Back to Beirut

Last night my aunt and uncle took me to what turned out to be a five star, no holds barred Moroccan restaurant in Fehaheel (see my aunt’s post for a full review). I didn’t even order a tajine – I wanted to try the entrees, and they were delicious.

Carrots, eggplant, lentils, tomato salad – by the time I finished my stomach hurt from being so full. I was just starting to recover when the waitstaff brought a plate of sweets … and the two cookies I had pushed my stomach right past the tipping point once again.

My very dear friend M, with whom I have had many Arabic language and Arab World adventures, defines two categories of fullness: full to the point of pressure, and full to the point of pain. I was beyond pain last night – and it was worth it, because the food was so good.

When Moroccan food is not good, it is pretty average: oily and tasteless. But when it is good, it is really, really good – and Marrakesh’s food was delicious.

There is a reason why many Moroccans have come to prefer French baguettes to Moroccan bread – but last night even the bread was good:

And now I am back home, blogging in my chilly, coming-back-to-life apartment as the rain falls. Its a wild weather day in Beirut – when H picked me up at the airport, we were nearly blown away by the wind (though to be honest I like the way it gave my hair some much needed extra body).

As I finished booting up my computer and sat down at my desk, the rain turned to hail – rapid-fire balls of ice crashing madly onto my patio. I haven’t seen such weather since … well .. since I was in Jerusalem, almost precisely two years ago. There’s something about this January/February season that lends itself to madness, I think, although the scientific side of me scoffs: “how would you prove that?”

I don’t know. But I do know that bombings, protests and snipers notwithstanding I am very happy to be back home, especially since the electricity was on when I arrived.