Restaurant review: Kicking the dough Everything in its place Regalteo is trying to exert control. Compiling a new workforce for "project ingenuity", his latest risqué undertaking, there can be no loose ends. Every detail must be attended to, all subordinate grey matter reprogrammed, all lethargy put on a train to Auschwitz. I nod and stare at the shawerma. I pass by these beef spits daily and am consistently offended. Thick chunks of fat stick out of the meat (as if they'd just slaughtered a cow with swollen lymph nodes), and I would bet money the reason the meat looks so decrepit is a thick coating of street dust. A friend of a friend set me straight: I'm to forget the shawerma, for this is a feteer place, with excellent oven-baked macaroni. So I drag Regalteo away from his ground- breaking emprise long enough to give the Doqqi branch of Tebesty a day in court. The inside may be suitable for eating, but hardly dining. Clearly a delivery-based branch, all the small tables are within spitting distance of the open-door toilets. The two lads seated next to us trade concerns about the ceiling caving in. The large red-brick ovens are a picturesque novelty, but it feels chronically hot and cramped, and the dark orange walls only exacerbate the effect. Regalteo can't kick the habit of ordering people around, and the principal dough-tosser will soon suffer the brunt of his aggression. We scan the menu, and every possible variation of feteer known to humanity is there. The sweets include exotic pineapple and cherry toppings, not to mention the indehiscent royalty, pistachios. The savories feature tuna and chicken, basterma and beef, shrimp and calamari. Our waiter swears there's a difference between the sosees, sogo', and hotdog, but it matters little, for a processed meat by any other name would taste as synthetic. There's always the questionable option of neutralising their effect by trying them all together in the house special, feteera tebesty, but I wouldn't recommend it -- such concoctions were devised with shabab platoons in mind, ready to out-do each other with the stench of their testosterone. A feteera comes out of the oven, and the dough- tosser grabs a can of samna and drenches its surface. Regalteo watches transfixed, the sweat beads trickling down his brow and into his eyes. I give the waiter our order and Regalteo grabs his wrist. He makes it perfectly clear, in an excruciatingly severe tone, that should such shameless indulgence afflict our feteer no requital shall be forthcoming. Tactless, but the high-fat horror must have clouded his judgement. Attention to detail, everything in its right place. Another feteera comes out of the oven. The hand finds the can. Regalteo rises, and his inner beast emerges, roaring. With a jolt of adrenaline the waiter tackles the dough-tosser, arresting the progress of the can-in- hand. The drama is breathtaking, and I begin to weep. On TV, Ahly scores a goal and everything, Regalteo especially, fades into the background. All charge towards the TV and await the slow-mo repeat amid much back-slapping, spilling of canned mushrooms, and declamations of preposterous sports statistics. When the excitement wanes and the forlorn faces return to work, the salvaged feteera goes to someone else, and a fuming Regalteo gets a samna -drenched regular. As we eat, I try to be subtle as I rub in the moral of this tale. In a place like this, emblematic of the nation's natural rhythm, it pays to be flexible, and take it on its own merits. And the friend of a friend was right, both the feteer and pasta turned out to be very rich and tasty, if not heavy (just stick to the baladi options rather than the faux-Italian attempts). This is the meal to order when you're absolutely famished and feel the need to stuff yourself with a greasy brick. Eat here two days straight, though, and your insides will start singing the tone-deaf blues, discordantly. Tebesty 46 Mosadaq St, Doqqi. Tel: +202 335 8099, +2 010 607 8854. Open 24 hours. Dinner for two, LE30-40. By Waleed Marzouk
