Disproportionate cutlery. There will always be one missing fork, two extra knives, and a shortage of spoons.
Brown paper. Whether it functions as a tablecloth, serving vessel, napkin, or rolling paper, Tel Aviv restaurants are plastered with elementary school throwbacks to paper bag lunches.
Disappearing wait staff. You better know what you want to order when you first sit down because if you send your waiter/waitress away the first time, they will never come back...ever...again.
Toothpicks. Consistently plopped down on the table mid-meal as a silent nod from your waiter that you've had enough.
Hand wipes. How there always seem to be a surplus of hand wipes, yet napkins are a rare luxury is beyond me...
Someone else's order. "Did someone order the Arab cabbage?" "Nope, but we'll take it!"
Weed. Lots and lots of weed. If you're really lucky, your bartender might offer you a puff from the spliff they're currently smoking as they pour your beer.
A single bill. This isn't North America. Get out those calculator apps (or graphing calculators if you're really trying to show off) and get adding. The trying process will either bring you closer together or pull you apart for life.
A mispelled Engilsh manu itm. You're not insane; "Life's short, double deep" is not some unique saying, and the daily "spacials" are always a guessing game...did somebody order "ikra"?
Some sort of eggplant dish. Don't question it, just enjoy it.
Communal seating. After all, sharing is caring. Plus, it's much easier to find your future husband at a long table at Port Said than on Tinder.
Shots, shots, shots, shots, shots, shots. At some point towards the end of the meal, your waitress will come to the table with a loaded tray of chasers. You better imbibe, even though you hate Arak and don't really want to relive your college years at your parent's 30th anniversary dinner.