Strawberry feelings forever

Injy El-Kashef uncorks the nostalgia
I had wanted to take a very dear friend of mine to the Windsor Bar for months; I had described it to him at length, recalling the numerous times when, during my undergraduate years, I had gone there with my friends intending to have a quick drink, and ending up postponing the rest of the day's duties in favour of a few more hours in that cosy place.
The Windsor, as I remembered it, was never crowded, always warm; the beer was always cold and the termes that they served with it always perfect. Most importantly, the seats were comfortable, the waiters unobtrusive, and the atmosphere extremely pleasant.
However, it had been years since I had set foot in the Windsor Hotel, and had it not been for a pure geographical coincidence, I would have not have found myself there with said friend just a few days ago. As soon as we entered, he was overcome by the same pleasurable feeling I remembered experiencing every time I stepped in the bar, although for the first time, I was there before noon.
We picked the most comfortable seats and enjoyed the morning sun streaming through the windows and falling on the heavy wooden furniture, the parquet floors and the old upholstered sofas. It was a sad day and the Windsor was the perfect place to be. Before we knew it, however, the clock struck lunch time. We saw no need to leave since the restaurant was right there, bright and welcoming. We grabbed our drinks and settled down at the table, scrutinised the menu and opted for a set lunch for me and an Escalope Panée for him, with a bottle of red Omar Khayyam.
Among the sprinkling of customers was a lonely man who kept ringing the bell for the waiter without really having much to ask him, reminding me of my sister who did exactly the same thing about 23 years ago while on a cruise from Brazil to Venice. She was about four then, however, and this man was quite a bit older. That, however, is all part of the Windsor's ineffable charm.
The waiter first brought us an entrée consisting of filo pastry stuffed with a delicious spinach mixture. We made short work of it, and waited for ever until the main courses arrived, accompanied by a fragrant garlic dip on the house. The escalope looked entirely satisfactory judging from its colour and thickness, and the expressions on my companion's face. It shared the plate with sautéed vegetables in hues so bright that I began to wonder if the wine was not affecting my perception of the world. My fish was just as good, if not as big: grilled and topped with butter and lemon, and accompanied by an excellent rice, cooked to a nice brown with fried onions.
I cannot say we were blown off our chairs, but we did not regret lunch for a second. We then proceeded to order some fresh strawberries for dessert, which we topped with some wine and devoured in a second. The wine was one of my lunch associate's bright ideas -- one that I will certainly remember when faced with fresh strawberries again.
Our LE169 taken care of, we realised that the Windsor had helped make a sad day significantly less so.
Windsor Hotel Restaurant and Bar, Emadeddin Street, opposite Cinema Diana and MIBank.
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