Miracles and wonders in August, a true story

It’s that time of year. At least two showers a day (and another one, just in case), and air conditioners that are far beyond luxury, more in the realm of national security (yes, we know, there’s a minister exactly in charge of this who puts out a lot more hot air, but we’re not talking about empty air).

These are entire weeks when conversations about the weather aren’t polite small talk, but necessary big talk. We survived June, and July was never really summer camp either, but August is what sorts Israelis. August is our commando unit’s boot camp.

This Israeli summer hangs in the air like a superhero. Dense and full of itself, it takes over the conversation and dictates the mood. It’s there even when you try to ignore it. Especially, truthfully, when you try to ignore it. Everyone is affected, everyone is subdued, everyone suffers.

Everyone, except JMT.

It’s the result of a wind corridor, or a wind funnel, or a wind spell. An urban mystery that makes you sit there completely breezy, forget the calendar and the temperatures, think Europe, and surprisingly watch items on the table fly off as if it were autumn. Until just a few weeks ago, they seriously say here, blankets were still being handed out in the evenings. Who knows, maybe this is the other side of the pole.

Together with the municipal promise to turn Ahuzat Bayit Street (actually, half of it) into a pedestrian mall, optimal, ideal conditions have been created here—for just about anything, and for a restaurant as well. Tables and chairs naturally flowed into what used to be a street, and the built-in density gave way to space. Something we lack so much here. Everywhere.

On a random weekday afternoon, it’s good here and sane here, and your peace of mind is disturbed only by stubborn Wolt couriers, who as usual think this was all created just so they could move through faster and more dangerously. Since no one is capable of managing them, better to protect yourself, cross your fingers, and try to ignore.

JMT’s dessert pop-up leverages all these circumstances into pure madness. It ends with the dishes themselves, of course, but begins much earlier. In giant letters (UWA, wow in Korean) and with punctuation (! of course, and lots of it), in the branding and packaging, in the colorful signage, and in the heartwarming feeling you get when you realize the other side invested in the date and didn’t just call air “pop-up” and lean back.

It starts with Bungeoppang (붕어빵), little “fish” pastries (NIS 38 for four), filled with red bean, chocolate-caramel, or corn cream (you can mix too), baked in a special mold that makes them a bit like doughnuts and a bit like dumplings.

The fish are stars of the regular menu, and now they’re joined by Mango Mong (망고몽), crispy rice-paper spring rolls in their sweet version (NIS 38 for three), with fresh mango and coconut cream inside, and white chocolate dip on the outside, for a cross-texture experience, fried to perfection, and devoured quickly.

These are washed down fast with giant cups of bubble tea (NIS 31–37) that took all the Taiwanese goodness and went a little wild with it in Korean style.

The result is no less than ten “all-inclusive” versions that mix in thick liquids and airy whipped creams, mascarpone cream and dulce de leche, lychee and mango sauce, tapioca pearls to the max, everything you can slurp.

“Marshmallow Mania,” for example, starts fruity and modest (strawberry, vanilla, milk), continues with white chocolate sauce on top, pours in strawberry pearls, piles on whipped cream, and then lands yet another little container of marshmallows—for what is probably the recommended daily sweet intake for your kids, approved by doctors, until August 2026.

JMT’s signature challenges you a bit more with a spicy-caramel gochujang sauce, dragon fruit boba, and lychee drink, and alongside that are matcha options and plenty of chocolate indulgence. One cup, that’s all you need—and want. For the family.

The Bingsu (빙수) bowls trick you at least twice. Cute and moderate in the digital menu photos (NIS 42–44), manageable even when they arrive at the table, but monstrous once the spoon is lifted and the work begins.

This isn’t a bowl but a canoe, even a raft, slyly sailing between the tables and taking diners on a sobering ride regarding the summer they’ve landed in. The base is airy snowflakes of ice, milk- or oat-based, topped with everything possible, everything forbidden, and everything you secretly wanted while telling the world you came for the kids.

There are combinations of watermelon and cheesecake, salted caramel with pretzels, pistachio and chocolate in a trendy Dubai-style bowl, banana-lotus-dulce de leche heaven help us, and also “Mango Crack Attack,” which promises—and delivers—room-constricting indulgence with vanilla ice cream, lots of fruity orange, and medium-large chunks of crack pie. Not to worry, your speedo can wait.

Like everything it does, this JMT pop-up is far from being a gimmick. Long months after filling Tel Aviv’s air with exciting Korean promises, it’s here not only to deliver and fulfill, but also to expand, aspire further, and spread outward.

That means complex thoughts about the location (though now, with the pedestrian mall, those are somewhat resolved), but also consistent dialogue with the audience, the season, and the Israeli taste as a whole. This dialogue creates new dishes (welcome to summer, salmon tartare bibimbap), new habits, new tricks for the blue couriers (yes, desserts too), and mainly a mature relationship—ready to learn, not just to teach.

A glance at the surrounding tables shows this is the way, and there is no other. Regulars alongside sweet-tooth addicts, young women dragging their mothers for the first time, and novelty-seekers suddenly discovering that after the desserts—and certainly before them—there’s an entire menu of food waiting for the next time. That’s how it is in August, apparently.