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.)

Margarita Hunt

This Friday I descended on Hamra with a couple of close friends. One of them was leaving to go back to work in the Gulf (my commiserations, Hesham) and we soon ended up on what I’ll term “a margarita hunt”.

Now, a margarita isn’t difficult to make. Let’s face it, it’s the first rung on the cocktail / mixed ladder. Lime juice, tequila, salt, ice and a little triple sec and you're done.

The liver is evil and 

must be punished

However, it never fails to amaze me how badly people can screw up the simple margarita.

In any case, we headed to a small handful of bars and, in the interest of community service, here are the findings:

Dany’s – Too strong. I like my generous bartender as much as the next guy, but margaritas are supposed to be either a little sour, or a little sweet, you pay your money, you take your choice. Regardless of your personal preference, you’re not supposed to taste the tequila … or rather… you’re not supposed to scrunch up your face like a grandmother sucking on a Werther’s Original.

OK, you win, we should have

started him on gin...

Bricks – So, we arrived in Bricks, took up our usual spot and were about to get started when one of us called for a bathroom break. I wandered over to find that the men’s room was taken so I stepped into the ladies, whereupon I was shocked to discover that the girls have different comic strips on the walls than the guys … What the Hell? I’ve been going to Bricks since it opened and I’ve gone over every inch of the strips on the wall … I’m bored out of my mind. Now I find the women have different ones? Lord. I’m going to have to spend more time in the ladies. Anyway, back to the margarita … Not too strong, this time, far, far too bitter. Seriously, it was like someone had taken a lime and pulped the entire bloody thing in there… Not good. On to the next bar…

No Chadi*, I swear, they'll never 

notice, go for it.

Neighbours – OK, the music, at least on Friday, was by far the best of the bars in our little test. I’m not normally one for reminiscing, but Karma was playing a collection of mid-to-late 90’s tunes that were really hitting the spot … Granted, the José Cuervo  had kicked in by then (we only left Neighbours after trying to sample their lychee Bellini and having to settle for some watermelon / vodka abomination), but there were some real blasts from the past there. There was Charbel*, singing along to “What’s Going On?” by The 4 Non-Blondes, only to have his night ruined when some bitter old soak turned to him and said, “You know she killed herself, right?” Talk about a downer. Anyway … the drink … There’s triple sec and there’s triple sec… And then there’s Neighbours… Sweet doesn’t describe it. It was saccharinesque torture on the palate… hence the watermelon / vodka thing…

Ahh, Toploader ... where did it 

all go wrong?

Colon – (Disclaimer: OK, I know the name’s pronounced Cuhlon, I get it … but, as a Brit, I can’t help but think of a part of the gut. Which doesn’t really work when you’re talking about a bar.) That said, their margarita was, by far the finest tasted on the night, perfect, right on the ball. A bit of sweet and sour, a little hint that the demon tequila is lying in wait … Yes, the bar is named after a piece of the intestinal tract, but they mix a good drink.

Great name guys, great name

So, there’s the first set of testing done… Rabbit Hole, Ferdinand and anywhere else that doesn’t think Vodka-Redbull’s a cocktail are next…

*Some names have been changed to protect the dignity of those involved.

Beirut nights and the (aging?) Brit…

There was once a time when I’d cut through the crowds, empty glass and cigarette in hand, oblivious to the music, heading for the bar, to my friends, or a girl I liked the look of. It didn’t much matter where I was, what music filled the air, the music, the drink, the vibe, that’s all that mattered.


New York, Orlando, Miami, the UK, Beirut, New Zealand, the beachside clubs of the South Pacific, it was all the same. Whatever city it was, whatever the scene was, past midnight meant after hours drinks, music, knifing through the crowd in search of someone and that endless struggle to last till dawn.

As a young man I spent the most formative year of my life in New York. It made me realise what I wanted to do with my life, how I saw myself and how I could present that to others. It was an introduction as to what was possible, should you choose to grasp it. Added to that being “an Englishman in New York” made life that much sweeter.

Ahhh, Sting ... The hair's quirky, but I do 

question the scarf though...

Grasp it I did, that year passed by quickly, long hours at the office doing something I loved (publishing), longer nights at some of the most incredible bars and clubs and night spots on the planet. Or, if they weren't the best, they were certainly interesting:

DO: Arrive on your Harley

DON'T: Wear a suit... you will end up hosed

in tequila ... trust me... what can I say? It

was immediately after work, I had a meeting...

plus, she had a six pack and wielded a syphon 

like it was some sort of frickin' whip...

That all passed and I headed back to the UK for my bachelors. Armed with a self-confidence that now seems incredible, three years passed in a blur of ale, student discount nights, trips with the rugby team to distant cities and the weekly “social”*.


Eventually I ended up in Beirut to attend AUB. My introduction to the city was intense, I ended up living with a group of American students, they’d been in town for a year and were not the type to let an opportunity pass them by. Week 1: Centrale (Flaming Lamborghini’s on the bar), BO18 (too many single men sweating and on acid), Club Sociale (back in the day when it was little more than a long bar), Crystal (sparklers et al), Pacifico (when the food was still good), Element (Pink Floyd at 02.00 anyone?). Week 2: Oblivion. Can’t remember. Women (including my future wife) dancing on bars, boozy dinners at our penthouse apartment opposite Bank Audi on Hamra, it was endless. Somehow I ended with an M.A. … God knows how. My abiding memory is of a bottle of a substance known as Slwibowitz, a plum brandy that would be put to better use removing rust from your outdoor grill… Almost a potent as a certain South African brandy named Klipdrift where you’d bleed from the eyeballs after one glass.

The things we do to fit in...

Satan's drink

Fast forward five years …


It’s gone. The desire to continue to the end, the need to see that vanilla sky at dawn simply isn’t there anymore.


Last night I visited the kind of bar I craved when younger. Achingly cool, concrete floors, chains linking seating areas to the ceiling, bartenders who ignored you until the urge to reach over the bar and grab them by the throat was almost overwhelming. And the music, the music was as painfully chic as could be. The drink flowed, the women swayed … but it just wasn’t doing it.


As I sat nursing a 961 (lager, thanks) I reflected on it all. Actually, I didn’t, I just realised that this was the last place in the world that I wanted to be.

You might not look like much, but

you're safe and I love you

Don’t get me wrong, I was there with some of my closest friends, one of whom will be leaving Beirut shortly. I was more than happy to be there. At least I was. As the night wore on and the drink flowed something dawned on me: This no longer interests me.


It’s a little sad to realise that you’re no longer interested in clubs. A city like Beirut has it all, Sky Bar, the myriad rooftop bars, BO18, etc., etc., etc.. It’s all academic…


Dragonfly, that’s more like it. God help me, but surround me with Frenchies complaining about everything under the sun and I’m a happy man... plus ... they serve those little wheat puff things that are so addictive after one beer...

--

*Social: Something akin to an initiation ritual at a US college, but on a weekly basis for members of sports clubs, the one hosted by the rugby club was the most brutal. 

961 image shamelessly pilfered from here.

---

I've been gone for a while, but am, I hope, back for good.

Change?

Blogging about politics can be an incredibly depressing pastime. Anyone who’s resignedly thrown a newspaper down on the table in disgust can understand that.

Lebanon is going through the mill once again, with the coalition government falling apart, threats of mass protest, indictments for murder / complicity in murder hanging over one party and the usual screams of outside interference. For a while last week bubbling just under the surface was the possibility of violence. Thankfully and, perhaps predictably, the threatened confrontation didn’t occur.

Nevertheless, the country sits on tenterhooks and the most optimistic of outlooks seems to be ‘It’ll pass.’ ‘It’ll pass’ isn’t exactly a clarion call for confidence …

In the meantime the economy continues to be in the pan, with investors (understandably) twitchy about the prospects over the coming months.

While it’s true that this is democracy in action, it’s a clear reminder, to me at least, that people, leaders and voters alike, can be somewhat blind and continue to be ruled by self-interest. But that’s just me, and I’ve never thought that ‘democracy’ or ‘democratic values’ are the great panacea they’re held up to be. Yes, I’m aware that last statement will stick in the craw of many, but there it is.

And here I am, so far ignoring the great silent elephant in the corner … Egypt … or more specifically, Egypt and Tunisia, Yemen and, to a lesser extent, Jordan.

The Middle East is certainly a fascinating place. As a student of international relations and security I grew up being taught that the region is a place of strongmen, religious zealots (of all creeds) and a hotheaded tendency toward conflict. While the last two are still very much alive and well, the first pillar seems to be under attack.

Since moving to the region in 2004 I’ve witnessed the ‘peaceful’ ejection of the Syrian military from Lebanon (I say ‘peaceful’ as the protests were sparked by killings, or rather one killing in particular); Public protests in Iran which were initially quashed, before the government got cold feet and applied softer pressure to restore the situation; The potential split of Yemen; The ejection of the Tunisian leadership amid hordes of people on the street and, finally, the ongoing protests in Egypt.

It’ll be nine years this summer since I first came here for more than a family holiday and around a decade that I’ve been (politically) interested in the region.

I am by no means claiming that the region stands on the cusp of a revolutionary wave (my feelings of disappointment following the Cedar Revolution and the continuation of the old client-patronage system and the quashing of protests in Iran have led me to be cynical), but there’s certainly something in the air.

Iran and Syria are certainly as strong as they ever where when it comes to the maintenance of their particular governments, but then, who would have honestly claimed to have seen the situation in Egypt coming? Precious few, I’m willing to bet.

And that’s the point - this region is prone to flux like no other in the world. The 2006 war between Israel and Lebanon, in terms of the speed of which events can spiral out of control and more recently the Iranian, Tunisian and Egyptian movements, highlighted the inherently unstable nature of regional politics.

But then we come to the fear, the fear that, while ‘democracy’, or some form of change for the better, is within arm’s reach for the people of these various countries, that different hard men, or the religious fundamentalists will end up holding the reigns. The fear is this – that they will end up exchanging one master for another, maybe not tomorrow, but in the near future.

Nevertheless, the events of the past few years remind me of a recurring theme that I first came across during my reading on security and politics, that real political change is achieved through conflict.

Back from my hiatus

2010 did not end all that well. Various events conspired to keep me away from BritinBeirut, much to my displeasure.

Toward the end of the year my Mac gave up the ghost after around four years of use and abuse. The scratched, dented, chipped and rattling old machine finally went off to the orchard in the sky the motherboard having died.

While I was scrabbling around finding the motivation to post frequently having lost all the various apps and other services that make blogging (for me) a straightforward process, I lost my job.

At present I am about to embark on the torturous road to renewing my residency papers.

In any case, I sit here typing away on a new Mac with a variety of irons in the fire on the job front all within the publishing industry.

2011 is looking up; Thanks to friends and contacts gained during the last few years the job front is looking frighteningly promising, touch wood. Dubai might well beckon, though staying in Beirut could well prove to be an option.

Best wishes for 2011.

One side of the story

Frances Guy, Britain’s woman in Beirut, has written about the  passing on of nationality to coincide with International Human Rights Day:

Nationality: an issue of human rights

Today, 10 December is International Human Rights Day.  The Lebanese League for Women's Rights will be demonstrating downtown.  Why?  For a change in the Nationality Law.  Think about it.  The right to pass on your nationality to your child is a basic human right.  In a world governed by states and state governments you need to have an identifiable nationality otherwise you are a paperless, stateless person without rights.  Nearly 200,000 people in Lebanon today have no nationality.  That's a lot in a country of about 4 million people.   A Lebanese woman does not have the right to pass on her nationality to her children.   That is simple discrimination and in contravention of a number of international conventions.

 On those grounds alone we should all be fighting for change.  But this position of principle hides the human facts.   Imagine the situation:  you are the child of a Lebanese mother, but a foreign father and that father has since left or died.  You were born in Lebanon. You have never lived anywhere else.   Your father can't renew your nationality anymore.  You have to re-register every year as a foreigner.  You have problems getting into school, problems getting health insurance.  Later in life, getting into university is complicated.  Some jobs are forbidden to you.  But in your heart you are Lebanese.  You don't want to live anywhere else.  You can't live anywhere else. But you are not recognised as Lebanese. You are effectively stateless.  You have no rights.  

The UNDP tried to raise a campaign for change in 2009.   In Lebanon, changes in nationality get tied up with Palestinian issues.  But the statistics show that relatively few Lebanese women marry Palestinians and Lebanese men who marry Palestinian women can pass on their nationality. 

So come on....  Let's do it. Let's change this discriminatory law.   Other Arab countries have.  Why can't Lebanon? 

 Only XY's need apply

Now, that’s all well and good. I wholeheartedly support the idea of equality between men and women. My wife would beat me if I didn’t.

But… to write a piece like the above and to not mention why the nationality law hasn’t been reformed is a little weak.

Perhaps she’s trying to avoid placing her foot in her mouth, again.