The owner of The Prince must be one of the most peripatetic of restaurateurs in Egypt. Against the advice of health freaks, proof as if any were needed that we at Al-Ahram Weekly are a dare-devilish lot, those of us who braved The Prince knew exactly what the eatery entailed. Dinner that memorable evening was in the best tradition of comfort Cairene cuisine. And, many of us went rheumy-eyed as we beheld the menu. It was an impromptu decision I gather. It was nostalgic, too. And, no doubt, the restaurateur was over the moon. Most of the grandees and grandes dames of the Weekly joined the paper when they were in their early 20s; a few of us were in our early 30s. Today, the powers that be are in their 40s and some even in their 50s. But that didn't deter us from sampling cholesterol-laden traditional Egyptian dishes. My last visit to The Prince began with the ritual I always indulge in on arrival: deciding whether to go for tasty food or for healthy nibbles. This is a moot point and a useless exercise since there are no healthy dishes on the menu. As soon as you approach the restaurant and find a parking space, you let the polluted air sweep across your face. This sense that a good time was to be had was tempered by the realities of post-revolutionary Egypt. In anticipation of the second anniversary of Egypt's 25 January Revolution, our professional hearts began to beat a little faster. We were preparing for a momentous weekend and we did not necessarily need the nourishment to keep our adrenaline up. Egyptians, unlike Europeans, are more reckless in their eating habits. Coming to think of it, Egyptians are more like Americans in their mannerisms, especially in their perspective of the gastronomic worldview. That, of course, is a gross generalisation. However, there is a typical fatalism about food when it comes to Egyptian cuisine. I had reviewed Al-Brince, The Prince, some years back. Yes, there has been an infusion of new blood in the paper and a couple of 20-somethings were on my table, but they tend not to be overly concerned about calories. They also have a knack for pinpointing particularly beguiling recipes characterised by their simplicity. The trick could be a dollop of lard melted over slivers of thinly sliced beef and packed in foil, as slow cooking helps concentrate the flavour. The secret of the lusciousness of most dishes at The Prince seems to be long stewing, even though the odd dish requiring a briefer sauté is not uncommon. Oxtail, obviously, requires long stewing, and appears designed for people about to embark on muscular exertion, as opposed to intellectual creativity. An oven-broiled beef steak is another such dish. Sausages, Egyptian-style, are a very popular item on the menu. Homely, yet hearty, food, preferably with offal, are favoured at The Prince. There was a genuine sense of bonhomie, rather rare in the office. There was a bit of a commotion, though, when the diced camel liver was served. The rubbery delicacy did not appeal to a number of the ladies. Several lit up cigarettes as soon as the meal was over — to be precise, before dessert and just after the main course. “Do they have shishas here?” shrieked one of the grandes dames agitatedly. There was not the same thrill about dessert. Neither rice pudding nor belila, grounded cracked wheat pudding, set my taste buds alight. Umm Ali, an exceptionally rich Egyptian bread pudding drenched with coconut and fresh cream, roast chestnuts and pistachio attracted the attention of everyone except for the weight-watchers. We were buoyed by the food and the atmosphere of The Prince, placed peculiarly in the pulsating heart of Kitkat, an impoverished, albeit particularly hyper, part of Giza. Do not expect tea or coffee. The whole point of The Prince is to gulp down the grease and gristle and go.
