Meorav with Hummus (מעורב עם חומוס) is the Jerusalem mixed grill built into bread with a layer of hummus carrying the base, a version where the chickpea purée is structural rather than a side. The angle is the pairing of rich offal against smooth, nutty hummus. The mixed grill is dark, fatty, and heavily spiced, and hummus answers it with weight of a different kind: cool, dense, sesame-deep, enough body to coat the bread and bind the filling so the whole thing eats as one rather than as hot meat rattling loose in a pocket. Get the ratio right and the hummus tempers the offal without muting it. Get it wrong and either the meat overwhelms a thin smear or a heavy schmear drowns the grill entirely.
The build starts with the bread doing double duty as vessel and plate. A fresh pita or laffa is opened and a generous bed of hummus is spread across the inside, thick enough to line the bread and stop the fat soaking straight through. The meorav goes in hot on top of it: chicken hearts, livers, spleens, and trimmings chopped small and cooked down on a flat-top with onion and the Jerusalem spice set of cumin, turmeric, black pepper, coriander, and baharat until soft and browned. The dressing stays restrained because the hummus is already doing the work of richness and binding, so it is mostly chopped salad, pickles, raw onion, and s'chug or amba for heat. Done right the hot grill warms the top of the hummus where they meet, the chickpea reads as a smooth nutty floor under the savory offal, and the bread holds because the hummus sealed it before the fat could turn it to pulp. Done wrong the hummus is grainy or thin and slides out the seam, the meat is overcooked and dry so there is nothing for the purée to soften, or the proportion tips so far toward hummus that the sandwich eats like a dip with a few scraps of grill in it.
It is served as a stuffed pita or a rolled laffa, eaten by hand, with pickles and chopped salad alongside. It varies first by the hummus, a looser, lemon-forward style versus a dense, tahini-heavy one changing how much it tempers the meat, and second by how much grill goes in against how much purée, and which heat is added. A version finished with a drizzle of warm tahini and a dusting of cumin over the top is a recognizable order of its own, as is the plain hummus-free mixed grill, and each deserves its own treatment rather than a line here. They all return to the same idea: dark spiced offal set against a structural bed of nutty hummus, held in bread that frames both rather than competing.