Damascus
A meal out
To dine out in Damascus is a meal time to remember. Search carefully for your restaurant for if you do you will stumble across some of the most beautiful courtyards you will ever see.. Tucked away at the back of the shop fronts so you will almost certainly discover a gushing fountain as the centrepiece to the floor space, with waiters gliding swiftly from the kitchen to the tables. If you lift your head you will see beautifully decorated ceilings that would not look amiss in Venice or Paris.
Here there is no room for tables for two, lest of course there happens to be tourists on their way through. Normally you will see 6, 8, 10 or 12 to a table, with children and grandparents all dining together.
Upon the circular tables you will see displays of the most colourful of salads and deep bowls of humus whipped into cream like whirls. Pickled vegetables and sweet pastries proceed the obligatory spiced lamb and rice, eaten with khoobz Arabi, the traditional Arabic bread.
It of course must be said that these restaurants are, as in many cities worldwide, frequented only by the wealthy. Yet wherever you go, be it as three men break their fast from Ramadan, sitting round an upturned wooden box in an alleyway of the market, the meal table is treated as an occasion of the day rather than a bodily function to perform. Even in the military outpost on the Lebanese border the intimidating surroundings seemed to melt as meal time approached and traditional Arabic hospitality came to the surface. I have no idea of the statistics, but I very much doubt that eaten disorders feature at all in Syrian society.
It does not take much imagination to wonder at the conversations that have risen in such places of eating; tales of flight from distant lands to the refuge and safety of this great city. Perhaps tales of intrigue as plots are woven; yes even assassination, the repercussions spreading through the pages of history. Go back much further and you will no doubt find echo’s of a strange language as so called Crusaders from the north brought their foul manners to such places of culture. You might even hear the sound of mourning as Saladin, the Arabic deliverer of Jerusalem, was laid to rest within this great city.
So if you ever get the chance for meals out in Damascus then don’t let it pass you by. Somehow it can almost feel in such a place of destiny, that you are being caught up in an encounter far beyond just simply…………….another meal out.
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