the early 80s, I once discovered a restaurant that would mark me for life, from Baalbeck Street Mazagran, unfortunately closed since. I always measured in vain for many Lebanese restaurants where I ate in the light thereof. (I have not met, even in California, displacing a kitchen in my memory than my first Japan, the Mikado in Montreal to register its Japanese-California).
From Baalbek, we will not consider the decoration, the room barely happier than a canteen or walls surely forgettable jaundice. We also forget the reservations for 21 hours 22 hours paid at time elbow to elbow past the bar to drink arrack or to trample between tables with dozens of other clients in a racket of hell, wondering when the first would finally leave a banquet table groaning under endless.
For I never saw a map there, the client failed here and who would dare order a la carte would have been watching a dirty look. This was not a place to hold your hand February 14, whispering in the light of a candle placed in a red candle. Go there at least four proved indeed incongruous. Meals
unique cavalcade of mezze, mixed grill, cake and mint tea, egg, sugar-free, thank you ... Grââce
Pending mezze (little time), large flat oval covered large whole tomatoes, spring onions, cucumber sticks, not to dip babes in the plan, a real return of some garden ... Pickled turnips and olives later onset Operations: silky hummus with pine nuts and covered with diced lamb just fried, creamy babaganoush, ladles hot falafel tahini, soujouk, bastourma, kibbe raw and cooked chard pies, cheesecakes, mini lamadjoun, again and again all with a sublime freshness
... Then, when we touch happiness, chichtaouk tight lemon kebab and lamb chops, tenderly caressed by the flame. and knockout, pastries Arab arch-fresh and not too sweet ... (I admit, pastry, meat, cheese, fruits and vegetables, nothing ever will beat Adonis supermarket in Montreal, for me the Temple Mediterranean cuisine, I could slip down the plane and prostrate myself to kiss the ground).
And then, about ten o'clock the dancers arrive, two or three each night. Denim, they sneak quietly among the tables to go get changed. Suddenly the lights dim, the music is pushed forward. The dancer emerges from the toilet empailletée any, begins to undulate between tables. Men become crimson when they fed their tack basin rebounded. They pretend to sit on their knees before their fake blonde women endiamantées feigning jealousy. The bundles of money arise pockets of jackets, 100, 200, 500 francs. In fifteen minutes almost a monthly salary of workers in panties and bra, dinghies, cries, everyone claps. The old baffles
pushed paroxysm to crackle like a Kalashnikov, "It is like Beirut! "Shouted a businessman.
(At the same time, Sabra and Shatila ... Run, rent, go see "Valse With Bashir, "sublime http://www.allocine.fr/video/player_gen_cmedia=18816964&cfilm=125077.html)
![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYd8JhjhUK8Z5YKJrImMtnT0pmH_uga11APIhwN4iYjp4KvMMUHGFPlE1Kyra7rbTltPhdp1fjm6r-a1USj6m9qLH93g-DbgqPNflNXYJvEVSqtBPUfuH47L5wMrbGn5TwDEJJvY043Ig/s400/houmoss.jpg)
(The last time I used this flat with a friend, he did not touch the rest ...)
0 comments:
Post a Comment