🍔 My Favorite Dish

 "Write about food."

This text is a love story, one about an activity we always do, eating. However, it is not exclusive to eating. I believe it is more about sensations, feelings, memories, and passion when doing it. Please, sit down, chill a bit, and take your time to imagine what I will tell you; this will make your mouth water. 

     Mashawi Plate is the name of my favorite dish. Why did I select Arabic food and not a Mexican or Argentinian one? Because of the impressions that I had the first time I tasted it. And this is how the story begins. 

    One day I was with my brother in San Francisco's port, fooling around in the Van, listening to Sam Smith, and talking about drones when suddenly ran into an Arab business. "Mamalon," is the word Elias said a second later; however, Curiosity was the term that impregnated both our minds and palate. 

    As co-pilot in charge of choosing a place to eat, I gave Elias the indication to stop as soon as possible. He did so, parked the Wolksvagen, and grabbed his jacket. Meanwhile, I paid the parking fee, waited for Elias, and went to the facade of Arabian Nights Mediterranean Dining.

    Before entering the place, we stood speechless outside, looking at how the site looked too suspicious, with its black curtains covering every window and a burnt cheese aroma scaping from the ceiling and wide-open door. However, the immense and happy crowd outside made us feel safe. So, we got into it.

    "Welcome to the best restaurant on the continent. Here you have the menu," said Abdul, our waiter. "My name is Abdul, and I will be serving you today; if you come from another country, we can offer you a nice promotion, the restroom is behind you, Sr.—looking at me—if you have got any question, raise your left hand and I will get here." 

    Without further delay and very hungry, we chose randomly amidst thirty dishes and waited impatiently. As an Islamic-architecture lover, the restaurant was everything I loved—cylindrical minarets, muqarnas, arches, and a dome. I promptly felt struck by a rush of emotions and did not speak. 

    Regardless of the dozens of people sitting next to me, I heard nobody in the wait-time. I felt as if I was standing in front of the Sheikh Zayed Mosque when it happened. The food arrived. Even though the place was small, Abdul let us sit in a large and tall table to enjoy the food and the view.

    A crispy and greasy chicken was what I received alongside its cinnamon-cumin coated. The olive oil over it made it shine in the dark, and the green and yellow peppers covered with sumac made a great combination. My first bite attacked the salty-crunchy leg of my dead prey. Elias started at the same time with his bitter-unsalted lamb Kabsa dish. 

    As travel partners, we are used to talking while eating, but not that day. Massar Egbari's music sounding in the background made the perfect compliment to enjoy every part of the peppers' softcover, and my brother with his saffron-nutmeg coated tomatoes.  

    There you go; this is how my short story ends. I dedicated just a couple of lines of it for my beloved Mashawi dish. Nevertheless, I required you to understand what happened around that small plate. 

Onward...