Restaurant review: Levantine dough The halogen light at the end of the patriarchal tunnel It may have taken Europe a world war to set its women free. For us, sensitive souls of the southern Mediterranean, all it took was the caring touch of the designer. We're sitting at Man'oucheh, a 24-hour Lebanese diner with avant-garde décor, and all around us are people in their early- to mid-20s. Television screens play pop melodies, mostly Arabic, and women outnumber men by two to one. The women are seductive in their own wrapped-up, socially-acceptable way. Their hijabs (headdresses) come in various colours, sometimes accompanied with a fleeting glimpse of midriff flesh. The men are hair-gelled, in colour-subdued outfits, the sort who spend an average of 20 minutes in front of the mirror, whenever they're not surfing the net. I am with the Brunette and the Designer. They have both had a long day at work and are ready for gluttony. We're fairly familiar with Lebanese cuisine, but we quiz the waiter repeatedly about the menu. The fare is mostly thin bread, in one or multiple layers, bearing your choice of spices, meats, and cheeses. Some of the servings come rolled up like the sleeves of a Levantine peasant in a hot summer day. Others come round and warm, like a moonlit gathering around a bonfire. Others still are small and furtive, like little birds unsure of what the future may hold. The Brunette takes the man'oucheh special, which is a large affair topped with chicken, corn, garlic paste and cheese, refined and not spicy. The Designer goes for the chicken shawerma, a rolled up concoction of spiced chicken, less greasy than the familiar Greek and Armenian versions. My fokharah (oven pot) of eggs and sausages, is dry and uncommunicative. The labneh (a cross between yoghurt and fetta cheese) rolls are dreamy, creamy, and soft, like a case of confused libido. The spinach, cheese, and meat mou'ajanat (mini-breads) taste like bits of wisdom, curt and curly. The fresh fruit juices and sour milk are served in modest, plain glasses, a sign of confidence, perhaps. The rice pudding and achtalia (rice flour pudding with rosewater) appear in plastic cups, as if intending to go somewhere. The tables are not too close together and the generous lighting helps me notice the women, dressed up, made up, and un-chaperoned. This is our new breed of women, the ones who are taking a step forward for Egyptian humankind, leaving the men of yesterday in the dust of florescent-lit, smoke-filled coffeehouses. Here they are, comfortable and confident at last, surrounded by the early crop of future men, the ones who buy deodorants and will not fear liposuction when the time comes. Think of how we thought the dark tunnel of male domination was endless. Think of all the time we spent experimenting with the light at the end of the tunnel (all the lectures about female genital mutilation, the sociological documentaries, the foreign-funded women empowerment gimmicks), when all we needed was halogen. The future is here, led by the young and hip. The future may have covered its hair, gone a bit conservative and a tad bourgeois. But it is here, perfumed and bikini-waxed, toe-pointed and ready to go. You can easily read a newspaper or a book at Man'oucheh's comfortable leather-padded sofas with the matching elegant chrome-and-wood chairs. It is a place to chat, have a quick bite, and watch the 20-something folks doing what they do best, which I am yet to figure out. Sometime in the future, when we're all shopping at hypermarkets and going to Abu Dhabi for fun, we'll perhaps look back at the last century and wonder. Why has it taken us so long? What made us put up with dusty, male- dominated societies when progress was a mere halogen lamp and Scandinavian chair away? Man'oucheh, (02) 762 3576, 4 Al-Thimar Street, off Batal Ahmed Abdel-Aziz, Mohandessin, open 24 hours, offers Lebanese edibles in a sophisticated, gender-empowerment ambiance. Dinner for three, LE120. By Nabil Shawkat
