Onward and upward

Resturant review
Onward and upward
Injy El-Kashef scales Sinai's forbidding peaks
My little trip to Fayoum a couple of weeks ago was so absolutely refreshing that no sooner had I returned to Cairo than I started planning my next excursion beyond the city limits. Undeterred by long drives or cold weather, the choice fell on Sharm El-Sheikh this time. I had heard that so much has been constructed in recent years that it has really started to look like a smaller yet equally attractive version of Acapulco, a place on this earth that will always evoke dear memories.
Eyes wide open, we strolled down the seaside promenade of that Italianised city, pleasantly surprised at the quality and quantity of lush resorts endowed with turquoise swimming pools, bars and general elegance. We followed my sister, the expert Sharm resident, as she led us through shortcuts, in and out of hotel receptions, revealing to us Cairenes just how much grey surrounds our city life. We were getting hungry, though, not to mention rather tired, and yawns were escaping from us more often than deemed polite by most civilised people who happened to be crossing our path at that point.
She said she knew of an excellent Indian restaurant that overlooked the whole bay and thus took us on what seemed like a trek up Mount Moses. Up and up we went, climbing stairs, dragging our feet ever upward, trying to locate elevators to make the journey easier only to get lost in labyrinths of rooms and corridors. Just as I was resolving to threaten her with death, however, I found myself standing on a beautiful terrace.
I could feel every muscle in my body relaxing. Even holding up the menu proved a tricky operation -- not to mention embarrassing, seeing how it trembled in my hands. A silly waiter approached, with an attitude that deserved either physical abuse or verbal humiliation, but we were too tired for either. We just gave him our order in the most arrogant of tones, trying not to make a single mistake. My Murgh J Fareiz (chicken with onions, tomatoes and sweet peppercorn) was so absolutely delicious (especially when covered with that delightful cool green dip to tone down the spices) that not one little morsel was left in the huge plate. When I mixed it with my Kashmiri Pulao (rice with fresh and dried fruit) it was like eating a wonderful creation, the kind that only Indians are capable of. My sister's Rogan Josh (lamb with masala sauce) was not very plentiful and not as blissful as my chicken (that's what happens when people order lamb) but with her Biryani Sabaz (rice with vegetables) it did for a good dinner.
Desserts were distributed in a similar way: my Gulab Jamun (fried milk balls in syrup) was divinely sweet, while her Kashmiri Phirni (rice pudding) was just passable. I rejoice cruelly when my food tastes better than my dining companion's; it's always a confirmation of better choice tactics. With a couple of beers each our bill came to LE215, a sum we did not regret paying at all.
Rangoli, Sofitel, Sharm El-Sheikh.
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