Restaurant review:
Ain't no mountain high enough
Injy El-Kashef twists her friend's arm into happiness
Last weekend, my friend Amani and I swore that come hell or high water we would have that mega seafood meal at Gandofli we had promised ourselves. And so, around midnight, Amani found me calling her from my cell phone in my car, parked opposite her building. "Let's go to Gandofli," I simply stated. "Now? I am in my pyjamas!" was her reply. "Yes, now. And you can take your pyjamas off just as quickly as you put them on. You have five minutes to be in my car or I'll start honking and disgrace you in your neighbourhood," I warned. That, of course, did it. Dishevelled and still in her pyjama pants, covered by a big coat, she was sitting beside me before I could even start to time her. Smart girl, she knows whom she is dealing with.
Although the place was completely empty, the guys at Gandofli did not seem the least bit surprised to find customers walking in at that hour ordering a full dinner, which, naturally, began with seafood soup. Now, it may have been the need to release her personal frustrations that prompted her to order the "un-shelled" version of the soup and have a go at it. I, for one, recently decided that I already have spent too much precious energy being anxious and that I was better off indifferent to the unattainable things in my life... and so I went for the shelled soup.
My soup, aside from being much easier to handle, requiring only the proper use of a spoon, had an added advantage: it tasted much better. The shelled ingredients blended their flavours in the stock, resulting in a fuller, richer, thicker, powerful mix of crab, shrimp, calamari, fish and clam meat, bits of which floated about generously. And while Amani was busy struggling with the shells of her crabs with flared nostrils and a defiant look, I calmly sipped my utterly delicious soup.
The next round of plates brought a new experience to my life. Never before had I tasted calamari cooked in white sauce with garlic, ever. And so, I covered a few spoonfuls of perfect brown rice with fried onions and shrimp with the creamy sauce containing slivers of calamari and green peppers, held my breath, made a wish, took a spoonful, closed my eyes and assessed: although rather heavy, it was simply wonderful. More and more helpings followed as, witnessing my reaction, Amani immediately abandoned her armed struggle against crustaceans and dug into the real world.
By then there were four little fried barbouni fish waiting for us to attack. I saw her peeling the skin and eating the flesh. "Are you mental or something?" I asked her. "Why do you insist on depriving yourself of all the good parts? Feel the combination of soft flesh and hardened batter in your mouth. Crunch that crispy tail, woman!"
The barbounis were not as mind- blowingly delicious as the calamari, though, or as the salads. Ohhh, the salads... A wonderful paste of aubergines, onions and tomatoes, and the most tantalising pickled tomatoes with garlic my palate has ever tasted.
As we awaited the change from our LE133 bill, I had a chance to notice that calm had been restored to Amani's face, and she made me promise to honk the next time if she does not answer my call for dinner.
Gandofli, Al-Nasr St, Satellite area, Maadi.
