Eating Like a Local in Hurghada: Nine Dishes Worth Leaving the Buffet For

The saddest sentence we hear in this town gets said at the airport, on the way home: "we mostly ate at the hotel." The buffet has its uses — nobody should haggle on an empty stomach — but the Hurghada on the far side of the resort wall eats very well, mostly out of pots that were doing the same job before the resorts existed. Nine things worth walking out the gate for.

1. Ful and taameya, the standing breakfast. Ful medames is fava beans stewed overnight in a pot-bellied vessel called an idra, mashed to order with oil, cumin and lemon, scooped up with warm baladi bread. Taameya is its lifelong companion — Egypt's falafel, ground from fava rather than chickpea, so it comes out of the oil crisp outside and startlingly green inside. Dahar, the old downtown, does both from early morning at carts and counter shops. The rule that never fails anywhere in Egypt: if workmen are queuing at seven a.m., the review has already been written for you.

2. Koshari. Rice, brown lentils, elbow macaroni, chickpeas, a landslide of fried onions, spiced tomato sauce, and two bottles you must not ignore: dakka, a garlicky vinegar, and shatta, the chilli. On paper it reads like a pantry accident. In the mouth it is the national dish, and it is entirely meat-free, which makes it the easiest vegetarian order in town. Heavy, yes. That is the point.

3. Fish by the kilo. This is the one to do properly. Around the fish-market area in Dahar, the routine is old and simple: fish on ice — sea bream, red mullet, calamari, shrimp, whatever the boats brought in — you point, it goes on the scale, and a kitchen grills or fries it while you find a plastic chair. Ask three questions before anything is weighed: the price per kilo, the cooking charge, and what comes with it. Then bargain a little — gently, smiling, more raised eyebrow than argument; a small movement is normal, a shouting match is not. If sayadeya is offered — rice cooked down in fish stock with darkly caramelised onion — say yes and mean it.

4. Tagen. A tagen is a rough clay pot that comes to the table still audibly bubbling, which is both theatre and a warning: give it two minutes unless you want to sacrifice the roof of your mouth. Shrimp tagen in tomato, garlic and cumin is the coastal classic; okra with meat and messa'a (aubergine, no bechamel, no apology) hold up the inland end. The crust at the edge of the pot is the best part. Fight for it.

5. Feteer meshaltet. Find a bakery where the man is spinning dough above his head until it turns translucent as a curtain, folding it over ghee, again and again, then sliding it into the oven. What comes out is a hundred flaking layers, served sweet with honey and cream or savoury with cheese and pastrami. Croissant, pancake and pizza all claim kinship. None of them is telling the whole truth.

6. Hamam mahshi, for the brave. Stuffed pigeon — a whole small bird packed with freekeh, the smoky green cracked wheat, or spiced rice, then roasted until the skin crackles. Egyptians serve it to honoured guests and at weddings, which tells you the esteem it enjoys. Fair warning: it is handwork, more bones than a museum, eaten with the fingers, dignity abandoned at the first joint. The flavour — deep, gamey, buttery from the stuffing — is the reward.

7. Sugarcane juice. Asab. Cane stalks fed through a roaring press, coming out as a cloudy jade juice, sweet as childhood, handed over the counter in a glass. Drink it standing there; it oxidises within minutes and does not travel. On a hot afternoon it beats anything sold in a bottle.

8. Konafa and basbousa. Egyptian dessert shops sell by the piece, and you should let them. Konafa is shredded pastry baked gold over cream or nuts, then drowned, unrepentantly, in syrup. Basbousa is a dense semolina cake soaked the same way, an almond pressed into each square. One of each, a slow walk along the seafront, no regrets.

9. Mint tea, and the sitting that comes with it. Tea with fresh mint is Hurghada's punctuation mark. It appears when you buy something, when you fail to buy something, when there is nothing to do but wait. Accept it — refusing costs more goodwill than the ten minutes it takes to drink. Better still, take a chair at an ahwa, the traditional café, order shay bel na'na', and watch a domino game conducted with the seriousness of a treaty negotiation. Nobody will hurry you. That is the whole product.

A closing word about your stomach, since it is doing the reading. Street food here is not a dare; it is what everyone around you eats daily. Still, ease in over your first days rather than attempting all nine at once, favour busy places where food is cooked hot in front of you, peel fruit yourself, and stick to sealed water if that is your habit elsewhere. Most visitors are fine. Anyone with a medical condition or a fragile history should have a word with a professional before travelling, not with us. The buffet will still be there when you get back. It always is. That is the problem with it.