SPOONMAN & CHAMOUN VIE
FOR ZIPPER CONCESSION

Rest Haven Restaurant Exclusive Distributor of Nut Zipper in the South

Saturday, October 11, 1997
The Camel Chronicles Continue
Part 14

Everyone knows Chafik "Akabah" Chamoun is a shrewd businessman and very frugal with all his expenditures. Some would use the word, "spend-thrift," some, "skin-flint," others, "tight-wad." And then there are those expletives unfitting the merits of this distinguished publication and its more sensitive readers.

To be sure, if you come to the Khan on 61 late in the morning, you'll have to finish the three-hour old coffee before a new pot is brewed. Likewise, the thermostat on the air conditioner is not set to Fahrenheit, but the decibel level of Jerry Gardner's complaints. Then there is the glass belljar of baklava sitting on the lunch counter...

Baklava is a sweet, honey-nut pastry originating in Greece, though Chafik protests it is really a Lebanese confectionery created by his dear old great grandmother, Affiffi. "I'm a Phonecian, not an Arab!" asserts Chamoun. It is a very delicious treat, but no one in the Delta knows it, for no one in the Delta has ever tasted it. Delta folk know their biscuits and gravy, black-eyed peas, and cheese grits, but not a one knows what baklava is, let alone how to pronounce it.

Perhaps that is the reason no one orders it at the Rest Haven. Fifty pieces of chocolate and coconut pie may slide across the lunch counter every day, but there, at the end of the counter near the cash register, sits the glass belljar of baklava - untouched, undisturbed - like the vacuum sealed mausoleum of Lenin, or the remains of an Egyptian mummy on display at the museum of natural history. No one orders it. No one even knows it is something to eat. They think it is just one of those curious oddities from "di ol contri" that Chamoun adorns the Khan with. When told what it is, a southerner is too intimidated to order it realizing his tongue just cannot pronounce "bak-lah-vah." Comes out something like, "bubba-luvah."

Chamoun boasts the delicacy imparts properties of longevity - a food of the gods! And there is little question that something eternal inhabits the ingredients; the same glass jar of baklava has sat on the counter in pristine condition for at least the last twelve years.

It was the forty cases of baklava ingredients stored in the back of the kitchen that weighed heavily on Chamoun's mind and pocketbook. Indeed, he was brooding over his lost revenues at the very moment Willie Campassi announced his remarkable discovery of the nut zipper (see last issue). In the same way that a spark can set a whole forest on fire, or an innocent question about the speed of a camel can turn a whole community upside down, so the revelation of the zipper ignited the pecuniary affections of Akabah's mind.

It was then that Chafik made the phone call, which the Online Register has since traced to the Federal Hill district of East Providence, Rhode Island, where certain unidentified persons of the Italian descent passed his inquiry on to a candy manufacturing company in Cambridge, Massachusetts. The next day, a delivery truck was seen at the back of Chamoun's restaurant loading 40 boxes of confectionery destined for the Squirrel Brand Company in Cambridge.

A week later the truck returned with new boxes labeled "SQUIRREL NUT ZIPPERS."

Chafik "Akabah" Chamoun is not afraid to take risks (unless he is negotiating with a casino slot machine; then he'll only chance a nickel). It seems he is predicting a nationwide craze for these things called "SQUIRREL NUT ZIPPERS," and he has positioned himself to be the principle distributor.

Instant success has not been forthcoming however. The baklava laden candy seems to have kept its enduring properties, to the effect that it takes forever to dissolve in one's mouth. Add to that its similarity to F-26 construction adhesive and you have a substance that can literally glue one's mouth shut. "One piece will last forever!" claims Chafik, as he hawks the merchandise from behind his counter. And while there is no problem pronouncing the words, "SQUIRREL NUT ZIPPERS," eaters of the substance soon cannot pronounce anything, leaving the establishment in muffled groans: "uummph, ughh, mmemph...."

In related news, Willie Campassi has produced his own version of a SQUIRREL NUT ZIPPER, a prototype of the genetic experiment he and Robert Mitchell are venturing. After hundreds of failed attempts to insert a zipper in pecans, acorns, walnuts, and goobers, with a few more bandaged fingers, Willie had to finally settle on a pawpaw with dental floss. The contraption certainly looked intriguing and convincingly workable. Problem is, pawpaws don't need to be unzipped, but peeled. Worse off, they decay very rapidly, and by the time Willie arrived at Jimmy Sander's Seed Company for his demonstration his prototype was a ball of aromatic mush on the overheated dashboard of his pickup. Back to the drawing board.

Like life itself, suspended somewhere between the Spoonman's perishable pawpaw, and the Lebanese's immortal food of gods, there must be more than one way to zip a nut. We can be assured the dauntless wise men of the Khan on 61 will persevere in their quest for eternal significance. All questions, even the speed of a camel, will one day be answered. There will be a decisive race - the Camel Chronicles will continue.