Death by sweets

Injy El-Kashef tempts her fate
When I first heard about the serial killer I dismissed it as an unkindly hoax. Yet as the warnings continued to come in I began to worry a little. After all, Egypt is not necessarily immune to psychopaths and, as my father says, with globalisation phenomena that are foreign to this country will also make their debut, serial killing being one of them. But considering that I tend to attract all kinds of weirdoes, believing that there is in fact a serial killer automatically implied that I personally would be his next victim; this goes without saying. He goes for flashy women, well just take a look at my hair. He seems to prefer fun-loving and independent women: me, me, me. Surely, the minute I set foot outside the house I would end up as eight body parts in a plastic bag.
So I stayed in. Until I decided that fear and hiding were not for me and I took it upon myself to confront the enemy. Not only was I going to show up in his alleged area of activity, but I was also going to rid womankind of him if he should ever dare cross my path.
They said a couple of restaurants in Ard Al-Golf were his favourite hang-outs -- and that's exactly where I went. I heard that Farah Café served some pretty amazing pastries and so I grabbed a dear girlfriend and off we were, around midnight, to meet our destiny. As soon as we parked our cars and started heading to the café, however, we began to worry. "Do I look flashy?" "Do I look fun- loving and independent?" As we proceeded we began considering that the presence of a male friend may not be such a bad idea. "Call your cousin", "Hello cousin, why not join us at Farah Café? No no, I mean NOW." Farah Café does not look anything like a place for a serial killer. It's quiet, pleasant and well-lit; not your seedy, smoky, sleazy corner where lose women upsetting the delicate imbalanced mind of a killer would dwell.
The TV set plays Arabic movie clips, customers smoke their shishas and sip their drinks, relaxed, guilty of no misbehaviour. We ordered a banana milk-shake which was quite good and not overly sweet, fresh and healthy; and a yoghurt with fruit cocktail which was even better, healthier and bigger, even less sweet and completely filling. So far, nothing was wrong, all we needed was a killer to show up and we were ready for him. Next we took a round of Turkish coffees, which came hot with the precise requested sweetness. The shisha, however, seems to have been rather dull and tasteless, and certainly did not produce the amount of smoke expected of a good shisha. As for the Farah Fetira, it was heavenly, if too generous. Calzone-shaped, it was filled with mixed fruit and cream and topped with honey. This I believe, is the killer, not that pathetic man.
The menu is full of mezzes, pasta, sandwiches, a fatta section, a grilled goods section and main courses based on animal protein with sauces and toppings, among all the options. The only reason that would, in my mind, validate a stay-away-from-there policy is the mosquito situation, which is surely much more serious than any ideas one might have about the serial killer. I would say shake off the fear and step in there with bold steps, head high, armed with one thing: mosquito repellent.
Farah Café, 3 Samer Mokhtar St, Ard Al- Golf, Heliopolis
Tel 291 7996
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