Last night John and I went to my favorite lesbian, er, Lebanese restaurant, Ali Baba. I don’t eat half as much in one sitting as I did four years ago, so Ali Baba is another joint where I can order dinner and then have enough for lunch the following day.
The food is great, but the clincher is the beandip. I have never had hummus anywhere else that was as tasty and smooth as this stuff. Several people, some of them self-proclaimed Middle Eastern food experts, have assured me that Ali Baba’s hummus is decent but not excellent. Well, then I don’t like excellent hummus. I like this hummus. This dilettante’s tongue would rather have Ali Baba’s hummus than any other, store-bought or homemade.
I just finished off the balance of last night’s shish tawook, and there are still two or three wedges of pita and a few hefty daubs of the precious bean paste left. I’m full of Coke and chicken, ready to burst. But I will finish this formidable pile of counterintuitively copacetic cream if it’s the last thing I do.