Restaurant review: Superego guilt trip By Waleed Marzouk Following up on the surprise success of the Yemeni restaurant, I decide to try the crowned king of the mandy / kabsah eateries that flourish every summer by currying Gulfy flavour through dedicated servitude, Hadramot, only to swear off this kind of establishment permanently. The primary Agouza branch is set in a neighbourhood of three-six storey boxes. Once considered practically suburbia, housing doctors, engineers and their after-hours offices, the past 20 years have seen it all take a slow dive for the lower-middle class. Now the local hood, his belt buckle secure on his navel, conducts his business over the corner koshk's roving mobile phone, teens lean out of their ground floor windows to gossip with their emancipated counterparts, and Michellin-tyre women bob and bounce as they circulate trays of tea easily mistaken for munificent flying saucers, bestowing the occasional reprieve on the local shopkeepers. People-watching is your only option in this 9m -- or less -- cell of eight-inch white ceramic tiles. Two fans work overtime trying to circulate the steam that passes for air, and only one of the three overhead neon tubes provides the pasty lighting. Surat Al-Ekhlas and a faux-gold-and-silver clock depicting the 99 names of Allah are the store's only decoration, and your gloom is underscored with mournful mawaweel -- though they were quick to switch to this summer's abusive Arab pop (dare I say?) hits. The tall wooden tables make you sit straight up and take in the lone green sheet of a menu, which advertises the entirety of the available edibles, and a toilet paper roll, its sole companion. The same green tragedy is also typeset on a neon-lit box that scarcely recalls the sensation of electricity. The three young dim-wits that function as staff shuffle around in their slippers repeating your order and any inquiries at least three times before they finally sink in. This is also, ultimately, a delivery-driven business so the phone doesn't stop ringing and your order will take a back seat to these home-based requests, so dust off your patience. The undercooked tissue-thin meat of your standard mandy -for-one, à la hadramy (mutton chunks with basmati rice), eventually arrives barely held together with stringy fat, and a thick yellow layer of adipose tissue coagulates beneath the skin. The rice is wet and pulpy, and the chicken liver, surrounded raisins the size of olives, is dry. Meanwhile, the complimentary watery tomato sauce floats the corpses of onions, green peppers, and sesame seeds. Consequently, the canned Sprite, in true underdog fashion, stole the show. My viscera shut down automatically, and my arm is twisted into trusting that impulse. My superego roars, reminding me of readers and their expectations of informative commentary about the taste of the food. I play dumb (some potholes you simply can't choose to fall into), and allow my host to escort me to the kitchen to assess the alternatives. As he informs me of the availability of kabsah -- mutton, rice, and the secret's in the sauce -- mandy chicken, beryany (roast) chicken, and compressed chicken (don't ask), he holds up half a shrivelled anorexic version of said bird. The painfully amateurish attempt at seasoning left it covered with fluorescent pink streaks, and my mind speeds through its repertoire's hymns in search of an appropriate requiem. This is a business that will continue to thrive on the strength of its name alone, so he suffers little trepidation continuing. Turkey, vegetable casseroles, salads, from taboula to homos, even cucumbers and yogurt, and soups, lentil or mutton/chicken broth, can be readily whipped up and, of course, a cute little sheep can be brought to the slaughter for LE600. I try to make my pre-exit appeal for the bill smooth but the host, having none of it, refuses to accept monies for a meal unconsumed. After a concentrated bout of verbal wrestling, however, I manage to tip him generously for the effort. Hadramot 27 Mohamed Shukri St, (off Al-Nil St), Agouza. Tel: 762 2345, 012 715 2118. Opening 24 hours daily. Dinner for two: LE80.
