Daniel T.
Google
Mazah: Where Europe and the Middle East Meet
Mazah Mediterranean Eatery has been on our Columbus restaurant wish list for a while. Living outside the city means our chances to try it are rare. But when a deer decided to hurl itself at my Tesla—a kamikaze move even Elon’s full self-driving tech couldn’t predict—I suddenly had a date with the Tesla Collision Center in town. And what better way to turn a collision into a culinary adventure than by finally visiting Mazah?
Our first attempt to eat at Mazah was for our wedding anniversary last August, but it was “closed for the one week a year we go to Greece,” per the waiter’s explanation. Honestly, that’s the kind of energy I respect—nothing says Mediterranean more than a restaurant that insists on a literal Mediterranean vacation.
Mazah took on a more profound meaning for us when we learned it was one of our late friend’s favorite spots. Before COVID cruelly took him from us, he visited Mazah. When they learned he was Lebanese and had a Sitti (grandmother) too, they brought him special off-menu dishes, a gesture that showed they weren’t just serving food—they were serving memories. So we came here not just to eat, but to honor him.
The menu is refreshingly straightforward. Appetizers include the usual suspects: hummus, falafel, dolmades, and baba ghanoush. Salads range from classic Greek to the parsley powerhouse known as tabbouleh. And with only 11 entrées, Mazah focuses on perfecting each dish instead of drowning you in choices.
My wife—the vegetarian, Italian-American who normally has decision paralysis if she sees more than two vegetarian options—didn’t hesitate for once. Maybe it’s that Mediterranean seawater in her veins, but she ordered the Small Sampler with falafel over turmeric rice, plus her favorite Middle Eastern pickles, Greek salad, and hummus. Not satisfied with just that, she tacked on a lentil soup and tabbouleh. Now, I’m usually skeptical of tabbouleh, which I’ve always thought of as “a bowl of parsley with a dream.” But not here. Mazah’s tabbouleh was an actually balanced blend of flavors—fresh and zesty without making me feel like I was chewing a garden.
I managed to snag a couple of her falafel, which were so good they took me back to L’As du Fallafel in Paris’s 4th district (yes, I travel, humble brag, sue me). They were so crisp and flavorful that I made a falafel-hummus-pita sandwich the next day, and yes, it was just as good cold.
Speaking of pita, it came out warm, thick, and fluffy—none of that thin, tear-instantly lavash I’m used to. I ordered the Small Sampler as well, with chicken shawarma, Greek salad, and baba ghanoush. Let me tell you, the salad was a revelation: creamy Bulgarian feta, a roasted red pepper dressing, and savory Greek olives—fruity, briny, and slightly acidic. The baba ghanoush was velvety and smoky perfection. The rice was aromatic and golden. The chicken shawarma? Well… it was what Gen Alpha would call “mid.” I’m not convinced it was cooked on a proper vertical broiler, which is the whole point of shawarma. It had no char, no crispy edges—more of a “grilled chicken’s Mediterranean cousin” than true shawarma. Next time it’s Shish Tawook for me.
As we were finishing, we noticed an old-fashioned dessert case filled with Middle Eastern sweets, and my wife’s eyes locked on the kanafeh like a falcon spotting a rabbit. Ever since she was introduced to kanafeh by her Syrian refugee friend, she’s been a connoisseur. Mazah’s version was topped with crushed pistachios—my favorite, but not hers. When we mentioned this, they made it half with and half without nuts. That’s the kind of service that tells you you’re not just a customer here; you’re a guest. The kanafeh was warm, sweet, and gooey—like something a loving Teta (grandmother) would make.
Mazah is now more than just a restaurant for us. It’s a place where we can eat well, be treated like family, and, most importantly, remember our friend by breaking bread at one of his favorite spots. We’ll be back—partly for the falafel, mostly for the memories.
