The hunt continues

A while ago I wrote a piece about my efforts to find the best margarita in Hamra. At the time Colon ranked first by a distance, followed by Dany’s.

However, it’s time I posted a brief update.

Over the last couple of weeks I have retested the offerings at both Dany’s and Bricks (all in the name of social research, I assure you) and have to alter my findings.

Dany’s – At Dany’s there is a certain bartender by the name of Jean. Beyond being an all-round good guy, Jean also mixes a mean margarita. Pretty much spot-on. Provided that Jean is on the bar, Dany’s margarita’s are almost a match for those of Colon.

Bricks – A margarita appears to be a very personal experience. As with Dany’s a certain talented individual can make all the difference. Appalled at my description of the Bricks margarita in my previous post the manager, Jose, took up the challenge. The result? A unique take on the traditional margarita, made with a touch of lemon and a refreshingly different approach to the old classic. Definitely worth a try. Again, ask for Jose.

And now an out-of-Hamra (shock horror) margarita joins the mix:

Carlito’s (Antelias) - Now, I must admit to a certain bias here as my brother-in-law was the bartender in question.

However, Carlito’s (part-owned by the guy who managed Monet’s Pacifico back in the day when it did the best mixed drinks in town – as an aside, a few of the bartenders at Kayan are graduates of the Pacifico school overseen by this guy) margarita was quite exceptional. Simply blended, a mix of sweet and sour, not too much salt, it was a great example of what an extraordinarily simple mixed drink can be if done well.

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As Carlito’s isn’t a Hamra bar, the league table stands as follows:

Colon – Nadim still rules the roost

Dany’s – Provided Jean’s on the bar (Carlito’s would slot in at joint second place)

Bricks – Try out Jose’s alternative blend

Ferdinand / Neighbours – This blog is not responsible for any injuries that occur while sampling margaritas at either establishment

The verdict so far – If you’re looking for a margarita in Hamra, speak to Nadim, an easy-going guy and a talented mixer.

The Brit goes to Maameltein

So, on Wednesday night I had my first Maameltein experience.

A good friend of mine is getting married today, so on Wednesday night a group of around 10 guys all met in a Hamra bar before heading up the highway to the red light district of Lebanon.

Now, I’d heard a lot about Maameltein, usually in hushed tones or as the subject of a ribald joke and was looking forward to seeing what all the fuss was about.

At this point I’d like to point out that I’m not a strip club kind of guy. However, I’ve been to a few as a result of stag parties in the UK and the rare drunken decision while out with the boys. But, aside from a light-hearted introduction to the Lebanese club scene at Hamra’s Tiko Tiko (two rounds of 20 USD Almaza, a platter of watermelon – bizarre – and a Russian woman doing the robot dance around a stripper pole), I hadn’t ventured through the doors of a “super nightclub” before.

Boy, was I about to be disappointed.

Now I’ve always been of the opinion that, in the vast majority of cases, strip clubs are profoundly depressing places. The women gyrate away in varying states of undress as older men, as likely as not smoking cigars, salivate freely. The dimly-lit, smoky bar creates an atmosphere that altogether clashes with the pulsating, optimistic beats of the latest chart toppers. The glazed eyes of the women hint that far from being aroused by their companion, they’re actually composing tomorrow’s shopping list as they grind up against the pole or have their thigh stroked.

Maameltein was no different…

We walked through the door and the average age of the clientele dropped by around 20 years. Sitting at tables surrounded by couches were older men, the obligatory cigar and Johnny Walker in hand, while a table of younger, mainly Eastern European, women sat sipping on soft drinks in the center of the room. From time to time one of the women would be beckoned into the presence of a patron whereupon she’d sit down and allow herself to be pawed.

The scene of the crime

We’d been told there was no show on that night but, given the drive from Hamra, we decided to have a drink before deciding on what to do. Several drinks later an impromptu performance started up, with several (clothed, or at least covered) girls heading over to the poles and beginning to dance.

Now, I’m a red-blooded male, but there’s something about a pole dance that really doesn’t do it for me. What was interesting however was the immense strength demonstrated by these tiny women as they reached the top of a 2.5 meter pole, flipped upside and then hung horizontally while moving in vague time with the music. Looking around the table and deciding that the majority of guys in our group would struggle to get over ten pull-ups, it was something of an eye-opener.

However, perhaps the oddest moment of the evening was watching a girl high-kicking away to this. Strange … and not very sexy…

By this stage most of us were getting twitchy. The drinks were weak, the show uninspiring, our fellow club-goers geriatric, the whole environment seedy beyond compare. After offering to pay for the groom-to-be to sit with a girl for half-an-hour and seeing him frantically shake his head we decided to make a move.

We decamped to White where the girls of the group had been ripping it up for around three hours … Needless to say, the “What Happens in Maameltein” rule lasted all of about 30 seconds as our unofficial omerta dissolved in the face of our relief at the end of this almost Tarrentino-esque experience. By far the better part of the night was spent at White … minus the eye-watering bar bill.

Rules of the road

The prospect of driving in Lebanon evokes a keen sense of panic among visitors to the country. It’s loud, chaotic and generally an intimidating experience for the first few days. However, when you get used to it, it’s actually a straightforward exercise, case in point: the roundabout (rondpoint) I drive through every day was initially christened by my father as the “Roundabout of Death”. My wife tells me it’s a form of organised chaos … I fail to see the organization part…

However, there are some cardinal principals to remember and rules to follow:

1. Indicator lights are for the weak. Do not expect your fellow drivers to use them. If they do, it’s done to lull you into a false sense of security whereupon they’ll promptly turn in the opposite direction to which they’re indicting.

2. While driving at night, lights are optional. Consider yourself lucky if the service coming up behind you has a single operational light.

3. Lane markers operate on along similar principles to those in the rest of the world, however instead of driving between the two lines, in Lebanon you should aim to drive along the lines.

4. Learn to change a tire / wheel.

5. Speed bumps are myriad in all residential areas. The optimal distance between speed bumps is about five meters.

6. The local residents will ignore rule 5 in order to practice their off-road talents.

7. Cars with red plates are not cruising for hookers, they’re trying to pick passengers … preferably stupid foreigners.

8. It is considered the ultimate courtesy to roll down your window and play your music as loud as possible, especially in a residential area after 10 PM.

9. Holes in the road breed overnight. You might well be familiar with the potholes on any given road however, come morning there will, without fail, be another. Refer to rule number 4.

10. Learn to drive in the dark (because of this), training with a blindfold might help. 

11. Forget all rules of personal courtesy, it’s a jungle out there. It’s cut-up, or be cut-up. Abide by common decency and you’ll never make it to your destination.

12. Grow a set of eyes in the back of your head. That way you’ll have time to brace for the hit.

13. Scooter / mobilette riders are the Devil. Their favorite game is to ride along on your blind spot and then overtake on the wrong side while cursing at you. Remember, you are bigger than they are.

14. When in a confrontation with another car, judge the value of each vehicle. The person with the more expensive motor has more to lose.

15. Beiruti traffic police are the most ineffectual people I have ever met. Where there’s a long queue of cars, there will be a policeman at the end of it.

*This rant was brought about through losing two tires in the last two months after losing only one in the previous 7 years of driving here.

Dinner with Momo

I recently had the pleasure of dining at Downtown’s Momo at the Souks. A friend and I had dinner there earlier in the week. Thankfully, she’s one these vegematarians so, despite being a committed carnivore I was able to “enjoy” some herbivorous items from the menu.

The terrace, overlooking the souk

I’d been before but was a little reluctant to post about it for two reasons, firstly, it was during my hiatus from Brit in Beirut, secondly, the experience wasn’t all that (it was just after it opened, so I was willing to cut them a little slack).

This time however, everything was great.

Pastilla, essentially a pigeon pie, is one of my favourite dishes and Momo’s was second only to La Mamounia in Marrakech and possibly the Momo’s in London, so I was off to a good start. I followed that with a lamb tagine. I figure that the best baseline test for any Moroccan restaurant has to be their tagine and I wasn’t disappointed. This isn’t to say that it was the best, my wife’s tagine approximation is better, but it was pretty damn close.

Pastilla...

My poor little veggie friend, when she found the energy to express emotion, claimed that her aubergine starter and veggie tagine were both good. I can’t claim to the veracity of her statement regarding the aubergine dish, but the tagine certainly tasted vegetablely and thus, I presume, was satisfying enough to one unused to the taste of proper food.

And now we get to the real reason why Momo’s got a reprieve the first time around … they serve port. Port, for the uninitiated among you, is God’s drink. It’s a fortified wine originally from Portugal but also consumed in vast quantities by certain types of Brit. I am of that type. The list at Momo’s isn’t extensive, but it’s serviceable. I went out of my way to sample several varieties and was pleasantly pleased, and slightly inebriated.

Mmmmmm...... port........

All-in-all, a good night, good ambiance, good food and great staff. It was pretty reasonably priced, and without my port indulgence would have come to around 45 USD per head without wine, which is OK in my book. Plus, as my friend said, the wallpaper’s pretty.

My, look at the pretty pink walls

(Disclaimer: I am not a meat Fascist. I believe there’s a time and place for vegetarian options, when you’re too old to chew for example, or when you’re dead.)