Restaurant review: Carlo Pasha The sky glowed with brand names, except for one round object The moon shines over Tahrir Square, right above the flickering light of the Coca Cola sign. No letters on it, no pulsating lights, no dazzling colours, only serenity. The ancients once looked up, saw the stars, and knew their fate. Now, we look up, see the commercials, and know our fate. Eight years ago, I knew friends who would go out only to Le Pacha. They left their bottle there, labelled with their name, and explored no further. This was their second home, their one and only destination. It was all so divine -- the monotheistic version of leisure, the final point of wisdom, the truth that obliterates all other. I am waiting for the Muse, who lives downtown and cooks the best potato and fish I had in recent memory. She has been correcting me on the history of Spanish artists, which is not difficult, since I get their names confused with my facial creams all the time. She arrives fashionably late, in long black hair and short black temper. Having reviewed the two menus, Lebanese and Italian, in offer at Carlo's, she inquires if I am familiar with Osso Buco. I begin referring to my Italian shoes and she gives me the look. The Muse recommends the fish, noting that this establishment is known to prepare it buried and backed in salt. The salt is best if it is coarse, the type known in this country as rashidi. But sea salt is hard to find and you can just use table salt, but we're talking massive quantities, Dead Sea bucketfuls, mixed with egg whites, forming a thick paste around the fish, thick as a mechanic's missing finger. The Muse had tried it this way at a Greek restaurant in Alexandria and loved it. For appetisers, I get the jatt khodar (vegetable basket) from the Lebanese menu. This is normally a big bowl of whole fresh vegetables. In our case it is just slices of salad. I am slightly disappointed, but not torn apart. The Muse accuses me of being too tolerant. You'll never get anywhere so long as you keep wearing them, floral shirts. "But who says I want to get anywhere, I just got here." She gives me the look. I love the tabbula and labna but, too afraid to express a clear opinion, I mention that they are fresh and lemony. She tastes them, closes her eyes, and judges them to be perfect. Still, she gives me the look. The main entries take an hour or so to materialise. A folding table arrives bearing what looks like a fossilised fish. The elegantly dressed waiter hammers the thick layer of salt off the fish in a scene bordering on the biblical. We like the fish. And we like the tender meat on the Osso Buco (shank of veal), but the tomato sauce is all wrong, the Muse says, offering no further explanation. I look at the moon and make a comment about the meaning of life. Again, she gives me the look. Carlo's has opened only a few weeks ago. It is an open air affair situated just outside the right entrance of Le Pacha boat. It is bordered by glass windows, encircled with an off-white canopy, and filled with shrubbery. The seating is easy, on rustic benches and bamboo chairs done in subdued colours. The view of Cairo's brilliant sky is unlimited and the city looks so peaceful, like a war witnessed from afar. Carlo's, Le Pacha, Zamalek, (02) 7356730, is open daily from 7pm to 2am. Endless skies, stylish clientele, Italian and Lebanese food. Alcohol available. Dinner for two, LE350. By Nabil Shawkat
