief as I mindlessly spooned some random hummus onto my plate. Scooping some up with a cucumber wheel, I took a bite. There aren’t a lot of things that can command attention in the middle of bottomless sadness, but in an instant, the hummus pulled me out of the depths and into a state of wonder. How can any hummus be this shockingly creamy and elegant?
That experience made everyone in the room instant family. To honor our bond, we created a club of “Faithfuls.” We meet regularly to share a potluck meal, catch up, and reminisce about my mom.
Its flavor, too, begged for attention: there was a freshness to it, with well-balanced yin-yang of lemony tang and earthy tahini perked with a double-cheeked kiss of garlic and salt.
Upon asking, I discovered that it was from La Mediterranee, one of the city’s longest standing (since 1979!) family owned Mediterranean restaurants. As a native San Franciscan and food writer, it’s absurd that I didn’t have intimate knowledge of this seductive hummus beforehand. The original “La Med” on Fillmore Street is just two blocks from where I grew up. There’s also one on Noe, where I babysat as a teenager, and another on College Avenue in Berkeley, where I went to college!
I later learned that La Med — which was founded by Levon Der Bedrossian and is still run by him along with his son executive chef Vanick Der Bedrossian and two longtime employees-turned-partners — perfected its top-secret hummus recipe over decades.
The first time I tried La Med’s hummus, it was like a hug in food form.
Each day, executive chef Vanick takes high-quality garbanzo beans from local mill Guisto’s Specialty Foods and soaks them overnight in water mixed with baking soda. This, he says, softens the beans and makes them easier to rinse and boil for what he describes as a “lengthy period.” Once they’re good and tender, the beans are quickly cooled on sheet pans — apparently an important step for the desired texture. Then they’re transferred to extra-high-powered food-processors, blended with olive oil, lemon juice, garlic, tahini, and a little salt to legendary creaminess, and distributed to all the locations the same day for ultimate freshness.
The first time I tried La Med’s hummus, it was like a hug in food form, which, as you might imagine, I desperately needed. That a special little dish would shake me out of my misery for a brief moment of pleasure was also notably ironic. My mother was an OG foodie — who knew about every worthy San Francisco restaurant and must-try dish — decades before the moniker existed. She would have agreed that La Mediteranee’s hummus is worth pausing for.
Now whenever I order it, I think of her and our harmonious band of Faithfuls. But you don’t need context to enjoy it. You just need a desire for creamy, dreamy hummus.
PHOTO CREDIT:
Courtesy of La Mediterranee
Courtesy of Erika Lenkert
