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ImageIt was a chilly February morning and we had just got off the bus in a small mountain town.

It was Friday, a day most people spend indoors with their families so the streets were dead.

My friend and I started our journey through the town maze, fleetingly eyed by the occasional young boy coming back from the grocer’s or a shop keeper smoking his cigarette in front of the shops.

We passed a bakery and, as I instantly fainted with longing for a big fresh loaf, had to continue our journey with massive flaps of fresh bread in tow.

After an hour of going up and down winding little streets lined with old Ottoman architecture we decided to stop for a cup of coffee.

Small place, 2 or 3 tables, just us and the owner.We ordered coffee and he disappeared behind the bar. Minutes later he emerged with coffee, water and a bowl of fresh hummus: “You have bread. You need something to go with it.”

Our quick snack finished, we made to leave. No amount of begging swayed him.

We were not to pay, we were guests in his city and his shop and that’s how things were going to stay.

To this day, that was the best hummus with bread I’ve ever tasted.

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