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Scenes from a Lebanese Restuarant
Jan. 23rd, 2005 03:42 pmIt's called Tarboosh and as RadioGuy and I got down the hill rather late, it was the only thing (besides Denny's or the almost laughable Harry's Hoffbrau) that was still serving food. We were hungry--having worked up an appetite.
As they used to say, the joint was jumpin'! Outside the tables were filled to over flowing while canopy heaters warmed the crowds. Talk, laughter and music filled the restaurant and spilled outward. Hookah pipes stood beside outside tables with lumps of burning tobacco in the tops and sweet smelling smoke spiraled above dark heads.
The matre'd said he had only one table for two left, toward the back, in the corner, next to the band. We said fine, we'll take it; by now we're both starving. The place is larger inside than it looks outside but it is packed to the brim and many tables are pushed together to accomodate large parties. We appear to be among the very few Anglos in the place. The Yamaha keyboard behind RadioGuy's head shows Arabic lettering. The music is good, addicting, and incomprehensible to us, since neither of us speak Arabic.
The food we ordered was excellent and while we wait on our food and nosh on pita and Baba Ghanouj, we let our eyes roam the room. The place is filled with dark headed men and women with the tell tale hawkish nose of the middle east. I find that I'm gawking at the women especially--which is somewhat of a surprise to me. They're all pale skinned with dark, naturally arched brows, large deep-brown eyes, flawless skin, beautiful jewelry and dressed in a variety from flashy to casual. There is much singing, clapping, and spontaneous dancing between tables as the women get up to move. You can tell who knows how to belly dance and who does not. I'm practically drolling over this one young woman near us in a red silk top, upswept hair, and a delicious creamy white neck. Her eyes are soulful and her smile enigmatic. A sharp contrast to the woman across from me, with her blond streaked hair, her overly straight nose, the various BLING, including a HUGE gold medallion necklace and rhinestone chain belt that says BEBE. RadioGuy leans in and says "She looks like the Paris Hilton of Lebanon." I laugh and set down my waterglass quickly, before I spew it across the table.
RadioGuy and I keep looking at each other in astonishment and delight as we take in the entertainment that surrounds us. We ate, laughed, tried to talk over the very loud music, and didn't leave until nearly 1am. At the table next to us, a man and a woman sat. She was small, mousy, in her mid 50s perhaps. She looked like a Marian the Librarian type. She was clearly delighted with the exotic music and ambiance of the place. He was also small and mousy, clearly out to impress his 'date' of the evening. When he moved past us to let her out to go to the ladies room however, GAYDAR went off big time. I hope Marian wasn't planning on getting laid that night. I don't think that was a possibility.
At a table past them sat six women, one of which was not Lebanese in looks or coloring. She was a large woman with long hair, swept up in a clip at the back of her head. You could tell by how she danced that she has done much more than taken a six-week class in belly dancing. Each muscle, each breast, each ass cheek, seemed to move independently of any other part of her body. She undulated with a sinuous grace that was astonishing. Her carriage, the look in her eyes, bespoke a woman who was cofindent and proud in her ability--something I rarely see in large women and she proved a few times she was the best dancer in the restaurant.
Outside the restaurant a group of young urban dudes with hookahs glowing sprawled in chairs on the sidewalk occupying a table very near the car. As RadioGuy held my door open, one young guy said, jokingly, (we think). "I kept an eye on your car for you!" We thanked him. RadioGuy asked if it had done any tricks. We drove off into the deep night and headed back for some snuggles, a movie and a relaxed night's sleep.
Oh...that wasn't the date story you were waiting for?
hmmmmmmmmmmm :)
As they used to say, the joint was jumpin'! Outside the tables were filled to over flowing while canopy heaters warmed the crowds. Talk, laughter and music filled the restaurant and spilled outward. Hookah pipes stood beside outside tables with lumps of burning tobacco in the tops and sweet smelling smoke spiraled above dark heads.
The matre'd said he had only one table for two left, toward the back, in the corner, next to the band. We said fine, we'll take it; by now we're both starving. The place is larger inside than it looks outside but it is packed to the brim and many tables are pushed together to accomodate large parties. We appear to be among the very few Anglos in the place. The Yamaha keyboard behind RadioGuy's head shows Arabic lettering. The music is good, addicting, and incomprehensible to us, since neither of us speak Arabic.
The food we ordered was excellent and while we wait on our food and nosh on pita and Baba Ghanouj, we let our eyes roam the room. The place is filled with dark headed men and women with the tell tale hawkish nose of the middle east. I find that I'm gawking at the women especially--which is somewhat of a surprise to me. They're all pale skinned with dark, naturally arched brows, large deep-brown eyes, flawless skin, beautiful jewelry and dressed in a variety from flashy to casual. There is much singing, clapping, and spontaneous dancing between tables as the women get up to move. You can tell who knows how to belly dance and who does not. I'm practically drolling over this one young woman near us in a red silk top, upswept hair, and a delicious creamy white neck. Her eyes are soulful and her smile enigmatic. A sharp contrast to the woman across from me, with her blond streaked hair, her overly straight nose, the various BLING, including a HUGE gold medallion necklace and rhinestone chain belt that says BEBE. RadioGuy leans in and says "She looks like the Paris Hilton of Lebanon." I laugh and set down my waterglass quickly, before I spew it across the table.
RadioGuy and I keep looking at each other in astonishment and delight as we take in the entertainment that surrounds us. We ate, laughed, tried to talk over the very loud music, and didn't leave until nearly 1am. At the table next to us, a man and a woman sat. She was small, mousy, in her mid 50s perhaps. She looked like a Marian the Librarian type. She was clearly delighted with the exotic music and ambiance of the place. He was also small and mousy, clearly out to impress his 'date' of the evening. When he moved past us to let her out to go to the ladies room however, GAYDAR went off big time. I hope Marian wasn't planning on getting laid that night. I don't think that was a possibility.
At a table past them sat six women, one of which was not Lebanese in looks or coloring. She was a large woman with long hair, swept up in a clip at the back of her head. You could tell by how she danced that she has done much more than taken a six-week class in belly dancing. Each muscle, each breast, each ass cheek, seemed to move independently of any other part of her body. She undulated with a sinuous grace that was astonishing. Her carriage, the look in her eyes, bespoke a woman who was cofindent and proud in her ability--something I rarely see in large women and she proved a few times she was the best dancer in the restaurant.
Outside the restaurant a group of young urban dudes with hookahs glowing sprawled in chairs on the sidewalk occupying a table very near the car. As RadioGuy held my door open, one young guy said, jokingly, (we think). "I kept an eye on your car for you!" We thanked him. RadioGuy asked if it had done any tricks. We drove off into the deep night and headed back for some snuggles, a movie and a relaxed night's sleep.
Oh...that wasn't the date story you were waiting for?
hmmmmmmmmmmm :)
