Injy El-Kashef is an obscure object of desire Being late with my review, I intended to rush and eat somewhere, run to the office and let my fingers whiz across the keyboard to deliver the goods. What happened was a completely different story. I had decided to try the post-face-lift A L'Américaine (pronounced Al-Amrikein by virtually everybody -- leading me to believe, for years and years, that the two American continents were the reference). Parking, of course, would be a problem, but never in my wildest nightmares could I have imagined the traumatic experience that was to befall me. We are talking here about a full 50 minutes of trying to find any space within a five-kilometre radius. By the time I managed to park and began the long walk towards my destination, I was definitely not a happy person. Stepping into the refurbished coffee shop I could hardly believe my eyes, however, all traces of my bad mood evaporating as I set foot in the air-conditioned interior. What had become home to street cats after its glory days had faded had been transformed over a few weeks into a snazzy café, the likes of which one might stumble upon in any European city. No sooner had I taken my seat in the smokers' corner, however, than I noticed I was being watched by a solitary male customer hiding his interest behind a book that I was sure he would never understand, even if his life depended on it. I switched my mind to "ignore" and began scrutinising the fresh, clean surroundings while my waiter gracefully moved about in all directions except mine. The salmon pink walls were truly pleasant to look at in the early afternoon light, above the plants in their copper pots, home to framed pictures of classic, all-time favourite desserts. As I proceeded to rudely stare at all present, eyeing them from head to foot in an attempt to classify the clientele, the waiter finally landed my Club Sandwich on the small round table. Arranged around an assortment of pickles and sliced in four tiny quarters (totalling the square surface of a regular slice of bread), it contained roast beef, roast turkey, Gouda cheese, boiled eggs, tomatoes, lettuce, mayonnaise and butter. I had no complaints; even the pickles were excellent, and the sandwich will definitely be an option when seeking quick bites to come. I was worried about my Chocolate Milles Feuilles, having lost my blind trust in local chocolate products after being sorely disappointed so many times, but what was on my plate was a very pleasant surprise. The chocolate filling was creamy and rich, the chocolate icing sharply sweet, the filo pastry just right and, again, very fresh. I could not even consider one of the huge and delicious-looking jelati (ice-cream) I saw passing by me, although I was fully aware of their cultural significance at the A L'Américaine establishment. One obstacle stood between the experience and me: my teeth. Now for my double espresso. It tasted like good coffee but was, I am very sorry to say, watered down. My coffee, which I had to drink unsweetened for lack of sugar on the table, was the only hitch -- aside from my admirer with the book of course, who continued in his admiration until I walked out, having paid my LE18.25 bill. A good thing I was only in T-shirt, jeans and sneakers, and not in femme fatale mode. A L'Américaine, Soliman Pasha St, near Dar Al-Qadaa Al-'Ali, Downtown
