They could be, one and all, contenders for best in show in the category Gussied-Up Down-Home Middle Eastern.
There is, as well, the related matter of Solomonov's meticulously applied culinary field notes, and the happy result of his study of the soup-ways of the sainted Jewish grandmother.
It takes a leap of faith to peddle Israeli street food at such a remove from, well, the street. But Zahav is Hebrew for "gold," a tip-off that Solomonov (a former sous at Vetri, and later top gun at Marigold Kitchen, where his inner Sephardi first surfaced) is up to more than a glorified falafel joint beneath the Society Hill Towers.
Exactly what he is up to is a harder question. In Zahav's first three months, I've come by four times, each time to a different personality: First was the $50-per-person Mesibah ("party time") tasting in the airy, 100-seat main room, a marathon of stylish Israeli-style red pepper, beet and spiced carrot salads (eight in all), hot skewers, and an oversized heap of tender roast lamb shoulder.
Next was a lunch at the wood-plank bar - succulent chicken skewers charred just right over wood coals, and lemonnana, the ubiquitous Israeli lemonade, this one herby with lemon verbena.
Later came a tasting in the tomblike - and I don't mean that in a nice way - back room called the Quarter. This is Solomonov's showpiece, and the menu riffs off the region's traditions: The salty pork loin (yikes!) is cooked with grape leaves. The main room is kosher-style, if not kosher. In the 24-seat Quarter, shellfish boogie unashamedly with swine.
