Restaurant review: Baladeya crackdown Prolegomena to any future fereek They're round the corner. It's only a matter of minutes before they arrive and throw their proverbial weight around, but for now we remain blissfully ignorant. Big T sits fuming over his loss, and I've already embarrassed myself sufficiently trying to ascertain mild/medium/spicy gradations when the only thing our makeshift waiter cared to know was how much shata to toss on our meat. We're greeted by Abu Mohamed El-Lemby, proprietor of the aptly named hole-in-the-wall Okal. The pregnant silence at our table tempts talk of the eponymous comedian/character-actor, of whom every citizen confined to this nation's borders carries an opinion. The doughty comedian, our only compelling mainstream wit, Egyptian culture's requiem, it's all been said before and I fear it may resurface. Plus they're inching closer. If one weren't so self-absorbed, one could even hear them. A piece of cloth hangs over the red brick entrance, functioning as a desperate but expedient storefront sign. Along with a handwritten outdoor easel menu, no further external evidence of the establishment's existence is available. The inside is comprised of three white marble tables and a counter, behind which a bed of coal grills the meat. It's muggy, and your lungs will demand relief before your intestines even consider ingesting. Luckily, El-Lemby also owns the coffee shop across the (pedestrian only) street. So we sit outside, enjoy beverages, and watch tourists try to act natural as the khirtis swarm around them, their hustle approaching fever pitch. A word to the cautious: such seating arrangements may prove hazardous as the summer breeze kicks up the street dust, and the tayareen (delivery boys) expel vile exhaust- pipe smog from their mopeds. Big T spent his morning covering the history being made in front of the Journalists' Syndicate with an office- issue camera. A lethargic shutter made sure that the "call to black" resulted in a film that came out uniformly white. The food helps lift his spirits, even though the aforementioned are now plainly visible at the end of the street. There are no flame-licked delicacies here; all grilled food is parcelled in a coarse charcoal coating. This is no place for the thin-skinned or those sustaining a constructive relationship with their stomach lining. The fereek -stuffed-pigeons, like all baladi poultry, make up in tastiness what they lack in heft. The bird's broth is hearty, if unsalted, and the hawawshi (grilled minced beef sandwiches) are heavy on the onions and served in greasy crusty bread. Big T boldly opted for, and seems contented with, the leathery but sumptuous tongue meat, and the piping-hot ox tail and onion stew. El-Lemby requests our feedback, and when I offer that the fereek may have been dry an extensive lecture ensues. Fereek, as every home-maker worth their salt ought to know, should have a crunchy texture, not a pasty one. "True," Big T chimes in. But there's no time to elaborate. They've arrived, the crackdown is now officially at hand, and our host runs back to the store hollering, " Al- Baladeya !" The euphemism for local law enforcement resounds throughout the street and, in under a minute, we're the only remaining outdoor patrons. Big T appears to be attuned to such proceedings and, munching away, assures me that they can only confiscate the empty chairs. Nature calls and I get up. He clamps an arm down on the empty chair, guarding it like his daughter's chastity. I return to find that all plastic seating required by the right arm of the law (the singular secured exception aside) has been absconded with. This is street food confident in its element, and comes highly recommended if the alcohol levels in your bloodstream approach what's poisonous. Keep your guard up however if faced with such extreme hunger; from the medley of skull innards to the roasted chickens, there's a gritty tastiness to the meats and broiled organs, not to mention a seductively affordability. Okal, 5 Elwi St, off Sherif St, Downtown. Opening hours: 1pm-11pm. Dinner for two, LE40. By Waleed Marzouk
