Leah Koenig is the Editor of The Jew & The Carrot: Hazon’s blog on Jews, food, and sustainability. She’s also a freelance writer and a serious foodie. Check out her other work on her website.

I’ve only ever been to Israel once and that was last year at the age of 25. I’m not exactly sure what took me so long, though it was probably some combination of not being particularly involved in mainstream Jewish activities as a teenager, my parents’ fear of the “situation” in the Middle East, and my own complicated emotions around and relationship to he holy land.

But last year, I was given the opportunity to go to Israel for free - no not through Birthright Israel - but through Hazon’s Israel Bike Ride. The deal: if I staffed the Ride (lugging suitcases, setting up rest stops, attending to riders, etc.) then Hazon (my employer) would fund my trip. Sweet.

As a foodie and food writer, it seemed like every piece of advice I got from friends in the weeks before I left for Israel was food-related. “You must go to this hole-in-the-wall falafel stand in Jerusalem,” or “You have to go to try the most amazing hummus at…,” or “Israel has the absolute best cheese ever” - that sort of thing. A friend of mine who studied at Hebrew University recounted her weekly trips to the shuk where her lunch consisted of a seedless cucumber, a fresh, red tomato, and a hunk of bread. “That’s all I needed,” she wistfully recalled.

By the time I boarded the plane I was starving. I was going to get my taste of the land of milk and honey.

So, did Israel taste good? I’ll spare you from the typical “hyperbolic trance” that people seem to fall into when talking about Israel. Because, in all honestly, not everything was THE ABSOLUTE BEST EVER! For example I wasn’t completely blown away by the shuk’s selection. Yes, the vegetables there were gorgeous and fresh, but I’ve been there done that many times over at any number of the farmers’ markets in the States. And the restaurants were tasty, but come on. I live in New York where even the bad restaurants are good.

Still, much of Israel was really really delicious. I loved how so many culinary traditions - European, Russian, Moroccan, Syrian, Italian and American to name a few - converged and overlaped across Israel’s homes, restaurants, and cafes. I swooned over the loquat trees - fat with ripe orange fruit on my friend’s organic farm. I was equally delighted and frightened by the buffet spreads at Israel’s hotels, where shakshuka and gooey chocolate cake were considered equally appropriate breakfast items. And yes, the crispy green falafel covered in pickled beets and - omg french fries! - which I sampled at a hole-in-the-wall joint in Jerusalem, was out of this world good. Like tahini dripping down my chin good.

Of course, my trip to Israel was certainly about much more than the food - it was about visiting the Wall, jumping into the falls at Ein Gedi, biking 20 miles outside of verdant Jerusalem into an entirely different and arid eco-system, squirting water guns at parched bike riders along their route, and sleeping outside at Kibbutz Ketura where the desert wind whistled me to sleep. Still, connecting to the food in Israel was my own way of kissing the “holy land’s” soil.