About
Chef Uri Buri
The Beard & The Sea.
The two characteristics that define my life; Each one is a symbol that points towards who I am and what I do.
I was born in Nahariya in 1944, on the coastline. Holding a Palestinian birth certificate, it was just prior to the establishment of the state of Israel. At the time, there was no infrastructure to handle the exceptional cases of parentless children who sought refuge on our borders after the war, or who immigrated all alone under other unique circumstances. My parents opened our home to a few of them. Some stayed a few months, some a few years, and some grew up to remain in the family to this day. These kids whom I shared my childhood with came from different backgrounds, and brought with them a mosaic of traditions. My home was full of different languages, cultures, rituals and beliefs.
The sea was my refuge. It interested me far more than school or my teachers ever did. At thirteen, for my Bar-Mitzvah, I received my first fishing rifle. I went diving every chance I had. To avoid bringing the mess home, my mother asked that I scale and clean the fish by the sea. This is how my introduction to the world of cooking and handling fish began. This world opened itself to me with loving arms, eventually guiding me to the opening of my restaurants.
By the tenth grade, I was kicked out of school, something I had seen coming for a while. Growing up, it was always obvious to me that I had a different way of thinking than most of my friends. I later learned I had ADHD, which looking back, I dealt with by spending most of my time by the sea. Though it took me some years to realize that my way of thinking wasn’t an ailment, but a strength and a blessing. That’s when my life changed;
I understood that thinking differently didn’t necessarily mean I was wrong. In fact, I realized many people don’t think much at all, and instead prefer to follow the herd.
After the state of Israel was established, my parents started hosting hitchhikers and volunteers who came to our country from all around the world. Among them were some young Germans and beatniks. My daily life was offbeat and dynamic, always buzzing with music and conversation.
By the age of 16, after being kicked out of school and without a job, I had no structure. I decided to go on a trip to Europe. I had a little bit of money and some addresses I collected from guests who had stayed with us throughout the years. My trip started in Cyprus (which was not yet divided at the time) and continued to Greece, Italy, Switzerland, and finally, Germany. (I especially wanted to visit Germany because I felt the need to understand how this "enlightened nation" could carry out such evil.)
Whole new worlds opened up to me as I traveled. In terms of food, I indulged in meals that I could only dream of growing up in Israel. I ate halloumi in Cyprus, pizza and cherries in Italy, muesli, fondue, and cheese in Switzerland. But the sausages and rotisserie chickens in Germany took the cake. For one of my meals, I had an entire chicken all to myself. It was a real treat. Back at home, during the height of the austerity, when meat, eggs, and chicken were strictly rationed, we would divide one of those between ten people.
In Hannover, I stayed at a socialist youth camp called ‘Rote Falken’ for a week, and as I continued through Germany, I encountered the ‘Jonge Union’, the youth of the Democratic party, in Hamburg. Many were born at the end of World War II, like me, and the diversity amongst them astounded me. I got to know them, their dreams, and their perceptions of the world.
One of the greatest loves of my life has always been music. Any kind of music, any genre. When I was a teenager I played the accordion, the trumpet, the drums, and the flute. My ADHD prevented me from staying consistent with practice, and unsurprisingly, I was kicked out of the school band. Despite my deep love for it, this discouraged me from pursuing music later on in life. When I arrived in Hamburg, one of the instructors of the ‘Jonge Union’ took me on a tour through Saint Pauli, where we visited all the music clubs, among them jazz, folk, and rock. I was shocked by how much I still deeply loved and felt connected to music.
After I returned home, I started my military service in the air force. I trained as a technician, and finished my service as a military plane mechanic. It was clear to me that when my time in the army ended, I would save some money and travel again. There was a 300 dollar limit on foreign currencies withdrawal at the time, and once I had saved all those 300 up, I hit the road.
I spent the first two months hitchhiking anywhere anyone would take me. My only plan was to head in the general direction of Hamburg, following in the footsteps of my friends and of music, and seizing any opportunity to work and save up a little more money. When I eventually arrived in Hamburg, I bought a VW Minibus, and I drove through Europe with musicians I had met along the way.
The Story of the Beard
I started growing my beard after a bet I had made with my friend from California, Fred Lorig. We hitchhiked together through northern Scandinavia. We didn’t have the option to shave at all. Our beards grew out, and when we reached the city, people were so enthusiastic about them that we decided right away not to shave for a year - we would then meet up and see who kept their word. Fred was on his way home, and I continued traveling. From that point on, I continued growing my beard. It would be 7 years before Fred and I would finally reunite in Israel. He had shaved his beard off; I hadn’t. To this day, the beard is a part of me, and I think it's safe to say that I won that bet.
As tensions were rising at home before the '67 war, I ran out of cash. I found a job as a lumberjack, and just a few days before the war broke out, I convinced my friend Günter Zint, a ‘Pan Poto’ freelance photographer who was well-known in the music scene (and, who later on in life opened the Beatles museum in Hamburg), to come to Israel with me. While I enlisted back in the army, he went off to document and photograph. At the end of the war, I volunteered to undergo a special training in order to serve in the bomb disposal unit, where I thought I could contribute more than in the air force. At the end of my training, I went on my next trip abroad. This time, the goal was clear: get to Hamburg, buy a VW, properly equip it, and drive it all the way to India.
While I traveled, I made money selling gemstones. I did a two-week training in Freiburg, Germany to learn about the art of gemology from an expert friend, Joachim Karfunkel. With a handkerchief full of stones in my pocket, I traveled from country to country. In each new place, I would go to a local trading house for gemstones, and trade some of my own – half for cash, and half for local gems. And so I became a self-sufficient nomad.
On this journey, the quality of the food that I found in remote areas was quite poor. Often, cleanliness and variety were issues I encountered. So when I left the cities and found myself in rural areas, I started cooking in my VW. I’d buy the best ingredients that were available at the local market, and make whatever I could with them. Over time, a rumor spread of 'the man cooking in a blue VW', and people looked around for me in hopes of being invited for a meal. I was struck by how easily people connected over food, and their mutual desire to know the world a little better. Witnessing this was a significant part of my journey. It gifted me with precious morsels of understanding that accompanied me for the rest of my life.
Less than a week after I returned to Israel, I ran into Yael, my old neighbor from childhood. We moved in together, and after she got out of the army, we got married. I started working with my father as a technician for the gas company ‘Pazgaz’, and later on as a salesman. All the while, I continued nurturing my love of the sea, I cooked for friends, and started a family; we had three daughters and three more who “adopted” us and moved into our home.
In 1979, my father retired, and I had little interest in staying at that job. I soon opened a supply company, and while business was good, I felt unfulfilled. But it wasn't till 1986, after surviving a car accident, that I decided it was time to change course again. My supply business fell by the wayside, and when the new boardwalk opened in Nahariya, a friend suggested I open a restaurant. All the years spent cooking for friends, everyone at some point had nudged me to open a fish restaurant. I had never seriously considered it, but I was eventually convinced, and I decided to give it a go. In the meantime, I worked as a manager at Café Kapulsky in Nahariya to learn more about the restaurant business and gain some confidence in this new field.
In 1989, we received our permits and went full speed ahead; The legendary Uri Buri restaurant opened its doors.
The Chef Uri Buri
The sea was my refuge. It interested me far more than school or my teachers ever did. At thirteen, for my Bar-Mitzvah, I received my first fishing rifle. I went diving every chance I had. To avoid bringing the mess home, my mother asked that I scale and clean the fish by the sea. This is how my introduction to the world of cooking and handling fish began. This world opened itself to me with loving arms, eventually guiding me to the opening of my restaurants.
The Efendi Hotel
In 2012, Uri opened the Efendi Hotel. Just a short walk from our restaurant, The Efendi is a boutique property with only 12 rooms, and is considered the most intricate restoration project ever undertaken by a private entrepreneur in the country.