If you ask Eyal Shani, there’s only one man responsible for the explosion of Israeli food all over the world. It’s him. Forget Ottolenghi, forget anyone else. He’s the reason why people all over the world know what sabich is, why millions have tasted proper pitta rather than the pathetic supermarket offering, and why pomegranate seeds and amba are familiar to the residents of Zone 2. 

 And he might have a point. His restaurants have popped up all over the world, from Notting Hill to Singapore, Dallas to Dubai, and pretty much without exception have been warmly embraced. A decade ago, Shani first made waves with his whole roasted cauliflower, a staple at his first restaurant, North Abraxas in Tel Aviv. Earning him the title of ‘Cauliflower king’ it was this dish that Shani became known for and allowed him to take his brand across the world.

The cauliflower at Shani's Miznon

But unlike other Israeli chefs, Shani hasn’t softened to fit in outside of Israel. When I met him in his Shoreditch restaurant Lilienblum, he was dishevelled and smoking inside, like 90% of Tel Aviv residents. His philosophy is eccentricity above all else. Shani is a man who talks in riddles and writes his menus in Comic Sans. He muses on the sex appeal of his dishes, and his enigmatic processes. For Shani, nothing is straightforward.

Something else that isn’t straightforward is running an Israeli restaurant in a post-October 7 world. Israeli restaurants have been subject to boycotts, vandalism, abuse all over the world. This summer, in Berlin, even an Israeli-Palestinian restaurant dedicated to peace was ransacked. It’s a worrying trend that hasn’t been replicated with other wars - when was the last time you saw someone smash the windows of a Chinese, Russian or Iranian restaurant because they disagreed with their government?

“For the last 10 years, 12 years, I'm doing everything all around the world to celebrate the energy of the Israeli cuisine. And millions of people began to admire it” says Shani.

“It was easy, we’re a small dot in the globe competing with the Japanese, French, Italian cuisines, we have a beautiful cuisine and we were underdogs. But suddenly people are looking at us in a different way. Suddenly we’re the devils, and it’s not attractive to eat under the label of Israel.”

Yotam Ottolenghi (Getty Images)

The way to thrive in London, according to Shani, is to hide. He’s not afraid to punch at his fellow Israeli chef Yotam Ottolenghi. “Ottolenghi is not Israeli. He makes English food for English people. His food was made for English-speaking people, which is why it works in America, Australia, and Britain. It’s not Israeli food.”

Shani says Israeli chefs “hiding” their origins is a problem he “must solve’. But how can you when, in the words of fellow Israeli chef Eran Tibi, it’s harder to come out as Israeli in London than it is gay.

Lilienblum's summer terrace

In the early days of the war last year, many Israelis rushed back and did everything they could to stand by the country in its darkest days. And Shani was no exception. His restaurants sent thousands of meals to wounded soldiers and displaced families, something he describes as one of the “greatest honours” of his life. His restaurant Shmone, in the West Village, won a Michelin star in November while he was back in Israel.

And since the start of the war, he’s changed his focus and worked to develop his customer base in the Jewish community. Launching new kosher restaurants in Tel Aviv and New York. He said he initially resisted the “cash grab” of opening kosher restaurants saying he wants “to win customers because my food is attractive and sexy, not because it’s kosher”

And therein lies the problem. In a world in which Israel and Israelis have been stripped of their sex appeal, and turned into caricatures of pantomime villains, how does a chef like Shani carry on? The last year has led to some tough choices for his restaurant empire. His upscale brand HaSalon, which is thriving in New York and Tel Aviv was supposed to open in London. Shani says the team had signed contracts, renovated the space, and were weeks away from opening when he pulled the plug. “We couldn’t do it, because of the antisemitism”. 

And it’s not the first restaurant of his to suffer, Shani talks painfully of being alone in Paris in an empty Miznon (his chain of acclaimed pitta restaurants) and how the once-lauded Dubai outlet closed its doors. For him, it’s personal, just like his struggle to bring Israeli food to a world that thinks it knows Israel. So, what next? Shani says he might try Taiwan. “In Taiwan, they’re still falling in love with Israel.”