Celebrity chef Tal Rashevsky[Missing Credit]
Now, a few steps away from Lava, his second pasta joint, he’s launched Oscar’s – a no-reservations schnitzel restaurant in a prime location that looks high-class – but actually operates a bit like a McDonald’s. Israeli media has been awash with coverage ever since it opened its doors. Oscar’s sells just two dishes: chicken schnitzel and corn schnitzel. Its meat is kosher but the restaurant is unsupervised. Both dishes are prepared Viennese style, each costs 88 shekels, and the breadcrumbs are made by hand. Diners sit at round tables adorned with white tablecloths, and red ropes separate Oscar’s customers from the general public, who continue to cycle, jog and wander along the track park as if nothing phenomenal is happening in their vicinity.
At the current exchange rate of four shekels to a pound, Rashevsky’s schnitzel costs around £22 a plate. It sounds expensive, but when you drill down, the value for money equation isn’t too bad. Alongside the schnitzel, diners get mashed potato (which is allegedly bottomless), two sauces, a small cucumber or green salad, and the chance to be filmed by TV news crews whilst noshing.
But you need stamina for the long wait to be served. Dani, aged nine, is on a night out with her dad, Yonatan. “She’s bored but she’s not suffering,” Yonatan says, smiling.
“Like most Israelis we like schnitzel,” he says. “And I also know the guy. We’re not friends but he told me about it so I was curious. But it is crazy when you think about Israeli mentality. We don’t usually line up and wait for anything. And just a minute ago, a guy asked me, ‘Are you waiting for the schnitzel?’ And then he said we are all fraierim [Hebrew for suckers]. A queue at an established place means it’s good – the queue here means nothing. We’ll wait and see.”
After 45 minutes, it is my time to shine. I step up to the self-service ordering point and select English, hoping to do this quickly so the people behind me don’t start heckling. Sadly, the next page reverts to Hebrew (as so often happens here), and my friend Yarin, a native Israeli, helps me to complete my order. We add a glass of wine for ten shekels, then go around the corner to meet fellow British-Israeli Richard, who’s found us a table in a prime spot.
As we wait, the sense of anticipation is great.
“I expect the schnitzel to be fresh out of the fryer, flavourful, moist and juicy,” says Yarin, whose Moroccan-Israeli mum Eti cooks a perfectly fabulous schnitzel. “I’m also curious about the sauce situation, the trimmings.”
Suddenly, my name is called. I go up to a collection window where I’m handed a silver tray. For a brief moment, I feel as though I’m back in the JFS canteen in the mid-1990s, but this is definitely more glamorous.
First impressions are good. The schnitzel is huge and soon our table is overflowing with plates and excitement. “Bitayavon,” we wish each other as we take a first bite. I’m the first to break the silence.
“I’m not getting much taste, are you?” I ask.
“No,” says Richard. “It’s really bland.”
“And not hot,” says Yarin.
A tanned, older man is weaving between tables, pushing a mashed potato cart around. He looks authoritative, like someone who might want to help. I wave at him. He doesn’t come over. “It’s not exactly hot,” I say, quietly. He furrows his brow and replies: “It’s not supposed to be hot.”
His reply angers Yarin. “It’s not supposed to be hot? Which deep-fried, crispy food is not supposed to be hot!? It should be out of the fryer and on to the plate.” Yet this point is kept to ourselves, for at Oscar’s there’s really no one to complain to – they really don’t care what customers think.
From here, our meal devolves into a cavalcade of disappointment.
The aioli is not spicy. The weird jam sauce doesn’t make sense. The ten-shekel wine is like a bad Emerald Riesling. The cucumber salad has a nice Mrs Elswood feel to it, and I enjoy the leaf salad, but Richard gives up half way through his meal.
“I had faith coming here because Lava is genuinely inventive and well-priced,” he says. “It’s a great vibe over there with good cocktails. This is not that. It’s trying to give a European dining experience but it fails. It’s pure hype.”
Yonatan stands up from a nearby table. “How was it?” I ask.
“Not good,” he says, disappointment etched on to his face. “Cold. Basic.” Dani looks tired and ready for bed.
And yet when all is said and done, I wouldn’t warn against a trip here.
Sure, the queue will only get hotter as the summer goes on, and the food was a solid 5/10. On that front, Rashevsky failed to reinvent the wheel.
But while we waited, we were part of the secret. Think of it as immersive theatre rather than as a restaurant. Oscar’s is a place to see and be seen. You may even get an unscheduled performance from the celebrity chef. Just don’t expect the best schnitzel of your life.
For that, try Cafe Noir in Tel Aviv – or your own Jewish mother or grandma, wherever she may be.
Oscar’s, 68 Nachalat Binyamin Stret, Tel Aviv
instagram.com/@oscarsschn
