Lashings of Lebanese
I know someone who knows someone else who knows the right person, with the result that last weekend, even though I can ill afford it, I ended up staying 3 nights with my best girl in the rooftop penthouse in one of the best hotels on the Croisette in Cannes. In addition, the car hire company had run out of little peugeot 205's or similar and instead upgraded us to a large Mercedes saloon, so hurray for fortune!
Anyways, neither of us had ever eaten Lebanese food (apart from the odd Taboulet), so around the corner we went to a place that seemed popular with the local Lebanese ex-pats and sat ourselves down. The missus has no French to speak of or to speak with, but the waiter says "I can speak whatever language you like - i am very clever." Now as I looked around the place on the street terrace, taking it all in puffing a cigarette, I noticed that everyone working there came from the same family - uncles, cousins, etc. They also looked exceedingly relaxed and well fed. So, it was no surprise that they considered it "normal" to give us as much food as they did. Twelve dishes - all containing some salad and a sprig of mint - came out pretty much at the same time. We began to divide and eat in between sips of wine. By the time the 7th one was done, we were beginning to feel very full, then they hit us with a great big fucking plate of cooked chicken and lamb. Then, at the end, one of the younger lads actually forcibly brought us across the road to where his uncle had a whole shop full of "baklava". Well, fuck me pink if I didn't almost explode with the stuffing I had that night. I felt like a goose on a foie gras farm.
The next morning, I vowed never to go to Lebanon or to another Lebanese restaurant again. I still managed to pack away a decent amount of breakfast though.
Anyways, neither of us had ever eaten Lebanese food (apart from the odd Taboulet), so around the corner we went to a place that seemed popular with the local Lebanese ex-pats and sat ourselves down. The missus has no French to speak of or to speak with, but the waiter says "I can speak whatever language you like - i am very clever." Now as I looked around the place on the street terrace, taking it all in puffing a cigarette, I noticed that everyone working there came from the same family - uncles, cousins, etc. They also looked exceedingly relaxed and well fed. So, it was no surprise that they considered it "normal" to give us as much food as they did. Twelve dishes - all containing some salad and a sprig of mint - came out pretty much at the same time. We began to divide and eat in between sips of wine. By the time the 7th one was done, we were beginning to feel very full, then they hit us with a great big fucking plate of cooked chicken and lamb. Then, at the end, one of the younger lads actually forcibly brought us across the road to where his uncle had a whole shop full of "baklava". Well, fuck me pink if I didn't almost explode with the stuffing I had that night. I felt like a goose on a foie gras farm.
The next morning, I vowed never to go to Lebanon or to another Lebanese restaurant again. I still managed to pack away a decent amount of breakfast though.
posted by MunsterMad at 1:44 PM
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