Jaffa, Israel.
e’re sat up at the bar in Puaa, down some back alley in the thick of Jaffa’s ancient market, where all the action is. A lady in a faded T-shirt with a rainbow splashed across it is fetching, maître d’ing, giggling, ushering punters to the very last table. Behind the bar, a man with a dense beard–Israelis do good beard–is decanting and Bloody Mary-ing and flirting and that gap in
